Even Jebel felt his spirits lighten. After the hardships of the last few months, this seemed to be a dreamworld. He strolled around in a daze, touching the beds, candlesticks, a dressing table. Was this real, or was he lying in a snow-covered field somewhere, imagining it as he froze to death?
Dinner was just as lavish. They were waited on by pale, half-naked Um Saga women, who cut up their food and poured wine into their mouths from large silver goblets, then danced while the traders cheered encouragement.
Bush and Blair went in search of company after the meal. They tied Jebel up in the room. He didn’t mind — it was peaceful there. He thought he might have sweet dreams of Debbat Alg, sleeping on such a comfortable bed, but only the dead came to haunt and torment him that night, as they so often did.
The snowstorm died out overnight, and a weak sun was shining the next day. Crews of slaves were set to work early in the morning to clear the busier streets of snow and slush. After a filling breakfast, Bush and Blair took Jebel out to explore the city. They kept him on a gold collar and chain, which they’d purchased the night before. It was common for favored slaves to be paraded in this fashion, though most were led around by a simple length of rope.
Jebel’s shame was absolute. He withered away inside under the casual stares of the Um Saga. He knew he was helpless, that he had to play out this hand and wait for an opportunity to break free, but that didn’t make his humiliation any easier to bear.
You could buy just about anything at the Disi markets and stores. As well as the places selling food and clothes, there were traders hawking mining equipment, rare spices, gems of all sorts, even paintings and statues.
Bush and Blair made the rounds of reputable jewelers. They had a bag full of a portion of their takings from the graveyards (they’d hidden most of the stash in their room at the inn) and went around converting the rings, necklaces, and gems into swagah. They only traded a few pieces at any one store, careful not to reveal the extent of their wealth. This was a dangerous city — gangs of thieves were always on the prowl — and they didn’t want to end up like the corpses they had stolen from.
Jebel considered betraying the traders, telling one of the many cutthroats they passed of the jewels they were carrying, bartering his freedom for the information. But the pair kept him close at all times. Even if they hadn’t and he’d managed to speak with someone, why should they spare him if they killed the fake Masters? It would be easier to murder him too, to ensure he didn’t tell any tales later.
Nevertheless, Jebel felt that Disi would provide him with his best chance to escape. Bush and Blair were focused on the Um Saga, not paying much attention to their slave. And the city was full of places where a runaway could hide. If he broke free, he fancied his chances of evading capture. He’d worry about what came next when he faced that hurdle. Getting away from Bush and Blair was his first priority. It was just a question of when to make his move. Night would be better, but he was sure they’d keep him tied up. So it had to be during the day, when his hands and feet were unbound. But would Bush and Blair bring him out again? He couldn’t depend on that.
It had to be today.
Fear struck Jebel hard when he realized that the hour was upon him. For long, miserable weeks he had kept himself going by thinking about escape, savoring the thought of freedom. But until this moment that had been a dream, hovering far in the future, wonderful but vague. Now that he was faced with the reality of it, terror grew in Jebel’s gut.
The odds were stacked against him. The Um Saga might chase him for sport and return him to Bush and Blair, to be tortured and executed.
The voice was seductive. It told Jebel of all the things that could go wrong, the dead-end alleys, the agonies of torture, the shame of a public execution. And what if he got away? He wouldn’t last two days in the wilderness by himself. Did he plan to stay in Disi all winter, hiding? He should think long and hard before acting. Maybe sleep on the matter.
Jebel wavered. He had come a long way and learned a lot, but when all was said and done he was still only a thin, weak, inexperienced boy. It was ludicrous to think that he could outwit Bush and Blair, then survive by himself in this hostile land. If he didn’t escape, more mausoleums beckoned, nightmares, and eventually death or being sold to other slavers. But at the moment life was bearable. Perhaps he should wait until things were worse and then…
As Jebel prepared to turn his back on the notion of escape, fate intervened in such an unexpected manner that many might claim it to be the work of the gods. Bush and Blair paused at an intersection to ask a soldier for directions. Standing behind them, Jebel’s gaze wandered and he spotted a team of slaves shoveling snow from the path to his left. Most were filthy, long-haired, crooked, broken men who’d worked down the mines or been shipped in from abroad when they were too old to be of use to their original masters. They were here to spend their remaining days doing public work. But one stood out, younger than the rest, tall, muscular, proud. He was shoveling hard, leading the labors, encouraging the others.
Jebel froze with shock. Then his brain whirred. He saw the two bored guards in charge of the slaves, close to Tel Hesani. He saw how Bush and Blair stood at the edge of the path as they chatted to the soldier. He saw the side streets off the path that Tel Hesani and the others were clearing. He saw the linked chain around the slaves’ ankles, and the keyring on one guard’s belt.
He saw hope.
Jebel acted before he lost his nerve. Grabbing his leash, he barged into Blair’s back and slammed him into Bush, knocking both from the path and into the soldier. All three fell together, and Bush lost his grip on the leash.
Jebel ran as fast as he could, mouth closed, eyes on Tel Hesani. He wanted to bellow at the slave for help but thought it better to save his breath.
Bush, Blair, and the soldier shouted. The guards in charge of the slaves looked up. Most of the slaves didn’t — they were too weary to take notice of the world around them. Tel Hesani was an exception. His gaze lifted and his eyes focused. He saw Jebel, and his jaw dropped.
Jebel didn’t know if Bush and Blair were on their feet or if the soldier was running after him. He didn’t dare stop or look back. He ran straight at the guards. They weren’t watching the slaves any longer. They were eyeing the onrushing boy, wondering if it was worth their while to stop him.
This was Tel Hesani’s chance, but would he seize it? Did it make any difference to him whether he remained a slave of the Um Saga and died on the streets of Disi or became Jebel’s slave again and was slaughtered in Tubaygat? Jebel could only hope. He had made his move. It all depended on Tel Hesani now. If the Um Kheshabah didn’t act in the next few seconds, Jebel was doomed.
Tel Hesani’s eyes snapped from Jebel to the guards. He looked over Jebel’s shoulder and saw Bush and Blair chasing the boy. Jebel had a good lead, but it wasn’t great. And it would be difficult to evade pursuit in broad daylight — lots of snow had been swept from the streets, but a thick sheet remained. They would leave footprints. Tel Hesani had thought about escaping, but not in this clumsy fashion. He had planned to wait and act when the moment was ripe.
But Jebel was racing towards him. The die had been cast. It was now or never.
Tel Hesani was almost within reach of the guards. Edging across, he raised his shovel and cracked it hard over the head of the nearest guard, dropping him to the ground. He then swung at the other man, but the Um Saga reacted quickly and leapt away. With a roar of shock and rage, he drew a sword.
Jebel rammed the guard from behind, sending him flying. Tel Hesani caught the man, knocked his sword from his hand, and punched him between the eyes. The guard blinked dumbly. Tel Hesani punched again, and he collapsed.
Jebel grabbed the keys from the first guard and fumbled for one that would fit Tel Hesani’s lock. Tel Hesani snatched the keys from him and studied them — he had been watching the guards carefully, planning his escape, so he knew exactly which key to go for. He selected one and inserted it into the lock on the cuff around his left ankle. It clicked open instantly.
