The Djinn (13 page)

He had followed
the Djinn back to the baron’s home and had watched eagerly from a safe distance
the confrontation between Gregory and the creature. He had seen it all. He had
even observed the baron’s mercenary spying on the creature and the Western female.

This was
becoming very interesting. Finally, Emir had an opponent worthy of the hunt. He
finally had a foe
who
would be a true challenge.

The hashshashin
rose from his hiding place, allowing his dark robes to blow in the breeze. A
dark smile crept up the side of his face. He was truly going to enjoy this, he
thought as he leapt into open air and into the night.

The rain was
unusual for this time of year. Steady sheets of water hurled from the sky,
whipping up pockets of steam that rose from the heat-scorched stone pavement of
the street. He savored the wet trickle of relief for several minutes before
remembering his objective. He only had two more hours until dawn. After that,
he’d be exposed, vulnerable. Slipping out of the city would be impossible.

To make matters
worse, the shadowy figure now crouching down on the flat rooftop of the baker’s
shop knew he was being followed. He had spotted the hashshashin earlier,
darting in and out of the shadows like—well, like him. He wasn’t sure what to
make of this cleric called Emir. He had heard stories of the sect to which the
Saracen belonged. They were known as the most lethal of killers and completely
zealous for their god.

The Djinn knew
he’d have to be extra cautious in dealing with this one…a man of similar
training and purpose as himself. But for the moment, there was nothing to be
done about his newly acquired shadow. Right now, he had a job to do.

Quietly, he
pulled a small, black crossbow from inside his cloak and aimed it at the trellis
overhanging the tunnel entrance. His eyes scanned the surrounding streets. The
sentries had just marched off around the corner on their regular rounds. They
would be gone for three and a half minutes.
More than enough
time.

With a click of
the trigger, the quarrel, pulling a sturdy line of hemp, hissed from the
crossbow. Sailing through the deluge, it struck its target with a twang. The
Djinn anchored the other end to the shop’s sign over the door and slipped a
small pulley onto the line. Without a moment’s hesitation, the creature that
had struck such fear in the hearts of the Western invaders hurled through space
toward the fast approaching ground.

He let go,
tucking his legs into a ball, and dropped into a roll on the mud-caked street.
Being careful not to slip on the rain-slick road, the Djinn swung his body up
with the momentum and approached the doorway to Gregory’s tunnels.

His gauntleted
hand turned tentatively on the door’s knob.

Strange.
The door was unlocked. That wasn’t good. After the
incident with Samuel, Gregory had upped security in this sector and had ordered
the door to be locked with irons at all times. They must be expecting him. Of
course, it didn’t matter. He really had no choice—he
had
to go in.

The creak of
the wooden door opening grated against his nerves like the screech of a bean
sidhe
. His muscles tensed as he peered around it, seeking
signs of a possible ambush by unseen guards.
Nothing.
The quiet ebbed back into place.

So far so good
, he thought as he stepped
into the gloom of the passageway and closed the door behind him. Then, the
Djinn dashed down the spiral staircase, barely touching the steps, making no
sound. It was eerie, even to him, how the shadows seemed to enfold around his
lithe figure—almost adopting him into its darkened fold. The
old man
had taught him well. A grim
smile rose underneath his
tagelmust
at the thought,
but pressed on toward his goal.

He reached the
lowest level of Gregory’s tunnel system, which carried with it a silence as
deafening as the fire powder he’d learned to harness. Stooping down and leaning
up against a wooden support beam, the Djinn peered into the darkness of the
passage that led to the main Hub, the central chamber from which all the
tunnels within the system snaked. His eyes scrambled to adjust to the
flickering torch light around him. The tunnel itself was black as pitch, but
the antechamber he crouched in had been illuminated with several sconces,
practically blinding him. Though his night vision was greatly diminished in the
torchlight, he saw no hint of anyone lying in wait in the gloom.

