Nura pressed her eye to a crack in the floor and crawled away from the brink on all fours, following the same path that the Rafiq traveled below. She halted a short distance away, and Maxine and William crept to join her.
Through the narrow gap they discerned a new room: an opulent chamber with rich carpets and ottomans, filigreed screens, hanging lamps, and a splendid divan of blue and gold. The outline of the Rafiq passed beneath them as he crossed the floor and bent over a basin to splash his face, and they shrunk back as if, by some sorcery, he might see their hidden forms reflected in the surface of the water. He took up a towel and dabbed his eyes, then unbuckled the ivory breastplate from his shoulders and laid it to one side.
There was a knock outside the chamber, and the Rafiq opened the door to a young fida’i, who bowed stiffly and handed back the heavy ring of keys.
The Rafiq nodded and dismissed him. He returned to the far side of the room and took a black cigarillo from a lacquered box beside the divan. Grasping one of the pendant oil lamps, he swung it to his lips and lit the cigar in the flame.
Then, one by one, he snuffed the lights around the room. They heard the heavy clank of the key ring, followed by the closing of a lid or cabinet door, and then the long divan groaned as the Rafiq sank down upon it and sat motionless, like a spider in the dark.
The three children waited, spellbound, while only the fitful glow of the cigarillo served to show that the Rafiq remained. They might have lingered there forever if the deep peal of the bell in the round room had not echoed through the lair.
The Rafiq rose and relit the lamps and reassembled his vestments. He bent over the basin and washed once more and then departed from the room.
A feast was laid out in the round room. The scent of lentils and warm bread, spiced cucumbers and roast lamb wafted through the slatted ceiling, drawing Nura and the cousins to the spot above the purple flame. They lay prone on the dusty planking, heads together, eyeballs pressed to the floor.
The bell rang again, and white-cloaked servants entered with pitchers, trays, and steaming platters. They arranged the dishes on the central serving table, and a long procession of fida’i filed into the room through the doorway marked with the emblem of the scorpion, seventy or eighty of them at least, removing their shoes and reclining on the cushions beside the low, curved tables that encircled the room.
When all was made ready, the Rafiq entered, and the room fell silent. He made a slow circuit of the serving table, admiring the muraled wall and the sumptuous feast, and then he stepped toward the purple flame and stretched his hands wide as if waiting to receive an oracle from Alamut itself.
At length, he opened his mouth, but the words were unintelligible to William and Maxine, and they leaned close to Nura, who whispered the meaning in their ears.
“This is the night!” cried the Rafiq, turning as he spoke. “The night of triumph. An end to waiting. This is the eve of glory!”
Around the room the seated fida’i stiffened and bent forward.
“For every man, woman, and child upon these shores, it is the final night of ignorance and peace. Tonight they will lay their empty heads down to rest and dream their heedless dreams, but come the morning, they will wake to an unfamiliar dawn. Come the morning, they will know the yoke of bondage. They will know the meaning of fear. And come the morning, they will know the name of the Old Man of the Mountain.”
“May his arm grow ever longer!” cried the fida’i, all as one.
“Tomorrow brings the daybreak of the Hashashin,” continued the Rafiq above the din. “Tomorrow we blow a trumpet, for conquest and for power and for blood!”
The cries around the room swelled in a frenzy, and the Rafiq raised his hand.
“This city is the cornerstone of the West,” he said. “But the cornerstone will fall, and the tower will crumble. From their darkest slums to their marble mansions, every living soul will quail at the threat of the Hashashin. Every knee will bow at the foot of the one who sees all things in the Eye of Midnight, who declares the Unalterable Word, who holds the Key to Paradise.
“Twelve carefully chosen sacrifices,” he continued, leaning forward and pressing his knuckles on the table. “Their princes and their tycoons, their gray-haired scholars and their strapping champions, their precious children and their cherished wives—tomorrow twelve of them will fall. Tomorrow, disguised as their own, we will darken their halls of power and their houses of worship, their markets and their homes, and they will fall like cattle beneath our blades. Twelve sacrifices with each new moon is all that it requires, and the rumor and dread of the Old Man of the Mountain will spread throughout this realm entire.
