The Djinn (17 page)

“My dear
Tertius,” he said to the Vatican priest. “You should be rejoicing. You are
assisting us in ushering a brand new age into our world. How many people can
possibly say that?”

The monsignor’s
eyes widened, pleading silently for mercy behind his gag. His arms shook
against the iron chains that held him fast to the soon-to-be altar. His legs
kicked pitifully. Tears streamed uncontrollably down his cheeks.

“Come now.
There is no need for fear,” Gregory cooed, stroking a single strand of gray
hair back from the priest’s face. “If your God is as powerful as you men of the
cloth believe, then you should really have nothing to worry about, right?”

Someone cleared
a throat from behind the baron and he turned to see a nearly emaciated
Ibrihim
—his surname escaped the baron at the moment—shaking
his head with caution. The nomad was dressed in the rich robes of a Jewish
priest, complete with chest plate and headdress.

“
M’lord
,” the Essene spoke softly with trembling voice. “I’d
caution against blasphemy in this unholy place. At least until our dark deed is
complete. It would be unwise on many levels to anger Yahweh when your quest is
so close to completion.”

Gregory
sneered,
then
waved his hand in dismissal.

“Fine,” he
said, gesturing toward the twelve golems that lined the chamber. “Then let’s
just get this over. Proceed with the sacrifice.”

Ibrihim
gawked at the baron.

“
M’lord
,” he said with a slight bow. “We’ve been over the
specifics of this ritual before. In order for this to work…in order for control
of
Rakeesha’s
golems to be transferred to you, it
must be you who performs the sacrifice. Your priest is your superior. Your
killing him will essentially rob him of his power over you. The blood from his
wound, applied to the clay of the creatures, will establish your own power over
them. For me to do it would mean nothing.” He stripped from the ceremonial
robes and handed them to Gregory. “I told your seamstress as much when she
dressed me in these robes. They are yours to be worn, not mine.”

The baron took
the raiment and slipped them over his tunic with a snarl. In all his years, he
had killed many men without
so
much as a quiver. But
all of those deaths had been honorable for the most part.
Deeds
of battle or politics.
What he was about to do now was something
entirely alien.
Different.
Unsettling.
He was about to take a man’s life in cold blood. He was about to slit the
throat of a man who was powerless to resist…chained to a stone altar like a
lamb to slaughter.

Seriously
though, what did it matter?
The man—even
a priest of
the Vatican—was insignificant compared to him. He was on the verge of something
beyond outdated concepts of morality. He was about to create life itself. About
to embark upon a journey that transcended humanity and reached for the vaunted
throne of God itself! Compared to that, what value was there in this one puny
man’s life?

Very little indeed
, he thought as he
placed the priestly headdress upon his brow and smiled. He’d come too far and
he was so close to attaining everything he’d always dreamed.
Proper
respect from his peers.
Fear from his enemies.
The
ultimate means of revenge for the death of his beloved.
And ultimately,
true power to conquer this god-forsaken land and beyond. And all he need do is recite
the proper incantations, apply the dagger to Tertius’ neck, and pull across.

As he began to
carry out the ritual as instructed by the Essene nomad, the Vatican priest
began to scream behind the cloth gag that covered his mouth. Even as the blood
began to pool into the silver goblet he held under the priest’s wounds, Gregory
began to smile wider as the screams intensified. He decided that he rather
enjoyed the sound after all, and was disappointed when it began to fade as
Tertius’ life ebbed away.

So, when the
last drop of blood plopped into the goblet and the priest lay lifeless on the
stone slab, he turned toward
Ibrihim
with his blade
and made the screaming start again.

For the first
time in years, spasms of actual pain shot through the
Djinn’s
body, jolting him into semi-consciousness. His mind raced, straining to recall
where he was and how he had gotten there. His eyelids remained closed, no
matter how hard he willed them open.

“He’s awake,”
came
an oddly familiar voice to his right.

The Djinn
struggled to rise, but gentle hands pressed down on his shoulders, keeping him
place.

“Nay,” said
another voice. “Don’t try to move. You’ve been seriously injured and need time
to heal.”

“W-water,” the
Djinn’s
dry lips cracked as they parted to form the word.
He realized that he also had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but he had
never felt so parched.

“Of course,
m’lord
,” said the first voice, followed by movement to his
right. Where had he heard that voice before? It sounded so familiar…and so
calming. It was the voice of a friend, he was sure.

“Now, I’m going
to pour a little water into your mouth. Drink slowly.” The voice paused. “And
not too much, mind you.”

Instant relief
washed over him as cool liquid poured into his parched mouth. His mouth!
Instinctively, he reached up and felt for his hood, but it was gone.

“It’s all
right. There’s no need to fret. You’re among friends now,” said the second
voice.

The
Djinn’s
eyes slowly opened. The world was dark and hazy.
Two tiny flames flickered in front of him…small oil lamps resting on a
pedestal. As far as he could tell, they were the only light source in the room.

He scanned his
surroundings. Not much to see, he realized. He was lying deep in a hollowed out
patch of earth…obviously to keep him cool in the arid desert heat. The shelter
was sparse, made of camel skin and pieces of driftwood. It was small too, only
big enough for three or four men.

