Casually, he turned his head and cast his gaze behind them down the street. Sure enough, pairs of guards were filtering through the crowd, converging slowly and subtly. Likewise, up the hill ahead of them, he could see the uniforms of other soldiers scattered among the people, moving down the hill. There would likely be more guards moving in from the other end of the street upon which the house stood.
No time to worry about that now, though. Both he and Ghassan had spent their life getting out of trouble in one situation or another and the pirate captain was sure they would be able to do so again. Escape was not the highest priority right now. Top of the list was to meet Ghassan, to make it clear to him what a lying, deceitful woman Asima was, and to get him on the same side.
They turned the corner into the narrower street and hurried along. Samir glanced back to see that the pursuing guards had slowed as they converged at the end of the road. They were having trouble, now in larger groups, remaining inconspicuous and had wisely chosen to hang back.
He bit his lip as they approached the old neighbourhood. He couldn’t act to try and recruit Ghassan until Asima had revealed her treachery. He could only hope that she wasn’t going to similarly wait on them, but then she couldn’t do really. As soon as Samir officially discovered that Ghassan was alive and well, she would have to act.
With a smile, he realised that without even concentrating on it, his ever frantic mind had already planned out his escape. Good thing, really, since they were approaching the door and there would be very little time to pull this off. With a last glance up and down the street, he could see the guards at both ends now, tightening the net. In a minute they could be on him.
Here goes.
As Asima approached the door, she stopped, covered her face with a hand and turned to him.
“I… I just can’t. Not again, Samir.”
He had to stifle an inward laugh. Well played, Asima.
“That’s alright Asima,” he said, his face straight and grim. “You wait here.”
Turning his back on her, he pulled on the handle and entered the house, allowing the door to swing almost closed behind him. The common room was very much how he remembered it, though dirty and dusty. The furniture was mostly gone or broken, but the small low table in the centre remained, a reminder of family meals long ago. Though he knew the layout of the building intimately, his mind had already checked out and catalogued the exits regardless: doorway to kitchen with climbable window to steps out back; doorway to corridor that led to latrine… no exit that way; stairs to rooms above… mother’s room with window onto street or their old room with the only clear exit. Samir smiled.
Ghassan stepped out from the kitchen into the doorway.
“Samir.”
The pirate captain smiled at his tall brother.
“Ghassan. I’d like to say you look well. Better than Asima tells me, anyway?”
The taller brother laughed darkly.
“I had a feeling you’d be less gullible than she believed. I’m rather sorry that I have to do this, Samir. Even though it pains me to aid Asima over you, I just have to try and rebuild my life. I am sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am, and not as sorry as you will be in a few minutes.”
Ghassan frowned and tilted his head.
“Explain?”
Samir sighed.
“I really wanted to provide you with the evidence before I explained all this, but here goes…”
He took a deep breath.
“Asima is outside with several dozen of the town guard. She doesn’t need you at all, Ghassan. She knows that turning over a notorious pirate captain would likely garner her the governor’s support, but not as much as she would get if she also provided at least circumstantial evidence that you were in league with me and had sold out your own navy. Imagine what the governor would do for her then.”
Ghassan blinked.
“I know she can’t be trusted, Samir, but are you sure about all of this?”
“You can either believe me and we can get the hell out of here and somewhere safe, or you can wait a couple of minutes for hard evidence to turn up and take you into custody. I told you a few weeks ago that my offer would remain open. You’ve done your duty Ghassan; all there is left now is punishment and ignominy. Come with me and we can work it all out.”
“I’m not cut out for piracy, Samir” Ghassan replied, shaking his head “You know that.”
His brother rolled his eyes.
“Are you cut out for jail, beatings and executions? Come on.”
For a moment, Ghassan dithered, staring at his brother and then, taking a deep breath, he strode across to the door, still standing ajar. Ducking to one side, he peered through the gap. A number of uniformed figures lurked by the doorways opposite.
“She sinks to a new low every time I see her. What are they waiting for, Samir?”
“Either they’re not all here yet, or they’re waiting on a signal from Asima or, more likely, they’re waiting for their men to block all the alleys and streets leading away from here. They’ve got to seal us in.”
Ghassan nodded.
“I’m assuming you have a plan?”
“I used to put together all the most complicated roof races, didn’t I?” Samir smiled.
“You almost got us killed so many times.”
“Yes, but we’re bigger and stronger now, Ghassan. And no guard in M’Dahz knows the roofs like we do. How’s your memory?”
Ghassan shrugged as he bent and stuffed the various items he had on the nearby cupboard into a bag.
“Depends where you’re thinking of heading?”
“My ship’s going to be in trouble. Either it’s already under the control of the guard and the men are in custody or the crew have taken her out to sea to be safe. Either way, though, we’re going to have to get to the port and find out.”
Ghassan shrugged.
