Nodding with satisfaction, he stepped lightly across the office toward the door, stopping suddenly as he passed the heavy wooden table of dark, northern oak.
Papers scattered around amid ledgers and maps appeared to be random and messy, and Samir leaned heavily on the edge of the table and squinted, trying to make out as much as possible in the scant moonlight afforded by the window.
He smiled and rounded the table to the governor’s chair, where he grasped a particular unfinished letter and sat back, smiling, in the seat, holding up the missive to take maximum advantage of the low, silvery light.
To his majestic highness, Ashar Parishid, high King of Pelasia…
Samir’s smile intensified as he read on, through the governor’s carefully worded explanation of his actions regarding Asima; not quite an apology for turning her back to him, but close enough. It would appear from the letter that Asima was less popular even with the King of Pelasia than with the folk of the Empire. He grinned and cast his eyes across the table.
Reaching out, he grasped a stylus and concentrated as he hunched over the letter. He’d learned to read and write, but it required concentration if he wanted it to look good.
At the bottom of the half-finished letter, he finished a note with a flourish.
Do not send this.
The grin still on his face, Samir dropped the pen, scanned the desk and, finding nothing else that particularly attracted his attention, he left and returned to his original goal: the side door.
As he approached, he leaned close and put his ear to the wood. This was an interior door of no great substance and there was no sound from the other side. Clenching his teeth, he slowly twisted the handle; the door remained steadfastly shut. Locked. He’d assumed for some reason that the main door to the office/reception room would be locked, but the separating interior doors would not be. Plainly this governor placed a high value on security.
Smiling, he crouched. Never let it be said that something as simple as a lock had got in the way of his plans.
His tongue working around his teeth as he concentrated, Samir withdrew a leather wallet from his belt, opened it, selected a specific narrow, metal prong with a curious tip, and began to work it slowly, gently, and quietly, in the lock.
After a few seconds there was a gentle click and he held his breath as he leaned back. Chances were that even someone awake in the room beyond hadn’t noticed the tiny noise, but this was no time to blunder. Silence reigned as he silently put the lockpick away and tucked away the wallet at his belt.
Slowly, he exhaled. So much would fail if he messed up and guards were called. He would be carted off to his doom without the opportunity to carry out his mission.
Slowly, wincing with each miniscule whinge of the mechanism, he turned the door handle and pushed gently. The door swung quietly open a few inches. Samir smiled. Somehow he’d known that the door wouldn’t squeak. The sort of man that locked his interconnecting doors was the sort of man that would keep them oiled and in good order.
Standing once again, he leaned closer and put his eye to the crack. The room beyond was some sort of sun room or lounge, filled with low tables and seats. Very comfortable; a more private meeting room, where the governor would socialise with friends or well-known dignitaries. Good. That meant he was in the man’s apartments now. Once more two other doors led off from here. One, at the far end of the room, opposite the window, must lead to a lobby, given the length of this room compared with that next door. That lobby, in turn, would have several doors and a main entrance from the stairwell. The other exit, opposite the one through which he’d entered, was likely the one he required.
Smiling, he strode across the room, quietly but quickly, and grasped the handle of the other door. Turning it lightly, the portal gave easily. Of course… no need to lock the door between private lounge and private bedchamber.
The interior was dark as the deepest cave, the windows closed in with shutters and drapes to keep out the bright moon and star light. Samir quickly nipped around the door and pushed it closed behind him. The dim light that he’d cast into the room when he opened the door would shine out like a beacon to anyone awake in here.
Holding his breath again, he stood just inside the door in the darkness and waited. Slowly, his eyes adjusted a little while he listened for a challenge that never came. Very gently, he could hear the deep breaths of the governor, asleep in what must be a large bed at the room’s far side. Samir concentrated for a moment, trying to identify more than one breathing pattern; after all, the governor may well be married. Nothing, though. Just the one.
Smiling, Samir padded silently across to a shelf on the wall where an oil lamp stood with flint and steel. For a moment, he considered lighting that, but it would take too long and be noisy and trying. Shrugging, he walked on past the shelf until he reached the large windows. Slowly, and quietly, he drew back the drapes. Tiny dots and points of silver light picked their way through the cracks and joints in the shutters. Taking a deep breath, Samir threw open the shutters, admitting bright moonlight and bathing the room in a silvery glow.
He turned to address the governor, hoping the light had at least woken him.
Samir was astonished, though he kept his composure and hid his surprise well, to see the governor sitting up calmly in his bed, a small hand bow aimed at him. It was one of the torsion-based personal weapons that Pelasian assassins used; deadly and accurate. Samir smiled.
“Excellency… you are apparently a remarkable man.”
“As are you, captain Samir.”
The pirate stretched, silhouetted against the window and presenting a clear target for the governor’s weapon.
“May I ask why you have not simply shot me or called for the guards, Excellency?”
The governor shrugged.
“I have the upper hand, captain. Moreover, had you the intention to do me harm, you would hardly have sneaked around the room and opened the window first.”
“I could be wanting to intimidate and torture you, first?”
The governor, a serious looking man, shook his head, his aim remaining steadfast.
“Hardly your reputation, captain. Now what can I do for you?”
Samir smiled and strode across to sink into a seat opposite the bed, lit by the white square from the window.
“I have a proposition for you, governor.”
“Go on…”
“I am aware that you know a certain young lady by the name of Asima?”
“Of course.”
“Asima is, as you may or may not know by now, one of the most clever, deceitful and generally wicked people you may ever set eyes on. I know her of old.”
