The veil slung over his shoulder like a serape, Matt strolled along the line of booths, enjoying a brief moment of relaxation. The shopkeepers might be enmeshed in the toils of commerce, but he felt a holiday air about the bazaar, as though he were a tourist on vacation. He glanced over at a display of carvings—and felt a jolt that froze his head in place.
CHAPTER 20
Matt found himself staring at a slender stick of ebony about fifteen inches long inlaid with gilded astrological symbols. The gold was chipped here and there, the wood looked dusty and brittle, but the stick itself fairly screamed at him to pay attention.
“Ah, I see the sir is interested in this ancient artifact.” The merchant lifted the stick and held it out on his palms. “Rare it is, a relic found in the ruins of Ninevah. So excellent a ware should be worth its weight in gold—but I shall sell it to the sir for a mere ounce of silver.”
With a thump, Balkis landed on the ledge, purring and staring in fascination at the stick.
“Wondered where you’d gotten to,” Matt muttered. “So it called to you, too, huh?”
“Begone, foolish feline!” The merchant waved a hand at the little white cat. “Be off with you to find a fish head!”
Balkis, ordinarily the most circumspect of cats, laid her ears back and hissed. The merchant’s face darkened, and the waving hand balled into a fist.
“Oh, she’s not all that much trouble.” Matt picked up the little cat, who stayed frozen in her crouch, and set her on his shoulder. “Easy enough to get her out of the way. An ounce of silver, you say? It doesn’t look all that fine to me. How about half an ounce?”
Claws dug into his shoulder. Matt winced and tried to ignore them. Didn’t the silly kitten understand that if he didn’t haggle, he’d look suspicious?
Yes. Of course she understood that. But something about this trinket made her abandon her usual caution.
The shopkeeper’s eyes lit with greed, but he said, “Only half? Sir, that could not be a fraction of its worth! Only think, the Emperor of Assyria might once have held this very scepter! Nine-tenths of an ounce, perhaps.”
Matt upped his offer to six-tenths. The vendor launched into loud lamentation of how such a price would impoverish him, taking bread from the mouths of his children and leaving his wife only her single threadbare veil for the marketing. Matt listened with interest—after all, his area of study was comparative literature, and the man’s fiction techniques fascinated him. Finally, though, he saw Lakshmi returning from the well, so he boosted his offer to three-quarters of an ounce.
The merchant pounced on it and shoved the stick into Matt’s hand before he could change his mind.
Matt froze, eyes widening as he felt the power of the ebony stick tingling through his hand and up his arm. The merchant studied his face, beginning to think that perhaps he had settled for too little, so Matt fumbled another Indian coin out of his purse and pressed it into the man’s hand. “Here you go. Keep the change.” He suspected there wouldn’t be any, but didn’t want to have to wait around to discuss the issue. He hurried back to Lakshmi with the stick in his hand.
“What is that?” she asked.
“An excuse to loiter without seeming suspicious,” Matt told her. “Learn anything?”
“Well, the women have at least paid close attention to their conquerors,” Lakshmi told him, “and to the sorcerers and priests of Ahriman most of all, since they seem to be able to hold the soldiers in check if they wish.”
“All Mongol tribesmen?” Matt asked.
“Nay. From what the women say, they seem to be a hodgepodge of tribal magicians of every nation between Persia and China. There are even some taller men who wear clothes like those carved on the walls of the ruins of the ancient cities in Persia, but who speak a language like the merchants who come from India.”
“Antique Persians?” Matt felt excitement kindle. “They would be Aryans from the hills, still speaking the ancient Aveston language! If what I’ve heard about Arjasp is true, he was one of them!”
“Interesting.” Lakshmi’s tone held a promise of slow death. “There was even an Arab among these field sorcerers—an old man with a huge ring.”
“A ring?” Matt pounced on it. “Who lives in it?”
“My thought exactly,” Lakshmi said, “and I asked for all they knew about the man, but there was not much—only that he stays inside the city, leaving the other sorcerers to go out with the army.”
“Sounds like the local high priest,” Matt said. “Where’s he live?”
“He dwells in the mosque, which the invaders have defiled and turned to their own purposes. It is in my mind that we confront the man and learn what he knows.”
“Yes, that could be very profitable,” Matt agreed. “Unfortunately, it could also be very dangerous.”
“Are you afraid?” Lakshmi demanded.
“Frankly, yes,” Matt said, “but that’s not going to stop me. In fact, I’d say there’s no time like the present. Which way to the mosque?”
Lakshmi caught his sleeve in alarm. “Now? In the middle of the day?”
“When better?” Matt countered. “By their religion, midday should be the time when Ahura Mazda is strongest, since the sun is pouring down light.”
“And Ahriman should be at his weakest.” Lakshmi frowned beneath her veil, nodding. “Then, too, most of the army are miles from the city, marching to strike again at Damascus.”
“Which means the guard on this old Arab will be weaker now than when the city is crammed with soldiers.” Matt nodded. “Feel like a little sightseeing, Princess? I should think the central mosque would be a wonder to behold.”
“Let us see it,” Lakshmi agreed. She set down her water jug and walked off toward the minaret. Matt hurried to follow.
The mosque really was a wonder, faced with alabaster, its arches graceful, the geometric patterns of its tiles breathtaking in their beauty, the guards muscular, scowling, and stationed every thirty feet. Matt made loud noises like a hick from the sticks, totally overawed.
“The wonders of the East are breathtaking for a Frank, are they not?” Lakshmi’s tone was condescending.
“Sure are,” Matt said, “and the more I ooh and ahh, the less of a threat they’ll think I am. Sound impressed, Princess.”
Lakshmi stared at him in surprise, then turned back to stare at the mosque. “How tall it is! How pale its stones! Why, never could there have been such a wonder back home in Besuki!”
The nearest guard heard her and struggled to hide a complacent smile. He seemed to relax just the slightest bit.
They walked on around the mosque, exclaiming with wonder and delight, lulling the sentries’ suspicions past amusement and into boredom. Suddenly, though, Lakshmi froze, eyes wide in surprise, then shadowed by fear.
Instantly, Matt lowered his tone. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“He knows I am here,” Lakshmi answered, her own voice hushed and strained. “He knows what I am—and he has set his ring to enslave me! I can feel its power, pulling at me, burdening me, seeking to compel me to obey!”
Matt thought quickly, then said, “Well, you don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?”
Lakshmi whirled, staring at him, appalled. “Do you wish to see me enslaved? More, do you wish to have to do battle with me when that old impostor has me in thrall?”