They didn’t raid every night. Bush and Blair worked cautiously, never hitting a town where people might have been forewarned. After looting a graveyard, they would walk for at least two or three days, resting only to eat and sleep. When they had outpaced word of their vile misdeeds, they struck again.
Every couple of weeks they stopped at a town to bathe, relax, and stock up on supplies. Fellow travelers were rare in this part of Abu Saga, but they ran into some occasionally, usually traders on their way to market with rabbit or fox pelts. Bush and Blair always greeted the traders warmly. They shared their food and drink, traded generously — even when they had no need of the goods — and passed on tips about nearby towns, urging them not to try such and such a spot, or to definitely head for such and such a place.
Jebel was confused by this until he realized that the towns they criticized were those whose graveyards they had robbed. Bush and Blair believed in paying attention to even the smallest of details, which made a gloomy Jebel suspect that his forthcoming attempt to escape would be far from a roaring success.
From a purely professional point of view, Jebel had become an accomplished graverobber. He could be in and out of a mausoleum in minutes. He had learned to tell those worth robbing from those not worth bothering with, how to avoid guards and slip by them like a ghost, the difference between a real diamond and a fake. If he had been interested in pursuing this as a career, he couldn’t have wished for a finer education.
But one thing that hadn’t changed was his sense of shame. He despised himself for what he had to do. He still put a hand to the forehead of all those he robbed, begging their forgiveness. He had taught himself to smile around Bush and Blair and laughed at the jokes they made about the dead. He acted as if it was no different from common burglary. But he knew this fell far outside the bounds of all that was decent. This was the work of demons.
The snows worsened. Blizzards raged, with flakes the size of Jebel’s eyes, driven by powerful winds. Some days they had to stay huddled over a fire, waiting for a storm to die down. Even Bush and Blair were morose on such occasions, recalling tales of travelers who had been buried alive in snowdrifts. It was one of the hazards of life in Abu Saga, and every time they were snowed in, they wondered if they had seen their last clear sky.
Jebel dreamt a lot of home. Mostly he fixated on Debbat Alg, her beauty, the time he had kissed her. But her face kept changing. He found it hard to remember what color her eyes were, how she looked when she walked, what she wore. He’d be kissing her, only for her to turn into the leering Bush or Blair — Jebel couldn’t escape them even in his dreams.
He dreamt of his father and brothers sometimes, even Bastina. He recalled how she’d cried when he said farewell and the way she always sobbed at executions. Her tears had bewildered him, but he understood now. Bastina knew from her mother’s tales of their family’s past how ugly this world was, how cruel people could be. She wept for the same reasons Jebel sometimes cried in his sleep or while stealing from a corpse. In a strange way he now felt closer to the sour-faced girl than to any of the others he had left behind.
Jebel was seriously ill and often woke coughing. He wasn’t sleeping much and had fallen prey to another chill. He found it hard to keep food down and often didn’t bother with his meals. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was skinnier than ever. He could shrug off the tremors while walking, but when they stopped for the night he shook uncontrollably and moaned pitifully in his sleep.
“Perhaps we should find medicine for him,” Bush said one evening as the wind howled around them and snow threatened to quench their fire. “We’re not far from a town. We could…”
Blair shook his head. “If we start pampering him, it will never end. If he survives this, he’ll be all the tougher. If he doesn’t… well, I won’t cry. Will you?”
Bush glanced at Jebel. The boy didn’t seem to be paying attention. He was staring into the flames, shivering wildly. “No,” Bush admitted.
But Jebel did hear. And although it didn’t come as a shock, it helped steel his resolve.
His teachers had always said that hatred was a distraction. You couldn’t think clearly if your thoughts were clouded by rage. But this wasn’t a classroom in Wadi, and Jebel had learned that his teachers didn’t know all the answers. Hate was essential if he was to survive. Hate kept him going. In a land without gods, separated from his family, friends, and Tel Hesani, hate was all he had left.
Fueled by this burning hatred, Jebel fought off his chill and forced himself to eat healthily again. The dark circles under his eyes remained, and there was a tremble in his hands that he couldn’t stop, but he kept going. If he was to die at the hands of Bush and Blair, he’d die on his feet like a man, not quivering like a dog.
But Jebel was careful not to show his fierce determination to live. He maintained a defeated expression and made the tremor in his hands look worse than it was. He started thanking Bush and Blair for every scrap of food and word of fake kindness. He acted like a faithful hound in their presence. He didn’t overplay it — just enough groveling to let them think he was completely broken, entirely theirs.
A couple of weeks later, having robbed another graveyard, they reached the as-Disi, close to where it roared down out of the al-Attieg. In the distance they saw clouds of spray from the famed as-Disi waterfalls. Travelers sometimes sailed the entire length of the river just to marvel at the falls. Jebel would have liked to go and take a look, even though you couldn’t see them clearly in this weather. But Bush and Blair weren’t interested in natural wonders.
“What say you, Master Bush?” Blair asked as they stood by the banks of the roaring river. “Northwest to raid more tombs or straight north to Disi for a rest?”
Bush scratched his beard — he had let his goatee grow long — and grunted. “Disi beckons promisingly. But it will be hard to turn our back on the comforts of real lodgings once we get used to them, especially in this weather.”
“Conditions might improve,” Blair noted. “A week or so of civilization will lift our spirits and embolden us for the rest of the season. And if the worst comes to the worst and we’re snowed in, we have enough swagah to tide us over. We could pass a pleasant few months there if we had to.”
“That would mean starting from scratch in the spring,” Bush muttered, then snorted. “But why look that far ahead? You’re right, old friend, as usual. We are due a break. How about it, young Rum? Are you excited by the thought of a stop in Disi?”
Jebel shrugged. “I go where you go, my lords.”
“Then it’s decided,” Bush grinned. “Look out, Disi — here we come!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Disi was a huge, sprawling city of contrasts, home to some of the finest inns in Makhras, but also some of the foulest. Miners of every class came here when they needed time away from their holes in the ground, and the city served the needs of all.
It was snowing when the graverobbers arrived, having spent almost a week trekking north, hampered by storms. They were cold and ill-tempered and gladly fell into the first inn they came to. It was one of Disi’s lesser establishments, but they were delighted to be out of the snow and collapsed into bed without a word of complaint, pausing only so that Bush could tie up Jebel.
When they woke late, they shuffled downstairs and picked at a disgusting breakfast — even Jebel couldn’t eat all of his food — then went in search of finer accommodations. After examining a handful of prestigious inns, they settled for one overlooking the as-Disi.
Jebel couldn’t believe it when he saw their room. It was as large as the ground floor of his home in Wadi, with a balcony, four beds, a toilet and bath behind a silk screen, an open fire, a fan for use in summer, and a chandelier.
“It’s the small comforts I miss most when we’re on the road,” Bush said, gazing around the room with a lovestruck air.
“Some people need a ship and a star to sail her by,” said Blair. He leapt onto one of the beds and buried his face in the feather pillows. “But this does for me!”