Exhaling, the
Djinn crept down the dank corridor that led to the Hub. Soon, he would find out
if the suffering of poor Samuel had been worth the price. A twinge of regret
crept through his mind at the thought of the good squire. He deserved better.
There were few in this bleak world that could measure up to the courage and
loyalty of that boy and he had allowed the accursed mercenary to do
unimaginable things to Samuel.

Well, the lad is now free
, he thought as
he vowed silently to make it up to him. It was now a matter of honor.
When this is all over, I’ll
—

His thoughts
trailed off as he came up short of the opening in the tunnel. More torchlight
and even a handful of campfires lit up the chamber before him. There was
virtually no cover for him to make his way to the eastern-most passage—which,
according to his painstaking research, would lead him to the Library.
 

Still shrouding
himself within the safety of shadows, the Djinn squinted into the brightly lit
cavern, scouring for potential places to lay an ambush.
If
he
could not find a place to hide, then
neither could his enemies.
Steely muscles tensed, poised to strike at
the first sign of attack. His keen eyes scanned back and forth for anything—any
movement, any indication of…

There
.

The Djinn saw
him. A single helmet bobbed nervously behind a rickety wheelbarrow filled with
dirt. To the sentry’s left, three more figures huddled together behind a canvas
tarp. Four guards…at least that he could see. There was no sign of Gerard, but
he guessed that the mercenary was lurking somewhere nearby.

His instincts
had been correct. They
had
been
expecting him and only Gerard possessed the strategic abilities to prepare his
men so quickly. He wasn’t sure how the mercenary had divined his intentions,
but at this point, it was really of little consequence. The Djinn had been
brewing up superstition and dread in the hearts of these men for several months
now. Their own fear would be their undoing and he was more than willing to use
it to his advantage.

They expected a
dark spirit of vengeance. That was precisely what they would get.
 
He grinned. This was almost too easy.

****

The screams
echoed through the web of passages of what was once known as Solomon’s Vault.
Gerard stiffened at the sound. The cries had come from the
Hub
. He was here. He had made his first move and the mercenary was
determined to make it the fell creature’s last.

Gerard and his
men huddled inside the largest chamber of Solomon’s treasure repository…its
rounded walls lined with twelve lifeless golems standing guard against the
wall. Their animal-like faces stared blankly back at him, unsympathetic to
Gerard’s plight.

The tension was
as thick as goat cheese within the confined space. The mercenary captain
glanced around the room, looking at each of his men. Their eyes widened with
each earsplitting screech of their comrades from the Hub.

After several
moments, he craned his head to look at Archibald. Despite the cool subterranean
air, his lieutenant’s skin glistened with sweat down an ashen face. Without
muttering a sound, Gerard motioned for his men to get into positions.
Unsteadily, and with great hesitation, they complied. Archibald inched up
behind his leader, leaned forward, and whispered.

“Sir, all the
other tunnels have been left unguarded. Every able man we have lies in wait
with us.”

Gerard knew
what his friend was trying to say.

“Relax,
Archibald.”

“But sir, how
do you know the thing will head this way? What if we’ve miscalculated? What if
he goes down a different passage?”

“He won’t.”

His lieutenant
shifted on the balls of his feet to maintain his balance, his chainmail
clinking haphazardly with each nervous gesture. He was clearly unnerved and
truth be told, Gerard couldn’t blame him. Whatever this
Djinn
was, it would be no easy feat to stop him. He was sure that before this night
was done, some of his men would be dead. The creature was just too good.

“But sir…”

“Lieutenant!”
Gerard’s voice rose involuntarily along with
his irritation. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he continued more
quietly, “He’ll come down the eastern tunnel. It’s where he had that squire
scout ahead. He knows where the Library is and it’s no doubt in this direction.
He’ll come this way.”

One of his men
coughed nervously to the left. The mercenary glared at the offender—a stern
warning silently understood.