He looked to
his right and a weakened smile spread across his face.

“Horatio.
Samuel. I should have known you would find me.”

The knight and
his squire beamed down at him.

“It’s good to
see you too, my friend,” said Horatio. “Only, we didn’t. Find you, that is. An
old shepherd happened upon this hut two days past. He walked in and saw you resting
here and immediately went to get help. Since Lord William’s chateau is the
closest settlement around these parts, he came to us.”

The room began
to spin around, forcing the Djinn to close his eyes. He had lost so much blood.
It would be a while before he recuperated enough to continue his search for
the…

His eyes
snapped open.
The Book.
Gone? It couldn’t be. The
hashshashin had beaten him. After all he’d gone through to get it—Gerard and
his mercenaries, finding the hidden library, and facing the Warden—he’d failed
in the end.

The last thing
he could remember was passing out on the edge of the underground reservoir.

Then how did he
get here?

“When we found
you, you had already been bandaged up nicely,” said Samuel, his eyes wide and
that wonderfully warm smile glued to his face. “Do you remember who helped
you?”

He wracked his
brain, searching for any memory that would answer that question. By all rights,
he should be dead by now…or at least lying in his own blood on the cold stone
floors of Gregory’s tunnels. But someone had helped him out of the labyrinth
under the city. They’d carried him out into the desert, built this shelter, and
tended his wounds.

But who?
The hashshashin?
It didn’t
seem likely, yet no matter how he turned the events up until now, Emir was the
only possible answer. The next question could only be why?

“No, Samuel, I
don’t remember.”

“Well, no
matter, sir,” Samuel said. “You’re at least safe and sound now. That’s what
matters.”

Horatio,
kneeling down by the Djinn next to Samuel, stared silently at the ground.
His arms nervously crossing and uncrossing.
It seemed he
couldn’t help his fidgeting.

“And you,
Horatio?” asked the Djinn. “I’m glad you decided to join my merry band. What
changed your mind?”

His friend
smiled coyly back at him, then nodded. “Aye,” he said.
“
’Tis
true.
After learning the truth about you…after
finally being told the whole story…I wasn’t quite sure where I belonged. I
wasn’t quite sure I believed the tale that was told me. It all sounded so
far-fetched to me and I must admit to wondering whether Sir William had not
been bewitched by you, as everyone else seemed to be.” He nodded toward Samuel.
“But it was he that finally convinced me. Or rather, what you did for him that
told me William’s story had been true all along.

“You see, after
doing everything I could to free Samuel from Gregory’s prison, I had waited
near the prison…watching…waiting…biding my time. I knew that whether you were
good or evil, you still had plans for the boy, so I let him sit in his cell
until you made your move.” He paused at this and glanced apologetically over at
his squire.
The shame over allowing his cousin to suffer
under Gerard’s stern fists evident on his face.
“Soon, my patience paid
off and you did what I could not. You freed my squire from his chains and sent
him on his way. You asked nothing from him in return for his freedom and it was
then that I knew the story was all true. After that, there was no longer a
question. I returned to William’s chateau along with Samuel and have awaited
news of you since.”

The knight’s
suddenly went silent.
His eyes downcast.

“Ah, but I see
you’re a little upset with me,” the Djinn said. “Perhaps a little annoyed that
I hadn’t taken you into my confidence sooner?”

Horatio nodded.
“You know I would have joined you. All you had to do was ask.”

“I know, my
friend. But I didn’t want to put you in that situation unless absolutely
necessary. Besides, I needed you close to Gregory. Close to…Isabella. You
couldn’t have done that if you had joined me on my quest.”

The knight
stiffened at the mention of Gregory’s daughter; a dour look etched across his
brow.

“What is it, my
friend?” asked the Djinn. “I can tell there is something else on your mind
besides my duality.”

The knight
looked over at him. Doubt and fear echoed loudly through his grim features.
Something was definitely not good. Horatio seemed crippled with indecision.

“Just tell me.”

“All right,”
said Horatio, looking at his cousin for support. “As you mentioned, we’ve been
keeping an eye on Lady Isabella’s quarters for some time now…just like we’d
been asked. Everything was fine until three days ago—the morning after you
disappeared into Gregory’s tunnels.”

“What’s
happened?” The Djinn willed himself to sit up. For anyone else, he was certain
the pain of that simple act would have been excruciating. Fortunately, he was
nowhere close to being just
anyone else
.

“
M’lord
, you really mustn’t sit up,” said Samuel, once again
placing a hand on his shoulder in attempt to guide him down.

The Djinn
slapped the hand away.

“I said, what’s
happened?”

“She’s been
taken. It was Gerard,” said Horatio. “Killed sweet Margaret and just took off
with Isabella. There was nothing that could be done. Our spies were outnumbered
and outmanned. They would have been killed if…”

The Djinn
stared blankly into Horatio’s eyes. He couldn’t concentrate on what the knight
was saying. All he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in
his head.

