"Excellent idea, Lord."
Haroun walked with a man named Hassan who had taken a saber's bite in his thigh. "Unclean!" he moaned. "Lepers!" In a softer voice, he told his companion, "I'm starting to enjoy this."
The nervous mobs scattered ahead of them, reformed behind. People cursed them. Some muttered that the Disciple had extended his protection too far, that lepers should not be allowed to befoul the City of God. One overly bold child chucked a clod. Haroun shook a gnarly stick and howled incoherently. The child scampered away. Haroun laughed. "This is fun."
"Have you ever known a leper, Lord?"
"No. Why?"
"It's no fun for them. They rot. They stink. Their flesh falls away. They don't feel anything. If they're not careful they can injure themselves fatally. That happened to my sister."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Hassan." What else could he say?
Bassam, a long-time Royalist agent, had prepared them a place in the cellar beneath his house. Something of an innovation for a poor shopkeeper, he had begun digging it the day of their arrival. He had made no effort to conceal the work, going so far as to brag that it would be the finest cellar in the city.
He had lined its walls with sun-baked brick, then had erected a cross wall that concealed a narrow portion.
The surviving assassins moved in. Haroun's agent started bricking up the hole through which they had entered. "I stocked food and water for a month, Lord. Nothing tasty, but it'll keep you. I expect the stench will bother you most. People would wonder if I dumped too many chamberpots. Your fresh air will come through that wooden grate. You can see the street through it. Try not to get caught peeking."
Bassam left one loose block that could be removed for communication purposes. He did not take it out again for four days. "They've searched the house," he announced. "They're searching them all. El Murid has decreed that no one will enter or leave Al Rhemish till you're caught. Mowaffak Hali died yesterday, but you can't claim him. It was gangrene. He was attacked by Guildsmen coming home. The same band that accounted for Karim and the Scourge of God a few years ago."
"That damned Bragi," Haroun muttered. "Who told him he could leave camp?"
"Begging your pardon, Lord," Beloul said. "Did you think you could tell Guildsmen what to do? Consider their viewpoint."
"I can see it, Beloul. I don't have to like it."
"There's more, Lord," Bassam said. "El Murid rescinded the ban against shaghûnry. He admitted he's been trying to recruit them since his God visited the Shrines. The first division of el Nadim's army passed Al Rhemish today. He sent all he had with it. Lucky for us."
"Send down some wine," el Senoussi muttered. "We'll celebrate Hali's passing and mourn everything else."
"Wine is proscribed," Bassam retorted. "I follow the Disciple's law to the letter."
"No sense of humor, eh?"
Bassam ignored Shadek. "You may be here a while, Lord. He's damned angry. The Invincibles prowl day and night. You can't travel a hundred feet without being questioned."
Bassam paid his second visit three days later. The Invincibles had discovered Sidi's body. "He's more excited than ever, Lord. Crazy with grief and rage. Someone whispered in the right ears. News of the boy's plot reached him the same afternoon they found the corpses. He's tearing the city apart looking for the conspirators. They've caught a bunch trying to get out. The Invincibles are making them sing. The Disciple thinks they're hiding you."
"I wish him luck. I hope he hangs them all." Haroun laughed wickedly.
"I won't be down for a while, unless there's crucial news. I have to mind the shop every second. Half of our good citizens have turned thief."
Nine days passed. The cellar began to wear. Nerves frayed. Tempers flared. It promised to get worse. Haroun collected the weapons and piled them in a corner. He and Beloul took turns guarding them.
Bassam came in the middle of the night. "It's gotten no safer, Lord. If anything, it's worse. They're calling it the Reign of Terror. The Invincibles have become a pack of mad dogs. Their killings make less sense every day. I don't know how long it'll last. People are getting hungry. There'll be riots. And my own days may be numbered. If they take one of my men and he talks... "
"Then we'd better get out now."
"You wouldn't have a prayer. They'd cut you down before you got out of sight of the shop. It's worth a man's life to walk the streets in broad daylight, Lord. Sit tight and hope it runs its course. Or that the riots start before they get on to us. They might even get sick of it themselves."
"And if they do take you?"
"I'll hold out as long as I can."
"And we'll be buried down here without knowing anything is wrong," el Senoussi growled. "Like sleepy birds caught in their nests."
"We'll fix that. Right now." In less than an hour Bassam rigged a bell that would ring at a tug on any of several cords concealed around the shop. Its installation required making a small hole through his expensive new wooden floor. He bemoaned the vandalism the whole time he was drilling.
"I won't ring unless I'm sure I'm caught," he said. "Can't guarantee I'll be able to then. I'll only do it if it won't give you away. If I do ring, you're on your own. I don't know how long I can hold out. I've never faced any real test of courage."
"Of course you have, Bassam. No coward would have hidden himself in the Disciple's shadow all this time."
"One last thing, Lord. El Nadim is camped outside town. His is the last division of the eastern army. It'll be a tough spring for the Disciple's enemies out west."
"That's the way it looks."
"That's a good man," Shadek said a moment after Bassam departed. "And a scared one. He's sure he won't last much longer."
"He's the best," Haroun agreed. "Beloul? You think our fat friend failed?"
"It does look like his luck ran out."
That cellar became worse than any prison. A prisoner had no hope, no essential belief in his existence as a free man, no knowledge that he could break out at will. The days were interminable. The nights were longer. The stench was as bad as promised. Haroun began worrying about disease. He made everybody take turns exercising.
Bassam seemed to have forgotten they existed.
Twice they heard the mutter of searchers beyond the false foundation wall. They held their breaths and weapons and waited for the worst.
The bell tinkled gently eight days after its installation.
Its voice was so soft Haroun was not immediately sure it was not just his nerves.
"They've taken him!" Shadek snarled. "Damn!"
"How long will he last?" Beloul asked.
"I don't know," Haroun replied. "He was right, in a way. Good intentions don't count for much if there's a hot iron gnawing on you. Hoist me up to the grate."
He peered into the dusty street. He watched the white robes take Bassam away. They had bound him so he could not fight and force them to kill him.
"They did get him. Damn! Brave in the shop and brave in the Shrines, when they're breaking your fingers and toes, are two different things."
"We'd better move out."
"Not before dark. We wouldn't have a prayer before then. Get with the exercises. We'll need to be loose."
"At least let's get out where we can give them a fight if they come back," Shadek suggested.
"All right. Knock the wall apart. Carefully! Keep the noise down. We'll put it back together. Make them break it down to find out if we're gone or not."
The foul tempers and abysmal morale evaporated, to be replaced by anxiety.