“Then we need to take ‘Four Temples’, cross by the dye factory, turn once we’re over ‘Broken Promises’, down into ‘Coppersmiths’ and across the five warehouses. That’ll bring us to the port on the west, away from the gate.”
Samir laughed.
“You see, I would have foregone ‘Coppersmiths’ and taken the long jump over ‘Seven Gables’. Quicker.”
Ghassan reached out and squeezed his brother’s shoulder.
“You keep coming back for me, Samir. I do nothing but try to take you in, and yet you come to my aid every time. How can I be worth all the effort? I’m no better in some ways than Asima.”
The smaller brother shook his head.
“You’ve always done what you thought was right, even when it hurt you. You’re in no way the same as Asima and you know it. Now come on.”
Ghassan grabbed his bag and nodded as the two men turned and made for the small staircase in the corner of the room. At the foot, Samir stopped and stepped aside, gesturing for Ghassan to go first. The taller brother frowned, but took a step upwards and suddenly cried out.
Samir blinked and reached out to grab his brother as the taller man fell back from the stairs, a knife protruding from his thigh. The two men staggered back against the wall, Ghassan’s leg unable to take the weight with the painful wound.
“Leaving so soon, boys?”
They looked back to the door to see Asima standing in the open archway, her hand still raised from throwing the weapon.
“No rooftop races, today, gentlemen. You’re my ticket back to Pelasia, so I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.”
Ghassan clenched his teeth as he reached down and pulled the knife from his leg with a grunt A spurt of blood gushed out and down his leg.
“Asima? You going to keep two of my fingers to give the governor as a gift?”
Samir frowned.
“Forget her. Come on.”
The sound of metal outside testified to the closing presence of the guards. They had seconds only.
“Go, Samir.”
The pirate stared at his brother, wh
o was wincing from the pain in his leg.
“I’m not leaving you again, Ghassan.”
“Yes you are. I’m yours, Samir. You already knew that somehow, and now so do I, but not at the moment. Come back for me when you’re safe.”
For a long moment, Samir stared at his brother, but finally nodded.
“No, no, no…” came a voice from across the room
Asima was already rushing past the low table and, as she moved, she drew another knife from her belt. Samir shook his head, but Ghassan turned and pushed him into the stairwell and urging him to go before turning back to meet the assault of their childhood friend. Asima lunged like a wild animal, snarling as she swiped the sharp blade back and forth at Ghassan’s face.
She was untrained. She may be angry and dangerous, but Ghassan had dealt with killers his whole adult life. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, he twisted and threw up his arm inside her last swing, blocking her attack. Reaching up, he grasped her wrist so hard that he feared he may break it. Asima’s fingers loosened and the knife fell from her hand, but there was no easing of her vicious attack, as she leaned forward and sank her teeth into his hand, the incisors meeting between his thumb and forefinger. He howled and, reaching back, delivered her a stinging back-handed slap with his free arm.
Asima fell away to the floor, stunned, and Ghassan looked up, blood running down his hand and arm and dripping into the growing pool below him on the floor. Half a dozen guards stood in the entrance to the room. He smiled weakly.
“I don’t suppose any of you gentlemen thought to bring a bandage?”
Sighing, he sank to his knees as the guards fanned out around him, weapons at the ready.
In which old games are revived
Samir clambered through the open window and dropped to the dusty rooftop below. Behind, he could still hear the activity in the main room and was suddenly faced with a problem. He needed to know where Ghassan and Asima were bound, but within moments there would be guards pouring up the stairs in pursuit of this infamous pirate captain, while their fellows already occupied the nearby streets and would see him jump between roofs if they were paying attention. Problems… and very little time to decide on a course of action.
He bit his lip.
Asima could only reasonably be going one place from here: the governor’s complex, and she would be in no hurry. Possibly the most senior of the guards would escort her there, as he’d want to glean a share of the glory for the catch… or perhaps he wouldn’t, since they’d failed to catch Samir. He briefly wondered whether Asima would give chase. No; she’d tell the guards where to look and then she’d go see the governor.
The larger question was over Ghassan. Would they take him to the governor too? Or perhaps to the guard house in the main square that stood behind the civic hall? Then there was also the prison that occupied the northwestern-most tower of the city walls, hanging above the sea and separated from the town itself by a hundred yards of screed slope. And finally, there was the possibility that they would just strap him into a wagon or onto a horse and take him to Calphoris to his superiors.
Shaking his head, Samir realised he could hear the thunder of footsteps in the house below. The guards were coming and there was no time to plan now. He knew where Asima was going as soon as she had the chance and Ghassan would likely remain in the city, in one place or another.
Dropping to a crouched position, Samir smiled. In a curious way, this was refreshing; a hint of his long-gone youth. If it weren’t for the circumstances, he could really enjoy a good chase. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Below, a voice called out.
“The window!”
