Darren Shan - The Thin Executioner

“We’ve always steered clear of swamps,” Master Bush said. “Mosquitoes don’t agree with us.”

Master Bush told Jebel not to buy their winter clothes in Hassah. “You can get everything you need in Jedir. Few travelers go that way, so the prices are lower.”

“And I’m certain swagah is a serious consideration on so long a quest,” Master Blair said. “You need to save wherever you can, yes?”

“That’s all right.” Jebel smiled. “We’ve got plenty of—”

“Thank you,” Tel Hesani interrupted. “We were worried about how to finance the rest of our trip, as we brought very little swagah with us. We will heed your advice and save our small supply of coins for farther along the road.”

“Most questers struggle with funding,” Master Bush sighed. “In our experience, the wealthy are the least likely to take to the wilds on a near-fatal quest.”

Later that night, Masters Bush and Blair joined in the game of cards, which was still going strong. The players greeted them suspiciously, but when Master Blair lost nineteen silver swagah on his third hand, expressions changed, more wine and ale was poured, and everyone settled down for a good night’s gambling.

“Here, my friends,” Master Blair said dolefully, handing a couple of swagah to Jebel. “Find decent mats for yourselves and a couple for us by one of the walls.”

“I can’t—” Jebel began.

“Take it,” Master Blair insisted. “I’d only lose it to these cunning card sharks if I held on to it.”

The other players laughed at the barbed compliment. Jebel bowed gratefully, then pushed to the bar with Tel Hesani to order four of the inn’s best mats.

“Why did you lie earlier?” Jebel asked Tel Hesani as they lay down, picking dead insects out of the folds of their thin covers.

“Our finances should be our own affair,” Tel Hesani replied. “It is always better to proclaim less than you possess.”

“But they’re our friends,” Jebel said. “We don’t have to lie to them.”

Tel Hesani smiled tightly. “I have spent time with many travelers and found that those who travel widest generally boast the least.”

Jebel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling Masters Bush and Blair liars?”

“I would not dare make such a baseless accusation,” Tel Hesani said. “But I have been to a couple of the nations south of Abu Kheshabah of which they spoke. I do not remember them in quite the same way that the good Masters do. And I have no memory of there being a plague in Abu Judayda anytime recently.”

“I’d be careful what I said in your place,” Jebel growled. “Your head will end up on an executioner’s block if you go around questioning honest Um Aineh.”

“I will hold my tongue in the future, my lord,” Tel Hesani said stiffly, and left his next comment — that he didn’t believe the pair were Um Aineh — unsaid.

Making himself as comfortable as he could, Jebel lay down, closed his eyes, and tried to drown out the noise and stench of the inn so that he could hopefully grab some sleep and escape the rotten squalor of Shihat in his dreams.

A roar jolted Jebel out of his fitful sleep. “Cheats!” someone bellowed, and it was followed by the sound of a smashing plate or mug.

Jebel’s head snapped up. He saw the Um Safafaha who’d confronted him earlier, on his feet now, face flushed, pointing a trembling finger at Masters Bush and Blair. It was late, and the inn was quieter than it had been, most of its patrons asleep on the floor. But there were still several people drinking at the bar, and three other gamblers at the table with the Um Safafaha and Jebel’s new friends. All eyes were now on the towering savage, eager to see what would happen next.

“Cheats!” the Um Safafaha roared again.

Master Bush shook his head and sighed. “Some men just cannot accept the cruel misfortune of their cards,” he said.

“A tragedy,” Master Blair murmured. “To play in the expectation of winning every hand…”

“Not every hand,” the Um Safafaha snarled. “But I ain’t won a decent hand since you sat down. Nobody has.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” said Master Bush. “If I recall correctly, you’ve won four or five times in just the last couple of hours.”

“Nothing pots,” came the growled response. “We’ve all had little wins, but you two have won every major hand.”

“He has a point,” one of the other gamblers said, and Jebel felt the mood shift. Sleepers were nudged awake. One man calling foul was the start of a fight, but if others agreed with him, it could turn into a lynching.

“Pick up your belongings,” Tel Hesani whispered. Jebel looked around and saw that the slave had already put his own pack together. “Do it without a fuss. Then walk to the door, but stay close to the wall and keep your eyes on the gamblers — act like you’re moving forward for a better view.”

“We can’t leave now,” Jebel objected. “They might need our help.”

“They’re more than capable of helping themselves,” hissed Tel Hesani.

“But—” Jebel began.

“The people here think we’re their associates,” Tel Hesani said. “If Bush and Blair are hanged, we’ll hang too.”

Jebel didn’t want to abandon the traders, but he didn’t want to end up with his neck in a noose either. So he picked up his bags as Tel Hesani had commanded, and they slid from their benches and began to steal their way to the door.

At the table, Masters Bush and Blair weren’t panicking. In fact, they acted like this was no more than a minor inconvenience.

“I think we are no longer welcome,” Master Bush said.

“Should we retire to our mats?” Master Blair asked.

“Don’t bother,” the Um Safafaha laughed. “You won’t be needing them.”

“But we paid for them,” said Master Bush. “If we’re not to use them, we should be entitled to a refund.”

“We’ll put it towards the cost of burying you,” the Um Safafaha said.

The other three gamblers stood and backed away from the table. People rose from their mats and joined them, forming a purposeful half-circle. Masters Bush and Blair didn’t react, except to casually gather their winnings.

“I’m sure you good gentlemen won’t object if we bag the swagah,” Master Blair said.

“It will save you a job once you’ve hung us up to dry,” Master Bush added.

“Go ahead,” one of the gamblers grinned. “We like men who can see the light side of their own execution.”

“Oh, we believe you have to be able to laugh at everything in this world, don’t we, Master Blair?” Master Bush said.

“Indeed,” Master Blair agreed. He finished bagging his share of the coins. “Laughter keeps the world turning. That’s why my partner and I spend much of our time… I wouldn’t say mastering … but learning new tricks. We like to amuse those we meet. Perhaps you’d like to see a trick before you take us outside — assuming you’re not planning to hang us from the rafters in here.”

“Go ahead,” the Um Safafaha cackled. “Perform all the tricks you like, long as they ain’t vanishing tricks.”

The crowd laughed. Jebel, who was almost at the door, wondered if the Masters meant to joke their way out of their predicament. He didn’t think that they could, but he silently wished them the best of luck as he reached for the handle.

A man stepped in his way. Jebel looked up and saw that it was the innkeeper. “Don’t leave now,” he growled. “You’ll miss all the fun.”

Jebel looked back at Tel Hesani. The slave glanced around. Nobody else had spotted them. The innkeeper was the only one aware that they existed. But if they tried to knock him aside, they’d draw the attention of the mob. Tel Hesani gave Jebel a signal, and they took a couple of steps away from the door.