Of course, I didn't know any sword-dancers stupid enough to do such a thing. We—they—aren't assassins, though we will take on death-dances depending on circumstances; the goal is the rit-ual and the challenge, not out and out murder.
Then again, there were no guarantees all sword-dancers would adhere to that unspoken custom. Me killing Musa in a dance had proven to all witnesses that out and out murder might in fact be easier. Of course, supposedly Umir wanted me alive, but I suspected there'd be a few sword-dancers willing to forgo the reward simply for the pleasure of killing me.
I rode down the path, poised for attack. There was a scattering of wagons here and there, with unhitched dray animals resting quietly in such shade as palm trees offer; half-dressed children running around, heedless of the heat—why is it we notice it more when we're adults?—and burnous-clad men and women visiting in small groups, exchanging tales of their travels, describing plans for when they arrived at their destinations. Someone was playing a reed pipe; the thin, wailing melody cut the air. No fires, as there had been the evening Alric and I stayed, merely fire rings with quiet coals hoarded against the evening meal.
As I rode up, Del was at the spring watering the gelding. He had lost his brilliant red tassels at the Vashni encampment, where someone had presented Del with a browband of dangling leather thongs, ornamented with blue beads. He still looked rather silly, especially with the black paint around his eyes, but not as ridiculous as he had wearing Silk's crimson tassels.
She had watered herself as well as her horse and had braided her hair into a single thick plait. To tie it off she'd robbed the gelding of one thong; blue beads clacked quietly against each other when she moved her head. They matched her eyes.
"All right," I said in answer to her expression, "so we didn't run into any trouble. But we might have." I dropped off the stud and let him nose his way in past the gelding, urging him aside with an absent nipping motion of his mouth.
Del handed me a dripping gourd ladle. "I didn't say anything."
I drank, swallowing heavily, not caring when water splashed down my bare torso to dampen my dhoti. I now wore a gritty layer of fine dust sticking to the alia oil from head to toe. So much for the half a bath in Julah.
"You didn't have to." I handed the gourd back. "I can read your expression: Hurry up; let's go; stop wasting time. And don't try to tell me none of those comments passed through your mind. I know better."
Del did not attempt it, though clearly she was irritated. "You said Umir's place wasn't far from here."
"We'll make it well before sundown."
"Then hand me your empty botas," she said, "and I can fill them." Because, I knew, it would speed things up.
Shaking my head, I unhooked and handed her two flaccid botas. The others I unloaded and dipped down via tie-ropes into the water, soaking the rough sacking that formed an outer casing for the leather. While wet it helped cool the water, but it wouldn't stay that way for long beneath the sun. And since I doubted Umir would be much interested in replenishing our supplies, and Nayyib might have none as we departed, we needed to conserve.
"You're filthy," Del commented, sounding somewhat conciliatory—if you want to call being told you're dirty a peace offering. "You could wash off here, cool down a little."
"It'll strip off too much of the oil." I stood, botas dripping, and began to tie them back onto the stud's saddle. "And I doubt you'd allow me the time to go bargain for a burnous."
"If the oil is working . . ." Wisely, she let it trail off.
I took the refilled botas from her, tied them on. "Let's go, basha. We're burning daylight."
I suspect she knew I was not pleased. But she didn't ask why or suggest I shouldn't be; she simply mounted the gelding and allowed me to take the lead as we rode out of the oasis.
* * *
Umir's place wasn't far, and we did arrive well before sundown. There were no gates, merely an arched opening in the white-painted walls, and I pulled up in front. "Whatever happens," I said, "you've got my back."
"What are you planning to do?"
"Ride up to his front door and ask for Nayyib." I set the stud into a walk.
"Tiger, be serious."
"I am being serious. Sometimes the only way to get what you want is to ride up to the front door and ask."
"Umir may set some sword-dancers on you!"
"Or not." I rode under the archway and into the paved courtyard with its tiled fountain. "Do you want the kid or not?"
Del kept her mouth shut. She held the gelding a few steps behind the stud, undoubtedly examining every visible nook and cranny in Umir's walled gardens. I suspected she had unsheathed and now held the sword across her saddlebow. That belief was confirmed when I caught a metallic flash of light thrown against the white-painted walls.
I halted the stud beside the fountain, marking how much room there was for him to pivot and take off if given the order. Del knew better than to crowd him, so there was no chance of a collision. I reached down to the pouch behind my right leg and undid the thong, flipping back the flap.
"Umir!" I shouted, as the stud rang a shod hoof off courtyard pavers. "Umir the Ruthless!"
As expected, it was a servant who came out to see what the ruckus was all about.
I greeted him politely. "Now, go fetch your master. Tell him we have business to transact, he and I."
The servant opened his mouth to refuse—I looked about as disreputable now as I did when Rafiq and friends had brought me in—then thought better of it. He departed.
After making us wait just long enough to notice, Umir put in an appearance. He wore a costly gold-striped robe, gem-weighted belt, soft kidskin house slippers. His expression was austere. "I do not conduct business out here in the heat and dust." His eyes assessed my condition, found it lacking. "I am a man of refinement."
Cheerfully, I told him what he could do with his refinement. "You have someone here, Umir. A young man, name of Nayyib. In fact, you're very likely guesting him in the same room I occupied. Have you replaced the bedframe, yet, or is it still missing a leg?"
"I have no guests at present," Umir retorted. "All of the sword-dancers have left to look for you."
"Well, too bad for you I decided to come here on my own. Makes them all look kind of bad, doesn't it? Especially after I outdanced Musa." I flicked a glance past him, toward the depths of the house. "We've come for Nayyib. Have someone saddle his horse while someone else escorts him out here."
"Why should I do any such thing, Sandtiger?"
"Because you want your book back."
His eyes sharpened. "You have it? With you?"
I reached into the pouch, closed my hand on the cover, and dragged it out.
The tanzeer took a hungry step forward. "Give it to me!"
I smiled. "Nayyib first."
Umir turned and snapped out an order to an invisible servant. Then he swung back. "Let me have it."
I rested the fat book atop the saddle pommel. "Not until the kid is brought out here and is mounted on his horse."
"You don't have any idea what that book is!" Umir said. "Don't be a fool—let me have it!"
"No wonder you don't conduct business out here," I observed. "The sun boils yours brains."
"The boy is being brought!"
"Fine. Once he's mounted and on his way, you'll get your book back."