"We found you," Dabir offered. He picked up the lantern and walked over to the dead man, shining it down on him. "Come here, Ba.s.sam."

We both followed.

"Had you seen this man, before tonight?"

"Nay. Though I can't imagine paying attention to him were he not trying to kill me."

I grunted. So do all common men look to those from on high.

"Does he look like any of the men who attacked you the other night?"

"Eh...no. I'm fairly sure they weren't Berbers. One was a Turk."

"So you said. Did any of these men resemble the fellow driving the cart?"

"Nay-he was a Persian."

"So you said," Dabir repeated. "And it was a boy who dropped off the wine for you. I wonder why a murderer would hire entirely different folk for every attempt."

"Perhaps," Ba.s.sam offered, "he hires someone new whenever the other one fails."

I offered a thought of my own. "The attempts are getting more outlandish."

"Truly," Dabir agreed. He was rubbing the band of his ring as he fastidiously stepped around the blood pooling from the Berber. He then bent down on the fellow's right side and began a search through his garments.

"What is he looking for?" Ba.s.sam asked me.

"He will know when he finds it," I said shortly.

The dead man did not have much, as anyone might have guessed at first glance. Apart from a poorly sharpened knife and a handful of coins, there was a hunk of stale bread, a wine sack, and several sets of dice. Of greatest interest to Dabir was a folded piece of parchment paper that bore writing in a large, easily legible hand. Once Dabir was through with it, he pa.s.sed it up to me, and Ba.s.sam crowded in to read it. On it was written "Bet on Blue, 10 Dirhams," with the day's date and month recorded beneath.

"A gambling receipt," I said.

"From the Inn of the Two Palms," Dabir said. Adding, "Muwaffaq bin Hasim only hires folk with clear handwriting to draft his markers."

"So he is a gambler," Ba.s.sam said, sounding irritated again. "A lowlife-why else would he be a murderer?"

"You look but you do not see," Dabir told him.

I didn't see, either, but I wasn't about to let him know that. "You have discovered something."

"I have a theory," Dabir admitted, but would only shake his head when Ba.s.sam asked him what it might be.

"You are an infuriating man!" Ba.s.sam burst out. "Why will you not tell me what you are thinking?"

Dabir stared at him, and for a moment I thought my friend affronted. Then he pointed at Ba.s.sam. "You will have to try a little harder to be dead for the rest of the evening."

IV.

For the second time that night I ventured to the tavern where Samar danced, and for the second time I identified myself to the doorman, who let me in without comment. I peered at him as he yawned to see if the fellow had had his tongue cut out, but it was impossible to tell by lantern light. He presented me to that backstage room, which was opened by Samar's maid. She brightened in surprise at sight of me.

"Peace be upon you," I said. "Is your mistress here?"

The servant woman leaned against the door frame. "She dances before the guests. Is it she you came to see?"

I allowed a smile, for she was a fetching woman. "My friend Dabir has asked me to relay a message for her. I had hoped to deliver it in person. Do you know how long she will dance?"

"Nay; it depends in part on how well she is rewarded. If the men call for more dances and shower more coins, then she will carry on. She might be gone quite a long while," the woman added, sidling a little closer.

Such attention is pleasing to a man, but I knew better than to show interest in one such as her.

"Please pa.s.s on that Dabir would have liked to come, but that the man he was a.s.sisting, Ba.s.sam, has been attacked."

Instantly the woman's playful demeanor vanished, and she grew solemn, almost alarmed. "Attacked? How? Who?"

"Hired thugs," I said.

"And he is badly wounded?"

"I am no hakim," I said, "but his garments were covered in blood, and he had to be carried from the attack. Dabir is worried for him." All this was true, for we had rolled the fellow in the blood of the murderer I myself had slain, and had the bodyguards carry him from the a.s.sault so that word would spread. I took no pride in deception then or now, but I did not mind overmuch misleading someone whom I was sure had been party to lies herself.

