Bush and Blair strolled through the graveyard. Bush was whistling softly and Blair was humming. Jebel recognized the tune, an old ballad, “The Merry Dance of the Dead.” He didn’t like it here and hoped they wouldn’t stay long. But why enter in the first place? Were they meeting someone? Did they plan to perform some dark rite involving the spirits of the departed?
They stopped by one of the largest mausoleums. There were no names on it, but the faces of the dead had been carved on a plaque on the eastern side of the tomb. There were five of them, all men. No women were buried here. Women were second-class citizens in Abu Saga and were hardly ever afforded the luxury of a burial when they died.
“A glum bunch,” Blair noted, studying the five carved, stern faces.
“But wealthy,” Bush mused, then tapped the side of the mausoleum with his foot. “Up you go.”
Jebel stared at the trader. “Up where?” Bush pointed to the roof. “What for?”
Blair kicked him. “You’re not here to ask questions. Get up there quick, or we’ll leave you behind when we go — with the rest of the dead!”
Jebel judged the height of the roof, then jumped and grabbed for the edge. It was covered in snow, and his fingers slipped. He tried again, but the same thing happened. “I’ll need a leg up,” he said.
Bush locked his hands together and bent. Jebel put his right foot on the hands, bounced a couple of times, then jumped. Bush pushed and Jebel landed on his stomach. He started to slide off, but Blair grabbed his legs and thrust him forward. When Jebel was secure, he stood shakily and looked around. The graveyard was even creepier from up there.
“What now?” he asked, eager to finish whatever business they were here for.
“There should be a small window in the middle of the roof,” Bush said.
“I can see only snow,” Jebel said.
“Then edge forward on your hands and knees until you find it,” snapped Blair.
Jebel advanced slowly, scraping snow out of his way, tapping the roof. He soon found the window and cleared the snow from it. It was circular. The glass was stained with various colors, but he could see through it into the tomb. There were five large coffins within, made of stone and metal.
Jebel retreated to the edge of the roof and told Bush and Blair what he’d found. “Very good,” said Blair. “You’re not a complete idiot. Now for the next step…”
“Perhaps a little information about Um Saga burial practices would be useful at this point, Master Blair?” Bush suggested.
“Why not?” Blair grinned. “Many people think that the Um Saga are godless, as most of them don’t openly worship any higher force. That isn’t actually the case. They do have gods, and they believe in an afterlife, but they think that you have to buy a place by the side of your favored deity. The rich get to enjoy the trappings of the next world, while the poor fade away to nothing when they die.
“To ensure his place in the afterlife, an Um Saga must be buried in style, with rings, gems, gold-headed canes, bracelets, that sort of thing. The riches act as a heavenly bribe. That’s why there are only mausoleums here — the poor are simply dumped in an unmarked hole and left to rot. There’s no middle ground in Abu Saga.”
“It seems harsh to civilized folk like us,” Bush murmured, “but I suppose it acts as a powerful incentive to make the most of your opportunities in this life.”
“Violations of crypts are rare,” Blair went on. “The Um Saga are savages, but they have great respect for their wealthy dead — they look upon them the same way that your people look upon their famous warriors and executioners. To help protect the dead from foreign thieves, they never talk of the buried treasures with anyone who isn’t Um Saga. The gods are supposed to strike down dead those who make mention of their customs to an outsider.”
“But even the wrath of the gods can’t deter some loose tongues,” Bush chuckled. “We learned of these treasure troves fifteen years ago, from a not-so-dearly departed colleague. We’ve made a pilgrimage here most years since, always in winter, when people are less inclined to visit the dead — meaning they usually only discover evidence of our raid long after we’re gone.”
“Even if they discover it sooner,” Blair said, “they’re less likely to give chase when winds are blowing and snow is falling.”
The pair smiled at Jebel. He’d turned as cold inside as he was without. “No,” he croaked. “I won’t do it. I can’t.”
“Of course you can,” said Bush. “The windows are normally too small for Master Blair and me. We have to chip out part of the roof around them. You, however, should be able to fit through easily, being so thin.”
“No,” Jebel said again. “I won’t disturb the sleep of the dead. The gods would condemn me.”
“What do the gods care about Um Saga?” Blair snorted. “Come on, boy, it’s not like we’re asking you to desecrate the tombs of your own people.”
“Please,” begged Jebel. “I’ll do anything else. Or you can sell me. But don’t—”
“You wouldn’t bring ten silver swagah,” Bush hissed. “And we’ve no other use for a sniveling Um Aineh brat. So it’s this or we slice you up into pieces and leave your scraps for the vultures.”
“You wouldn’t be the first child we’ve killed,” said Blair coldly.
“But I won’t be able to get out,” Jebel cried. “I’ll be trapped.”
“Not with this,” Blair said, throwing something up onto the roof. It was a rope ladder attached to a steel bar with flat ends. “Feed that through the window. The bar remains on top. If by some chance you pull it down after yourself, don’t worry. Master Bush or I will climb up and help you out.”
Jebel could see that the pair were not to be swayed. Moaning softly, he crawled to the window, gazed into the gloom of the mausoleum, then started smashing the glass.
“Stop that!” Bush cried. “You might attract the townsfolk!”
Jebel paused and thought it over. This could be his chance to escape….
Blair seemed to read the boy’s mind, because even as Jebel was preparing to hammer at the window and scream, he said, “You’d be tied to a tree and left to die if the Um Saga caught you raiding one of their tombs.”
“They wouldn’t listen to your pleas of innocence,” Bush warned.
“And it wouldn’t be a quick, easy death by freezing,” added Blair. “They’d light a fire beside you and leave you for the insects that infest many of the trees in this region.”
“They chew through wood easily enough,” Bush said. “So as you can imagine, flesh doesn’t present much of a barrier to them.”
Jebel took a deep breath, settled his nerves, then said, “How am I supposed to break through the glass if I don’t smash it?”
“One end of the bar has been sharpened,” Blair said. “Slice through the glass around the rim and make a small hole, then start cutting around the edges. When you’re nearly through, grip the glass through the hole, so it doesn’t fall.”
“I don’t have any gloves,” said Jebel. “The glass will cut me.”
“You’re a big boy,” Bush laughed. “You’ll heal.”
“But blood will make the glass slippery. I might drop it.”
There was silence, then a single leather glove came flying up. Jebel pulled it on quickly. The tiny measure of relief that it brought from the cold was delicious. He clutched the hand to his chest, eyes closed, relishing this smallest of comforts. Then, exhaling shakily, he chipped away at a section of the glass and scraped the end of the bar along the rim, inserting his gloved hand in plenty of time to make sure the glass didn’t fall.
Once he’d removed the glass, Jebel lowered himself through the open window. When he was at chest level, he brought the bar in close, making sure both ends were planted firmly, then dropped, holding on to the bar. He came to his full reach, hung there a moment, then let go. He fell a few feet and landed neatly.
Jebel stood and let his eyes adjust. When he was able to see, he stared at the five coffins, waiting for the lids to lift and the dead to attack him, as they did in stories he had heard about graverobbers. When that didn’t happen, he crept to the nearest coffin and examined it. The lid wasn’t bolted down, and although it looked heavy, there was a layer of smooth metal between case and lid which made it easy to slide it forward and back.
Jebel took several deep breaths before he worked up the courage to touch the coffin. It was as cold as he’d expected. There were engravings on the lid, as well as an etching of the dead man’s face. Jebel ignored these and pushed the lid. It slid sideways smoothly. He let it get halfway across, then stopped and forced himself to look down at the face of the corpse.