“And after, whenever the master commands them, they will tremble and obey. They will beg to do his bidding. We will plunder their treasure and rewrite their laws. We will carry their women and children away to Alamut to serve the whim of the Old Man of the Mountain. And all who will not bend the knee or pay a tribute of gold will pay a ransom of blood.”
The Rafiq fell silent. His pupils narrowed to pinpricks, and he rocked where he stood.
“And blood will be shed within these walls as well,” he murmured feverishly, nursing a lethal desire. “The Old Man’s sworn enemy lies captive in our cells, and tonight his life is forfeit. We will observe the ritual, and he will answer for his trespasses.”
“Grandpa!” whimpered Maxine.
“So may it be with all the enemies of the Old Man of the Mountain!” shouted the fida’i, raising their palms and hammering the tables.
“And now, a feast!” cried the Rafiq, clapping his hands. “In honor of the Old Man’s triumph. Behold, his long arm giveth gifts as well.”
A host of servants appeared and proceeded to wait on the seated fida’i. Up above, the floor creaked beneath the three children as they scrambled away in horror.
The Rafiq raised his heavy-lidded eyes to the ceiling, stroking his beard, and then he turned back to the feast.
The three children huddled among the long rectangles of late-afternoon sunlight that lay upon the attic’s gray-planked floor, staring at one another with waxen faces.
“We’ve got to get out of here and tell somebody,” whispered William.
“Who?” said Maxine. “Who will believe us? The police certainly didn’t listen to us before—or to Nura, for that matter.”
“There is only one way,” said Nura. “We must find Colonel Battersea.”
William nodded. “If we’re going to do it, now’s our chance.”
“Our chance for what?” asked Maxine.
“Our chance to get those keys while everybody below us is stuffing their gullets.”
“Brilliant,” said Maxine with a scowl. “We’ll march down there and say, ‘Excuse me,’ then waltz through the middle of their dinner party and barge straight into the Rafiq’s bedroom.”
“I have a better idea,” said William. He led the girls back across the dusty attic to the precipice. “The Rafiq’s private chamber is just below us, right? One way in is through the door in the round room, the one with the winged snake. But there’s another entrance. We watched the Rafiq walk in and out of the temple right between the two boilers, so there must be a door straight below us. All we have to do is get down there and grab the keys before he finishes the feast.”
“You’re crazy, Will. Even if we do find the keys, we still don’t know where they’re keeping Grandpa.”
“One can of worms at a time,” he said.
“And how exactly do you plan to get down there?”
William pointed at the iron ladder fixed to the side of the boiler. “I’ll go,” he said. “You and Nura can stay here and be the lookouts.”
“How are you going to get out there without splattering yourself on the floor?”
William peered across the gap between the precipice and the tall boilers, and his brow creased. He started to say something, but the words stuck in his throat.
“I know a way,” said Nura. She disappeared for a
moment among the rubble of the attic and returned dragging a discarded wooden plank, twelve feet long and half a foot wide. Struggling a bit, she and William heaved it out and rested the far end atop one of the ladder’s iron rungs so that it spanned the fissure.
William gave the narrow footbridge a dubious look. He wiped the sweat from his palms and steadied himself with a hand on Maxine’s shoulder, shuffling out tentatively onto the board. The plank bounced and sagged, and he gulped and clenched his eyelids tight.
“Open your eyes,” Maxine said anxiously.
“I—I thought you were never supposed to look down,” he stammered.
“Fine, so don’t look down. But you can’t cross a six-inch board with your eyes closed.”
Shivering, William pried his lids apart one at a time.
“Well, go on,” said Maxine.
“I—I can’t. I told you back at the Needle, I’m scared to death of heights.”