He had to think
this through. He knew that Isabella would be safe…at least for now. Gregory
would not allow his daughter to be harmed. Yet once they had what they sought,
he was sure the mercenary would leave the city, carrying Isabella away with him
to God only knew where.

“Do we have any
leads on where she was taken?” he asked as he began examining the bandages that
secured the injuries he’d sustained during his battles in the tunnels. He
didn’t have time for this. He had to get moving.

“Not yet, sir.”

“Where is…?”

“He’s already
gone into the city to look for her,
m’lord
,” reported
Samuel, anticipating his question, while he lifted the bandage around his
master’s shoulder to check on the wound. “We’ve heard no word from him. But
before he left, he made us swear, sir…he made us swear we’d keep you here safe
and sound and that we’d tend to your wounds and make sure you got better. And
that’s just what we’ve been doing.”

Samuel’s grin
truly was infectious. There was no sweeter nor noble a man on earth, the Djinn
thought as he smiled back at the younger man.
And very loyal.
He’d take his vow seriously. A twinge of guilt rippled through him at the
thought of making them both break their solemn promise. But there was no other
choice.

“Get my gear,”
he said to them, a look of cold determination burning in his stare. He wanted
them to understand he was serious. He would not argue this matter.

“But, you’re
too weak,” Horatio protested.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, sir, I
don’t think you will,” Horatio’s glare was equally as determined. “If you leave
now, I’ve been assured that you will die. I, for one, am not willing to let
that happen.”

“Horatio, I
said…”

“I don’t care
what you said. Your ghost and
ghoulie
theatrics may
have worked on me once, but no longer. You’re just a man, my friend…nothing
more. You cannot keep going like you are. You could…die.”

The Djinn
looked at his two friends who had been tending lovingly to his needs. No one
could possibly deserve such companions on this earth. God was definitely a God
of infinite goodness for blessing him with these two. He let out a sigh as he
dipped his head.

“Horatio, my
friend, you don’t understand,” he said in a softer tone than he had planned.
“There’s no question of that now. I’m dying. No medicine on earth can stop it
from happening. My wounds are too deep…my injuries too severe. There’s good reason
I lay here, Horatio, half buried in the sand. It was to be my grave.”

“Don’t talk
like that,
m’lord
,” said Samuel, trying bravely to
sound positive. A single tear streaming from his eye betrayed his confidence.
“You’ll get better. I just know you will.”

“I feel the
pain,” said the Djinn, looking deliberately at Horatio. “You understand what
that
means,
don’t you? I am actually
feeling
the pain of my injuries.”

The knight
stared at him silently. His mouth struggled to form words that refused to come.
Horatio understood. There was no point in pretending otherwise. It was useless
to deny the inevitable.

“Please. Bring
my gear to me.
Now.
She’s in trouble. She’s my life…my
legacy.”

His friend
knelt silently beside him for several moments,
then
let out a breath.
Resignation.
Standing up, he walked
outside the hut into the darkness. Samuel sat cross-legged, mindlessly rubbing
the rosaries that draped across his neck. His eyes closed, his mouth mumbling
an unspoken prayer.

The Djinn
closed his eyes and joined him.

****

It had taken
longer than he would have liked, but Horatio and Samuel had finally redressed
his injuries, applied a layer of chain mail, and clothed him in the robes of
the Djinn. He stood outside the makeshift shelter in which he had rested for
the last two days.

The sun was
setting. The air grew cool and the Djinn felt a small amount of his old
strength returning as the moon began to
rise
high into
the desert night.

“What will you
do now?” asked Horatio, who led Al-
Ghul
, the
Djinn’s
black horse, to his master.

“I’ll go to the
palace first. Look in her chambers and see what I can find,” he said as he
mounted his steed. “Then, I’ll tear the city apart if I have to, until I find
her.”

Al-
Ghul
shifted under his weight. The faithful animal could always
tell when his master was suffering. A screech from above shattered the air. The
Djinn looked up and whistled a shrill cry. The great falcon descended,
alighting on his outstretched arm.

“She’s been
encircling your camp since we found you,” said Horatio, indicating the bird.
“She’s not let you out of her sight.”

The
Djinn’s
gloved finger stroked the crest on the raptor’s
head. Then he looked down at his two friends.

“Go back to
Lord William’s camp,” he said. “Gather the knights and meet me in in twenty-four
hours.”

“Where?” asked
Horatio.

“She knows
where,” said the Djinn, handing the bird to Horatio’s outstretched arm. “She’ll
guide you.”

Then, clicking
his spurs into the side of Al-
Ghul
, he took off into
the night.
Toward Jerusalem.
Toward
Isabella.

****

The cavern in
which the underground lake lay was silent as a grave. Nothing but the
occasional
kerplunk
of water dripping from a stalagmite made any sound at all. The bizarre, albino
minnows streaked just under the lake’s surface, feeding on the algae.

It was a scene
of quiet tranquility now, several hours after Gregory’s men had finally given
up their search for the hidden library.
Hours after they had
traipsed to and fro along the stone floor like a herd of elephants.
Hours since the baron’s curses had echoed throughout the miles of tunnels.