The woman's face paled. "Excuse me," she said, and ran fleetly down the hall and around a corner. I followed into the darkness, and soon her slapping sandals were drowned out by the sound of flutes and tambours as she drew closer to a curtained doorway. She pushed through it; I waited outside, the fabric nudged just far enough for me to look out onto the room. She stepped around a long-legged drummer and waited along the edge of the performance area on my left while Samar swayed and shimmied with two other women. Men were there, gathered to drink and watch the dancing, but there was little to be seen of them beyond their outlines. It is true that in Frankistan and Constantinople folk drink wine sometimes to quench their thirsts, but here, in the lands of the true faith, misguided men break G.o.d's commandment only to become drunk. Thus these shadows slouched and leaned back on the low couches.

The servant hissed at Samar, who finally spun, glaring daggers, and came over. They exchanged whispers and Samar's head drew back as though a snake had bitten her, then both came through the curtain. I stepped aside.

Samar was even more beautiful in her finery, though her lovely face was drawn into a scowl, and she stopped short at sight of me.

"It is true? Ba.s.sam is dead?"

"That I cannot say," I admitted. "But there was enough blood on him to fill a living man."

Samar cursed more violently than some soldiers I have known, but she did not seem especially sad. Her eyes centered on me. "Dabir is with him? He has sent for hakims?"

"I am sure Ba.s.sam is being well tended to."

She nodded shortly, then seemed to gather her thoughts. "I cannot talk with you now. I thank you for...this bitter news. It is all too much for me." She bowed her head. "I must withdraw, to grieve."

"Go with G.o.d," I said.

Again I spoke with the door man, and then met up with Dabir, who waited in the darkness without. He asked many questions as to Samar's demeanor and actions, all the while watching that back entrance. We were rewarded, for before he had finished querying, two cloaked female forms hurried from the place, the mute guardsman walking with them, hand on a naked blade.

"Were I a betting man," Dabir said quietly to me as we watched their retreating backs, "I would wager they walk for the Inn of the Two Palms."

"Why do you say that?"

"Call it gambler's intuition. Come, Asim. We must follow discreetly."

Follow we did, into The Dregs, a suburb south of the city through which goods flow but nothing good remains, and soon advanced toward a worn two-story inn. A wooden placard showing a pair of palm trees hung over the large archway our quarry scurried beneath.

"Now what?" I asked.

"We give them just a few moments," Dabir answered, as if distracted. He turned, and at a sound behind us I spun, hand to sword.

Up walked two men with their cloaks drawn up to hood their faces. If they meant to conceal their ident.i.ties they did a fair job, although they looked altogether suspicious even in this neighborhood.

"What are you two doing?" Ba.s.sam's voice came from one of the cloaks. After his speech, I recognized his gait.

Dabir was stricken with horror, and motioned for Ba.s.sam to hurry after him. The four of us retreated behind a wagon sitting in the dark street.

"I told you to remain in your home!" Dabir hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to come see what happened," Ba.s.sam said diffidently.

"How will word spread of your death if you're walking the street?" Dabir's clenched hands were shaking, and he looked at me as if he needed an audience for his disbelief.

"I could kill him," I offered.

Ba.s.sam held up his hands. "Ubu and I are disguised. No one will-"

I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in closer, for a group could be heard approaching along the street. From Ba.s.sam's gasp I think he might have been afraid I was drawing him onto a knife.

What should we see next, but four women, likewise garbed in hooded robes, each warded by men-at-arms-bald ones, squat ones, hairy ones-each of them watching the shadows as well as the other folk who were advancing now from every direction, some holding folded-up pieces of paper very much like that we'd confiscated from the corpse.

"Why, that's Rana," Ba.s.sam said quietly. I pulled him back down. The four of us, Dabir, myself, the idiot, and his bodyguard Ubu, watched through the wagon wheel spokes as everyone converged upon the tavern and walked inside.

"Rana?" I asked.