Grinning, Samir set off with the crunch of gravelly dust on the rooftop and a cloud of choking white. By the time the first guard’s face appeared at the window, he lithe pirate had already reached the far end of the roof and, with practiced ease, leapt across the gap without even glancing down.
As the first guard dropped down from the window to the roof, blinking in the dust and adjusting his armour, the second appeared behind him, staring across the roof.
“Shit, he’s fast!”
The front guardsman nodded unhappily.
“I’ll never make it across there; not in armour anyway.”
As the second man dropped down, a third appeared behind them, wearing the crest and insignia of an officer.
“Stop pissing about and get after him!”
“Sir, we can’t jump over streets! We’ll die.”
The officer clenched his teeth.
“If you don’t get after him, I’ll gut you myself.”
The second guard, a tall and muscular man with the colouring of a desert nomad, heaved off his mail shirt, his helmet falling to the roof unnoticed.
“I’ll get him, sir.”
As the armour fell to the floor with a heavy ‘chink’, he dropped to a crouch and then set off like one of the dusky hounds the desert folk raced at the oases. The officer nodded appreciatively, while the first, shorter, guard stooped to collect the discarded armour. It was a hot day, even for a M’Dahz summer, and the armour was already hot to the touch.
“He’s good” the officer mused.
“Used to run in the Five Gods Games at Calphoris, sir. You’ve never seen anything like it.”
“He’d better be good. I need that piece of shit brought to justice.”
They stared off into the distance as the dust clouds settled. There was no sign of the pirate, but Jûn of the M’Dahz guard had already cleared the first street and was heading for a corner, his quarry’s path revealed by the trail of settling dust.
Streets away and several minutes later, Samir puffed as he ran. The guard that had decided to follow him was so damn fast! He could have no experience of the rooftops, while Samir knew every nook and cranny, and yet still the man gained on him. It was astounding and, more importantly, it was putting Samir under pressure he could ill-afford. With guards rushing through the streets below and trying to keep level with their quarry, shouting instructions across the intervening buildings, and this hound-like man hot on his heels, he had so far had precious little time to plan his route, relying instead on instinct and his memories of old races.
This was no good… without a plan, he would just keep racing until he was caught or cornered. He’d assumed that once he was out on the rooftops he’d be able to lose himself easily. He needed to give his pursuers the slip and vanish, but that meant dealing with the guard chasing him.
The problem was that he had nothing against the man. Indeed, this dogged pursuer was the sort of man that, in his youth, Samir had yearned to be, that reminded him in many ways of uncle Faraj.
He shook his head. His life hung in the balance here, as did Ghassan’s liberty and the only opportunity he might ever get to curb Asima’s lust for power and that outweighed one guard, no matter how innocent he might be.
With a fierce resolve flooding through him, Samir glanced left and right. The roof-garden of the temple-hospital of Belapraxis was only two jumps away and the most dangerous route he’d ever planned passed by there. Time for a change of plan. He couldn’t outrun this man, and he wouldn’t have time to hide, so he had to outthink and outmanoeuvre him.
Veering off to his right, Samir made for the jutting outline of the temple’s upper level, feeling a little bad for the poor man following him. Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he could see his pursuer in enough detail now that he could make out the determination on the man’s face. Of course, the man’s career might well ride on this moment, if not his life, but that couldn’t be Samir’s concern right now. With another deep breath, he made the last small jump to the temple’s main roof.
His nemesis close on his heels, Samir ducked out of sight around the wall surrounding the roof garden and made for the water-bearing pipe that crossed the street. Relief washed across him as he laid his eyes on the blessed escape-route. He hadn’t had the time and leisure to contemplate the possibility that in the decade
s since he’d run these roofs the pipe had been moved or replaced, or had simply corroded and fallen away.
But it was there, precarious as ever.
A single beam, dusty and narrow, crossed one of the widest streets he had ever used in his routes. In the old days, blanket ceilings in the street had created a possible safety net around fifteen feet below the beam, but such was no longer the case. As Samir came to a halt at the roof’s edge and bit his lip, he could see three storeys down to the sloping cobbled street. A few people milled about below, unaware of the drama unfolding on the rooftops above them but, as yet, no guards had reached this point. It wouldn’t be long, though, given the shouted orders he could hear nearby.
At almost forty feet long, the beam was a nightmare in unfinished ash, worn smooth by the elements over the years and far from even. The only grip provided anywhere along the distance was the iron clamps that held the searing-hot metal guttering pipe that carried the water across the street, and those could only be trodden quickly and lightly in passing, for fear of burning the feet even through shoes.
Asima used to call him mad for planning runs like this. Funny how everything Samir had done in his life had seemed to contribute to his present liberty and health. With a smile of gratitude, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement in the direction of the temple and, holding his breath, began to walk across the beam, keeping his eyes carefully locked on the wooden surface stretching out before him.
Dark Empress Page 35