The screaming
from the Hub had ceased. The mercenary wasn’t optimistic enough to think his
men had succeeded in their mission. The Djinn would be heading this way soon.
Gerard and his men had to be ready, prepared for anything.

He willed a
determined smile to encourage his men, but the muscles of his face just would
not cooperate.

****

The Djinn
skulked away from the dormant form of the last sentry and moved toward the
eastern-most tunnel. The entire offensive had taken less than three minutes.
Gerard’s men had offered very little resistance—a few screams, flashing swords
waving erratically, and even a short barrage of crossbow fire whizzing through
the air. They’d had very little skill. Even less discipline. In the end, they
all lay unconscious—a few broken bones, but breathing—on the passage floor.

His grin
broadened underneath his veil. Not bad.

As he
approached his target passage, the sound of flesh and fabric tearing filled the
air and his right leg buckled. Stumbling, he crashed headfirst to the ground.

Without a
sound, he sat up, twisted around to examine the cause for his fall. He winced
at the sight of his leg. A single arrow protruded, blood-soaked, just above his
kneecap.

He wasn’t sure
when it had happened. He had seen a number of bolts flying during the fray, but
had been unaware that any had struck him.
It’s
getting worse
, he thought.
 
He wasn’t
sure how much longer he had.

“Well, this
isn’t good,” he mumbled to himself as grabbed a piece of ember from the nearby
campfire and inched himself against the wall of the Hub.

Rummaging
through a small pouch hanging from his belt, he quickly plucked out a small
silver tube capped with cork. He popped it carefully open and poured its
contents, a fine gray powder, around both entrance and exit wounds. Once done,
he took his knife and cut a thin groove along the arrow’s shaft and poured the
powder along the rut. Cutting the arrow’s tip off with the blade, he quickly
stuck the ember to the powder. Just as a blinding flare of white light erupted,
he yanked the shaft from his leg in a single motion. The searing heat of the
flare burned hot around the two openings, fusing the injuries closed.

Bracing himself
against the wall, the black-clad figure pushed
himself
up into a standing position. Crouching and standing several times, he tested
the injured leg. It felt fine, though that was no surprise. He knew it would.
But he didn’t know how much longer it would hold out without proper treatment.
Time truly was running out.

As an added
precaution, the Djinn tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and wrapped it
several times around his leg.
That done, he lifted his head
toward the eastern passageway once more.

His goal was
ahead. There was nothing he could do—he had to proceed as planned and pray that
providence would see him through this ordeal.

Crouching down
once more, the Djinn crept silently into the tunnel. Unlike the
torchless
passage from the entrance, this tunnel was lined
with twenty-four lit sconces. There was no way anyone could possibly make it to
the other end without being seen by those in the next chamber.

Thank goodness for Samuel
, he thought.
This is where we see if his suffering paid
off
.

The Djinn peered
down the well-lit tunnel. About midway, it bent, forming a natural barrier to
the treasure repository at the end. It was there that the majority of Gerard’s
men would be lying in wait.

Reaching again
into his pouch, he pulled out a small tinderbox and retrieved a piece of flint.
He inched forward to the first sconce and pinched a small thin fuse that
connected several small canisters that Samuel had placed along the corridor’s
wall, just above each torch.

With a clink,
the flint struck the wall, sparking the fuse to life. The Djinn stepped back
and turned his head, closing his eyes.

One…two…three…four…POP!
The canister, a thimble-sized portion of compressed fire powder tightly wrapped
inside parchment paper, ignited in a puff of hot air, sucking oxygen from the
torch and snuffing its flame. The fuse continued to burn along the tunnel’s
wall resulting in a series of twenty-three consecutive pops, blanketing
Gregory’s tunnels in darkness.

Shouts and
screams exploded from the other end of the passage as chaos erupted in the
pitch-black chamber ahead. The Djinn padded swiftly forward. His grin had
spread into a full-blown devilish smile.

Now it’s playtime
.