“Vay canina,” muttered Nura in frustration. “This will never work.”
They hauled William off the plank and away from the ledge, where he stood in a cold sweat. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and watched, incredulous, as Nura shifted her haversack on her shoulder, then stepped out onto the board and trotted lightly across the gap.
“While you’re down there, have a look in the jinni’s crate on the corner of the stage,” he said. “See if you can find us something in there that might come in handy later.”
Maxine shoved William to one side. “Never mind that. Just get the keys and get back here. If you hear me whistle, forget the whole thing and make a run for it.”
Nura nodded, and her head disappeared below the lip of the precipice.
Maxine shooed her cousin away toward the far reaches of the attic.
“Go keep an eye on dinner,” she said.
William slunk back to their earlier vantage point above the purple flame. The feast continued in the round room below without interruption. Cups and plates clattered, the servers came and went, and the Rafiq sat apart from the fida’i, stripping the flesh from a pile of bones. William waved to Maxine across the attic and gave her the all-clear sign. She nodded and put her eye to the floor.
Beneath her Nura poked her head inside the door of the Rafiq’s chamber, glancing about cautiously as she stole across the room and circled the wide divan. She opened a latticed cabinet against the wall, rifling through drawers and shelves, then turned and searched a heavy, carved desk and several wooden bowls atop a long black table.
Bending her head upward to the spot where she knew Maxine crouched and waited, she raised her hands in bewilderment.
“Get back here,” Maxine hissed, but Nura was too far below to hear. The girl continued her fruitless search, and with each passing second Maxine’s sense of impending doom increased. Her concentration was broken, though, by the sound of William calling to her from a distance.
“M!” His voice was low but urgent. “M, we’re in big trouble.” He jerked his head up from the floor.
Down in the round room the Rafiq had drained his cup and pushed aside his unfinished plate. Rising to his feet, he waited momentarily for a salute from the fida’i, then stalked out of the feast beneath the symbol of the winged serpent, back toward his chamber.
William waved frantically across the attic. He stabbed his finger toward his feet and scrambled forward at a crouch, pacing himself with the Rafiq’s progress below.
Maxine put her lips to the crack and whistled, but it was no good. Nura continued to potter about the room, oblivious to the approaching danger. She had just slumped down on the divan in frustration when something caught her eye. The polished corner of a small chest was visible beneath the cushions of the wide couch. She bent forward and her hand landed on the Rafiq’s lacquered box. Her face flushed as she lifted the lid. There among a handful of cigarillos lay the heavy set of keys.
Nura glanced up toward the ceiling and waved the key ring in triumph, but to Maxine’s great dismay she did not turn and head for the exit. Instead she pocketed the keys and made a slow circuit of the chamber, checking to see if there was anything she had missed.
Maxine’s heart thudded inside her. William was nearly sprinting now, scuttering across the littered attic, and she knew that the Rafiq strode the same path below him. Her mind reeled, churning madly for some way to signal Nura.
“Your pockets, Will!” she cried as he slid up. “Empty your pockets!”
Blank-faced, William obeyed. He turned them both out, and the old coin left behind by the two visitors to Battersea Manor clattered onto the planks.
Desperately, Maxine snatched up the silver obolus and dropped it through the crack.
Nura whirled in surprise as the coin struck the ebony table with a ringing clank. Her eyes grew wide with startled comprehension, and she stumbled backward in a panic.
“Don’t leave the coin behind, Nura,” Maxine whispered to herself. “He’ll find it.”
But Nura’s only thought was of escape. With a stricken gasp she lunged for the door, slipping out just as the Rafiq burst in on the far side of the room.
Maxine wilted with relief, and she and William turned and watched the top of the boiler ladder expectantly. Two minutes passed, and still Nura’s head did not appear. William shifted from one foot to the other, and Maxine edged toward the precipice and gazed out over the darkened temple.
A single lamp burned upon the dais. In its feeble light she saw a furtive shadow stealing across the wide expanse below.
