The Thin Executioner

you go around questioning honest Um Aineh.”

“I will hold my tongue in the future, my lord,” Tel Hesani said stiffly, and left his next comment — that he didn’t believe the pair were Um Aineh — unsaid.

Making himself as comfortable as he could, Jebel lay down, closed his eyes, and tried to drown out the noise and stench of the inn so that he could hopefully grab some sleep and escape the rotten squalor of Shihat in his dreams.

CHAPTER TEN

A roar jolted Jebel out of his fitful sleep. “Cheats!” someone bellowed, and it was followed by the sound of a smashing plate or mug.

Jebel’s head snapped up. He saw the Um Safafaha who’d confronted him earlier, on his feet now, face flushed, pointing a trembling finger at Masters Bush and Blair. It was late, and the inn was quieter than it had been, most of its patrons asleep on the floor. But there were still several people drinking at the bar, and three other gamblers at the table with the Um Safafaha and Jebel’s new friends. All eyes were now on the towering savage, eager to see what would happen next.

“Cheats!” the Um Safafaha roared again.

Master Bush shook his head and sighed. “Some men just cannot accept the cruel misfortune of their cards,” he said.

“A tragedy,” Master Blair murmured. “To play in the expectation of winning every hand…”

“Not every hand,” the Um Safafaha snarled. “But I ain’t won a decent hand since you sat down. Nobody has.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” said Master Bush. “If I recall correctly, you’ve won four or five times in just the last couple of hours.”

“Nothing pots,” came the growled response. “We’ve all had little wins, but you two have won every major hand.”

“He has a point,” one of the other gamblers said, and Jebel felt the mood shift. Sleepers were nudged awake. One man calling foul was the start of a fight, but if others agreed with him, it could turn into a lynching.

“Pick up your belongings,” Tel Hesani whispered. Jebel looked around and saw that the slave had already put his own pack together. “Do it without a fuss. Then walk to the door, but stay close to the wall and keep your eyes on the gamblers — act like you’re moving forward for a better view.”

“We can’t leave now,” Jebel objected. “They might need our help.”

“They’re more than capable of helping themselves,” hissed Tel Hesani.

“But—” Jebel began.

“The people here think we’re their associates,” Tel Hesani said. “If Bush and Blair are hanged, we’ll hang too.”

Jebel didn’t want to abandon the traders, but he didn’t want to end up with his neck in a noose either. So he picked up his bags as Tel Hesani had commanded, and they slid from their benches and began to steal their way to the door.

At the table, Masters Bush and Blair weren’t panicking. In fact, they acted like this was no more than a minor inconvenience.

“I think we are no longer welcome,” Master Bush said.

“Should we retire to our mats?” Master Blair asked.

“Don’t bother,” the Um Safafaha laughed. “You won’t be needing them.”

“But we paid for them,” said Master Bush. “If we’re not to use them, we should be entitled to a refund.”

“We’ll put it towards the cost of burying you,” the Um Safafaha said.

The other three gamblers stood and backed away from the table. People rose from their mats and joined them, forming a purposeful half-circle. Masters Bush and Blair didn’t react, except to casually gather their winnings.

“I’m sure you good gentlemen won’t object if we bag the swagah,” Master Blair said.

“It will save you a job once you’ve hung us up to dry,” Master Bush added.

“Go ahead,” one of the gamblers grinned. “We like men who can see the light side of their own execution.”

“Oh, we believe you have to be able to laugh at everything in this world, don’t we, Master Blair?” Master Bush said.

“Indeed,” Master Blair agreed. He finished bagging his share of the coins. “Laughter keeps the world turning. That’s why my partner and I spend much of our time… I wouldn’t say mastering… but learning new tricks. We like to amuse those we meet. Perhaps you’d like to see a trick before you take us outside — assuming you’re not planning to hang us from the rafters in here.”

“Go ahead,” the Um Safafaha cackled. “Perform all the tricks you like, long as they ain’t vanishing tricks.”

The crowd laughed. Jebel, who was almost at the door, wondered if the Masters meant to joke their way out of their predicament. He didn’t think that they could, but he silently wished them the best of luck as he reached for the handle.

A man stepped in his way. Jebel looked up and saw that it was the innkeeper. “Don’t leave now,” he growled. “You’ll miss all the fun.”

Jebel looked back at Tel Hesani. The slave glanced around. Nobody else had spotted them. The innkeeper was the only one aware that they existed. But if they tried to knock him aside, they’d draw the attention of the mob. Tel Hesani gave Jebel a signal, and they took a couple of steps away from the door.

Master Blair had fished a small ball out of a pocket. It was a peculiar mesh ball, made of interlacing strands of a fine material. There was a metal triangle in the middle. “Observe,” Master Blair said, tilting the ball and squeezing it. The triangle slipped through a gap between strands. He caught it, then poked it back into the ball, shook it, and teased the triangle through another gap.

“I don’t think much of that,” the Um Safafaha grunted.

“You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Master Blair said. And with a fast flick of his wrist, he sent the ball flying at the larger man’s throat. It struck him just below his Adam’s apple and bounced off. The Um Safafaha started to bring his hands up to protect himself, then realized he had nothing to fear. He looked down at the ball, which had landed on the table and was rolling back to Master Blair, and sneered.

“Is that it?” one of the gamblers asked, disappointed.

“Almost,” Master Blair said. “But if you look closely, you’ll see that the triangle has disappeared.”

“That’s supposed to make us laugh?” the gambler snorted.

“No,” Master Blair said, then pointed at the Um Safafaha. “That is.”

The Um Safafaha began to choke. Eyes bulging, he staggered backwards and fell over a table, scratching at his throat, gasping for breath, blood bubbling from his mouth. He tried to rise again but didn’t make it. As a huge gout of blood burst from his lips, he collapsed, shook, then went still.

“And so the giant was brought low,” Master Bush muttered, and stood. He was holding two mesh balls similar to Master Blair’s, one in each hand. “Does anybody else want to argue the finer points of the game with us?”

Nobody answered. The eyes of those around the traders were full of hate — not because they’d killed the Um Safafaha but because they had cheated the mob of a hanging.

Master Blair took his time picking up the bags of swagah and putting them in his pockets. When he was finished, he yawned and stretched. “I could do with a good night’s sleep, Master Bush. Shall we take to our mats now?”

“I would advise against it,” Master Bush said. “The air is rife with treachery. I believe our sleep would be disturbed by agents of vengeful wrath.”