"Daughter to Quadi Bashir. Lovely girl. What's she doing here, Dabir?"

Dabir put his finger to his lips, for Ba.s.sam had spoken loudly. "Is she someone you used to court?"

Ba.s.sam grinned.

"And these others?" Dabir asked him softly. "Are any of them known to you?"

Ba.s.sam's handsome forehead wrinkled as he stared. "That's..."

"Softly. Yes or no will do."

"Yes-a hundred times yes."

There may not have been a hundred women, though there were probably a dozen or more, with attendants or other family members. And as they drew near I overheard some asking if they'd heard how Ba.s.sam had died and asking whether or not orange or red had gotten him.

"G.o.d gives," Dabir said. "If I'd known how well this was going to work, I'd have told Captain Fakhir to get here sooner."

"By Allah," Ba.s.sam said. "Do you suppose-do you think they were betting on who would kill me?"

"Yes," Dabir snapped.

"He's quick," I said, then shook my head, marveling.

"Well-that's just...that's..." Ba.s.sam was actually at a loss for words.

From within the inn came the sounds of voices raised in anger.

"Troubling?" Dabir offered. "Vexing? Irritating?"

"Disappointing," Ba.s.sam said finally. And he climbed to his feet, casting back his cloak.

"What are you doing?" Dabir asked him as we rose to pull him down.

"I'm going to give them the surprise of their lives." He started forward. "Come, Ubu."

Ba.s.sam did not hear me draw. Ubu's eyes flicked up and he went for his own weapon, but by the time his sword was already half out, I'd hammered the back of Ba.s.sam's head with the flat of my blade, and he went down with a groan.

Ba.s.sam was not completely unconscious, as you might think would happen from various tales, but he was groaning and stunned, which was all that I'd intended. I leveled the sword at Ubu, who was showing me his teeth. "That was for his own good. Do you truly want to go alone against fifty men who've bet on killing your master?"

Ubu considered that, his sword still half drawn, then eyed the point of my curved blade. "No," he conceded.

"Guard him," Dabir instructed, "and await Captain Fakhir. He a.s.sured me that he would soon arrive." Dabir turned to me. "Ba.s.sam was right about one thing-these folk will not long remain in one place." He pulled forth the receipt he'd found on the Berber. "Let us go talk with them."

I did not know what that would avail us, but after a last warning look to Ubu I followed them into the tavern.

The long rectangular room was not quite crowded to bursting, but there were many folk there, aye, both men and women, and from various cla.s.ses. The more well-to-do were crowded about the front, near Samar. Many of the men wore blades. One portly fellow was standing upon a stool, trying to calm a ma.s.s of folk who were all shouting and waving their arms. Near at hand a reedy man clutched at a sheaf of paper, all but cowering beside a deadly looking Nubian whose blade was up.

So intent were the shouting folk that they paid us no heed. After all, it was dark, there were but a few lanterns in the place, and the crowd had been growing steadily over the last few minutes. Why be suspicious of two more men?

"I cannot authorize any payments out until the death is confirmed," the heavyset man on the stool was saying. He had a booming voice and one drooping eye.

"What confirmation do you need?" one gruff fellow said. "The whole city has heard he was carried back to his home, covered in blood."

"It has not said he is dead," Droopy-eye countered. "Friends, we cannot be premature. Let us wait until the morrow, and-"

"You mean to keep it, Muwaffaq," a woman shouted at him, and others chimed in as well.

"I still want to know who authorized the attack without informing me!" Samar called over the mob. "If we are business partners, you owe it to me-"

"I owe you nothing, Samar!" Muwaffaq rounded on her. "Nothing!"

So intense was this denunciation that the crowd quieted somewhat. Muwaffaq's eyes shifted as he seemed to consider options. He held up his hands. Low, discontented mumbling continued, but he spoke with authority. "Friends-you have wondered how it is Ba.s.sam survived so many attempts unscathed? I shall tell you! Samar has been sending him warnings!"