The Sultan considered the many possibilities. The hundreds of tenuous spiderwebs of intrigue that dominated palace life. "But what has this to do with the dagger of Hassan al Sabah?"
Bu Ali moved closer on his knees. "Lord, is it not known that the Old Man of the Mountain always demands a price for the continuance of life, and that that price is not always gold. It can sometimes be paid in the form of a service. Perhaps this stranger is to be the tool of that service?"
The Sultan's eyes grew narrow with suspicion. It was true there had been much bad blood between him and the Grand Vizier, whose personal power grew with each passing day.
From behind the curtain the woman spoke for the first time, voice deep and husky. "Listen to him. If he is right and the Vizier has made a pact with Hassan al Sabah, his once good friend, to take your life then you must act first. If he has not then what is the value of one more slave. You will lose nothing by taking precautions."
He waved the woman to be silent. To Bu Ali he spoke. "What do you suggest? That the slave Kasim be killed?"
Bu Ali looked at the Sultan. The room they were in was rich with ornaments and bright with many lamps. By the glow of these lamps he spun out his plot…
When he had finished, the Sultan nodded in approval. "That is better than killing him. And if he was indeed to be an assassin's tool it would just warn them. By this plan there could be no true suspicion that we suspected him of anything at all. You please me Mameluke. You shall be rewarded of course… if all goes well."
Then from behind the screen the woman spoke once more, and added darkly, "And if you fail, or speak of this night, then for your reward you shall be given to the women of the harem for their pleasure."
Bu Ali shuddered; he was not a coward as had been proven in battle many times. But he understood all too well what was meant by pleasure for the women of the seraglio.
Casca, meanwhile, was enjoying a pleasure of a different sort. The affair of the Rh'shan had shocked the young Arab into a near-sober state. He had joined Casca after finding out his rescuer's name, bringing with him a small amphora of a drink he insisted Casca sample. The cafe was back to normal, and Miriam was beginning her dance. Eyes on her, Casca lifted the amphora.
"What in Hades is this?" In his time he had drunk some pretty weird concoctions, but this was like nothing he had ever tasted. Strong. Like a dozen wines all rolled into one.
The young Arab laughed, enjoying the look on Casca's face. "You like it?"
"Like it? Hell, it burns like fire. What is it?"
"Wine."
"Wine? Not like any I've ever drunk."
"Well, it's been, shall we say, improved."
"Improved?"
"Run through an alembic. The weak part left behind. We're drinking only the strong."
Alembic? Casca didn't know what that was. But whatever it was it sure made for the most potent wine he had ever consumed. He lost most of his interest in Miriam's dance and settled down to do a little serious drinking.
Alone. The young Arab was not even halfway through his own amphora before he passed out…
Casca fully intended to make arrangements for bedding Miriam after she finished her dance, but the strange wine of the young Arab did odd things to him. He decided he needed a walk in the night air to clear his head before he came back to bed the exotic dancer.
He had just turned into an alley to throw up when, from both sides, heavy ropes snared him and something big and hard smashed into his skull. Just before he lost consciousness he was aware that a thick leather bag was being lowered roughly over his head.
CHAPTER SIX
Faint music.
Distant laughter.
The smell of perfume… women's perfume.
Damn! I've died and gone to Paradise.
Casca opened his eyes.
Bright lights. Beautifully carved walls. Well, damn. The Muslims had it right after all. Somehow he had died and gone to Paradise, and here he was in the Muslim Paradise, because this was obviously a very, very fancy heavenly whorehouse.
Then reality kicked him in the butt.
Wherever he was, and he had no idea where nor how he had gotten here, it sure as hell wasn't Paradise.
He was stripped buck naked and tied to a marble column in what he recognized now as the anteroom in somebody's very fancy palace, an anteroom apparently very close to the seraglio. Standing around him were half a dozen armed eunuch guards, a snaky-eyed son of a bitch in very rich robes of Chin (obviously somebody of very big importance), Bu Ali, and Mamud.
"… tried to get into the seraglio," Snake-Eyes was saying. "Mamud, such discipline is deplorable."
"My lord-"
Snake-Eyes raised his hand. "Spare me your excuses or apologies. Yesterday was a holy day, and Allah — Blessed be His Name — has filled my soul with mercy and compassion. Even for a Frankish dog. Had this happened tomorrow, when such excess of mercy would have left my soul, I would have taken the utmost pleasure in seeing that the death of this dog be arranged so that the pain would match the severity of the crime. But tonight… ah… tonight… A simple little beheading." Snake-Eyes smiled. "As a matter of fact…" The smile became even greasier, the eyes even more cunning.
The damn fag is crazy, Casca thought.
"As a matter of fact, perhaps not even a beheading. My mercy is great this night. And besides, I do admire the nerve of the Frankish dog. Yet I would not want to encourage another to try the same thing. Killing him is too public a matter. Disappearance, I think. Ah, yes. Disappearance. We will send him to the copper mines of Khorramshahr. There he will be of value to us. And there no one will believe any fantastic story he may tell of trying to slip naked into the Sultan's seraglio."
Sultan! So that's who old Snake-Eyes was.
"My lord-"
Again the Sultan raised his jeweled hand to interrupt Mamud. "I know, Mamud. You have an investment in this piece of Frankish offal. It is not just that you should suffer loss. Therefore, here." He tossed the slaver a small leather purse taken from the folds of his garments. "I am sure this will more than cover the value of this slave."
"You are most generous, my lord."
"Yes. I am, am I not? And you will remember that when you serve us in the future, as you have so well in the past. Now I am bored. Guards! See that the Frankish dog is taken immediately to wherever such slave dogs go."
He turned and walked out of the room.
While the eunuchs were untying him, Casca caught one glimpse of the bemused look in Mamud's eyes.
He smells a rat. Wonder what in Hades this is all about…
Mamud bowed his way out of the Sultan's presence, wondering what game was being played and whether he should report this odd circumstance to Nizam al Mulk. There was definitely something most odd about the whole arrangement. Of course, he did not believe for an instant that Casca had ever even been close to the seraglio.
He never reached the slave barracks, of course. Outside the Sultan's palace Bu Ali had three of his Mamelukes, and they took custody of Casca from the eunuchs. At one point Mamud apparently started to say something to Casca but thought better of it. He had liked Kasim, but he knew it was much too risky and foolhardy to interfere in the plans of the Sultan. After all, Kasim was only a slave, a good one, but a slave nonetheless. He left, going alone down the street in the opposite direction to that taken by Bu Ali, the Mamelukes, and Casca.
Now, what…
Bu Ali had halted the group at the entrance to a dark alley. He motioned, and one of the Mamelukes took a sack from his shoulders and approached Casca.