The governor nodded; no sign of surprise or denial. Once again, Samir was impressed by this man.
“Well,” he went on, “her accusations regarding my brother are entirely fictional. I am quite openly, and even proudly, responsible for the sinking of the Wind of God. I was aided in the most unexpected way by that same young lady, when she sabotaged Ghassan’s rudder and left him helpless.”
He grinned.
“I apologise for the mess I made of your town walls yesterday, but my brother is innocent and, moreover, I need him for a while.”
The governor frowned.
“This is all very well. I can’t confirm or deny any of it, of course, although I’m sure you’re right. But this information is currently valueless. Asima is gone from here on her way back to Pelasia, with a purse of my money and an escort until she’s safely at the first Royal way station in their country and as far as possible from me. Ghassan, on the other hand, is now with you, as we’re well aware. So what in the name of the Imperial raven is your proposition? What could you possibly offer that would be worth more than me, as you so succinctly put it, ‘simply shooting you or calling for the guards’?”
Samir laughed lightly and reached into his tunic.
“I’m afraid I have no intention of staying right now. I have so many things to do and so little time, you see. If you listen very carefully, your Excellency, you’ll hear the commotion down at the docks where my crew have been freed. I’m fairly certain that by now the Empress will be back at sea and making for open water. You’ll have your hands full in the morning, if you intend to take us again.”
He withdrew a folded and tied paper from his tunic and tossed it across to the bed, where it landed on the governor’s knee. The older man glanced down at it with interest, though his hand never wavered and his aim remained true. He looked up at Samir again with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s my offer; my proposal. I don’t expect an answer right now. You’ll have to think it over and you may even need to consult with your superiors. I give you my word, though, Excellency, that until we meet again and I have your answer, I will forego any opportunity to take on one of your ships. I believe that’s as plain and as fair as I can make it.”
The governor smiled.
“I have to admit that I’m intrigued. I’m just not sure whether I’m intrigued enough to let you go, rather than having you taken into custody and then perusing your proposal.”
Samir answered with a grin of his own.
“Then I will just have to take my chances, Excellency. I’m on a tight schedule, you see.”
Standing and noting how the governor’s weapon kept track of his movements even while the man gazed down at the paper in his lap, Samir turned his back, strode across to the window and began to climb out.
“I shall see you soon, sir. Have a good night.”
With a last smile, Samir clambered down from the window, climbed as far as the end of the bonding tile layers, and then dropped lightly to the street.
In the dark room, the governor put down the weapon and, standing, wrapped his robe tightly around him. Taking the paper and untying the ribbon, he placed it on the shelf while he lit the oil lamp and then retrieved and unfolded the note, and began to read.
As he neared the bottom of the text, his eyes sparkled.
The guard on duty outside the governor’s apartment started in surprise at the sound of deep laughter ringing out from his Excellency’s chamber in the middle of the night.
In which another journey begins
Asima stopped at the gate and listened to the midnight bells echo away.
“Move along, miss” the cavalry sergeant said quietly.
“Just a moment.” She turned and looked back up at the town gate, with its heavy towers to either side and battlements above. She was outside once more, away from the narrow, teeming streets in which she had grown up. M’Dahz should feel like home really, or at least it should have some vague connection for her. Instead, as she looked at it, the town of her birth, home to her father’s grave elicited no emotion from her at all.
With a raised eyebrow, she realised she’d not gone to see his last resting place after all. She’d left her father there so long ago in the knowledge that, by going to Pelasia for the satrap, her father would be safe. Curious how she’d hardly even thought of him after that. Had she always been this way, or had Pelasia changed her?
The sergeant, commander of the unit of a dozen Imperial cavalry that were to escort her back to the neighbouring kingdom, cleared his throat and smiled sympathetically.
“Sad to be leaving, miss?”
“Hardly!”
With a sneer, she spat once in the direction of the town and turned her back on it, hopefully for the last time, this time.
The guard stepped away, taken aback a little by her display. His face hardened and he gestured forcefully to the staging post a few hundred yards ahead where the coach, along with the baggage cart and the horses, waited, tended by her cavalry escort.
“Get in the coach, miss, and we’ll get you away from here.”
Asima nodded sourly as she strode over toward the small settlement. Staging posts now existed outside each of the city’s gates, growing gradually into villages in their own right. The new governor had banned unlicensed work animals and vehicles from the town. The administration claimed that it lowered the chance of accidents and trouble in the steep and narrow streets and made the city cleaner and safer. This was certainly true, though the more cynical also noted that the licenses were a good source of revenue also.
And so these small settlements were springing up; corrals with animal traders and stabling facilities to take advantage of the new laws, traders to take advantage of the high turnover of travellers, desert nomads come close to the city to sell their own wares and purchase goods unavailable in the hot sands, and finally the inevitable beggars, homeless and hopeless.
The coach and its escort stood at the edge of the small settlement, the guards keeping a watchful eye over the vagrants and nomads in their makeshift shelters nearby. Asima barely noticed them as she strode past, her nose wrinkling at the smell, toward her transport to Pelasia.
A few yards from the coach, one of the scarecrows in tattered black, lounging cross-legged beside a dancing fire, stood and, her curved back giving her a slight stoop, shuffled toward them on a course of interception. The sergeant began to steer Asima to the side away from the woman, gaunt and dark and haggard, but the desert-dweller changed direction and homed in on them once again.
Asima’s sneer was still in full effect and the old woman cackled, grinning, as she approached.