The Waters of Eternity by Howard Andrew Jones

Author:Howard Andrew Jones
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Historical, fiction
ISBN: 9781429956956
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2011-11-22T05:00:00+00:00

Marked Man

I

It was late in the day when Bassam ibn Habbab called at our residence, and he was dressed in the finest silk. All of his garb flaunted his wealth, from the turban glittering with threads of gold to the sandals decorated with shards of gemstones. His black beard was oiled so profusely that the hairs looked wet.

Yet gone from him was his typical insouciance. He did not jest that I was a nursemaid as he had once at the governor’s banquet, or make sly reference to Dabir’s love of books rather than women. Politely he refused refreshment, then sat there across from us, and by Allah it was almost a pleasure to see someone with such a high opinion of himself looking so distressed. Bassam, you see, was one of the wealthiest young men in Mosul, and famous for his extravagances.

Even after the usual pleasantries were exchanged it took a moment for Bassam to overcome an uncharacteristic hesitation. “I have monies at my disposal to hire whatever I need.” His light baritone, usually ringing with confidence, sounded uncertain. “But my own watchmen have failed me, and I think I need something more than…” He looked over to me and I bristled. “A bodyguard.” He hesitated for a moment more, managing finally, “I think what I need is advice. I have always enjoyed Asim’s tales of your adventures.”

This was news to me, for I had endured frequent jibes from Bassam while relating them at the governor’s banquets.

“And I think,” Bassam continued, “that you might be the man for the job, Dabir. How much do you charge for your services?”

Usually Dabir waved any sort of fee away, for we were well cared for by a generous salary awarded us by the caliph. This time, though, he thoughtfully rubbed his beard. “For me, nothing. But the Tower of Iskander is in need of a new roof over its library annex.”

There were several colleges within Mosul, but Iskander’s school was Dabir’s pet project, owing to its supply of texts, which Dabir had seen to augmenting.

“Say no more,” Bassam told him proudly. “I shall see that the matter is done, and properly.”

“That is very generous,” Dabir replied. “Now please. What has brought you to us?”

“Someone is trying to kill me.” Bassam paused to gather his thoughts, then added, “There have been four attempts. Well, at least four. Now that I think of it…”

Bassam looked as though he meant to keep talking, but paused as Dabir held up his hand.

“Do you suspect who it might be?” my friend asked.

Bassam grinned. “Who does not like me?”

“Your tongue is sharp,” I said, more gruffly than I intended. “Maybe it has wounded the wrong man.”

“Harmless jests,” he protested with a shrug and a short laugh. “The folk of Mosul are not so thin-skinned.”

I but grunted.

Dabir shot me a look, by which I understood that I was to remain quiet. “Tell me of these attempts.”

Bassam shifted on his cushion. “Well, I didn’t think much of it at the time, but last week I was accosted late at night while coming from the Tavern of the Gray Stallion.

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