Nura mounted the steps of the dais and crept to the jinni’s wooden crate. She lifted the lid and bent inside, tucking something into her haversack, then scampered back across the temple, back toward the boilers.
A few moments later her head appeared above the brink. William and Maxine pulled her eagerly off the bobbing plank. Too eagerly, perhaps, as the three of them all tumbled backward and landed on the floor in a heap. A clay sphere from the crate spilled out of Nura’s haversack, landed with a dull thud, and rolled across the floor.
The cousins caught their breath and ducked their heads, but the sphere wobbled to a harmless stop.
“That was close,” said William. “I thought we’d kicked over the lantern in the hay shed that time for sure.”
“What is it?” asked Nura as she clambered to her feet.
“Grandpa called it some kind of fire bomb,” William replied. “I don’t think you want to be around when it breaks.”
He fished the Rafiq’s key ring from Nura’s bag, along with one of the Hashashin daggers. “Nice job, kid,” he said. The blade sang faintly as he drew it from the black sheath and tested the point against his thumb. “We gotta think of a nickname for you. Bulldog, maybe. Or Beartrap, or—”
Maxine flicked his earlobe. “You and your nicknames,” she said. “Can we please just figure a way out of this place?”
“Aw, don’t get yourself all in a twist,” William said. “We got the keys, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, well it’s a little early to celebrate. They don’t do us any good until we figure out where the Hashashin are keeping Grandpa.”
“I’m still sorting that part out,” said William. “We saw them drag Binny out of the round room, right? They took him through the doorway straight across from the storeroom, the one with the scorpion on it. If they’re keeping Grandpa in the same place, then maybe we can find him from up here.”
“I’ve been over to that side of the attic,” Maxine said. “We can’t see through the planks there. There’s no way of knowing which room they’ve got him in.”
“All right. Then I guess we’ll just have to go down there and look for him. But we have to figure out how we’re going to make it without being seen. The whole factory is crawling with Hashashin.”
“Perhaps we should wait for midnight,” said Nura. “When the lair is dark and everyone sleeps.”
“There’s no time,” William insisted. “The Hashashin have something awful planned for Grandpa tonight. If we don’t find h
im before then, it’s bad news for sure.”
Maxine nodded and pulled anxiously at her lip. “For Grandpa and this whole city,” she said.
Twilight leaked in through the splintered hole in the roof. Beneath the attic’s shattered ribs, Nura stood among a thousand broken shapes and prepared for one last labor, one final leg of her weary journey.
She removed the canvas haversack she had never been without, laying it aside. The black dagger she slid into her sleeve, and she fingered the blue nazar-bead on her necklace and tucked it beneath her collar. A brass lamp lay nearby, the same one she brought to the attic when they first arrived, and she took it up and checked the oil inside. When this was done, she found the battered cigar box once more and held it before her as if it were a sacred offering.
Nura untied the string slowly, and Maxine and William saw her hands tremble as she cast away the cigar box and lifted the Eye of Midnight. A spasm of doubt seemed to enfold her like a black shroud. She stood motionless before them.
“Take it,” she said suddenly, forcing the silk-wrapped mirror into William’s hands.
The cousins frowned at her in puzzlement.
“It’s yours, Nura,” replied William, pushing it back. “I don’t want it.”
“The mirror must be delivered to your grandfather, no matter what happens to me. Take it.”
“There’s no use talking like that, Nura. We’re all in this together, and we’re all going to make it out of here in one piece.”
“You don’t understand the strength of the Hashashin,” said Nura in despair. “The Eye of Midnight must not fall into their hands. So many lives are at stake. The fida’i will strike terror into the hearts of the people of this country, and no one will be able to stand against them. And when a river of innocent blood has been shed in the streets and fear has spread like a fire of thorns, they will rule with ruthless cruelty, and the Old Man of the Mountain and his evil followers will trample every soul beneath their feet.”
The Eye of Midnight Page 12