Darren Shan - The Thin Executioner

Master Blair had fished a small ball out of a pocket. It was a peculiar mesh ball, made of interlacing strands of a fine material. There was a metal triangle in the middle. “Observe,” Master Blair said, tilting the ball and squeezing it. The triangle slipped through a gap between strands. He caught it, then poked it back into the ball, shook it, and teased the triangle through another gap.

“I don’t think much of that,” the Um Safafaha grunted.

“You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Master Blair said. And with a fast flick of his wrist, he sent the ball flying at the larger man’s throat. It struck him just below his Adam’s apple and bounced off. The Um Safafaha started to bring his hands up to protect himself, then realized he had nothing to fear. He looked down at the ball, which had landed on the table and was rolling back to Master Blair, and sneered.

“Is that it?” one of the gamblers asked, disappointed.

“Almost,” Master Blair said. “But if you look closely, you’ll see that the triangle has disappeared.”

“That’s supposed to make us laugh?” the gambler snorted.

“No,” Master Blair said, then pointed at the Um Safafaha. “ That is.”

The Um Safafaha began to choke. Eyes bulging, he staggered backwards and fell over a table, scratching at his throat, gasping for breath, blood bubbling from his mouth. He tried to rise again but didn’t make it. As a huge gout of blood burst from his lips, he collapsed, shook, then went still.

“And so the giant was brought low,” Master Bush muttered, and stood. He was holding two mesh balls similar to Master Blair’s, one in each hand. “Does anybody else want to argue the finer points of the game with us?”

Nobody answered. The eyes of those around the traders were full of hate — not because they’d killed the Um Safafaha but because they had cheated the mob of a hanging.

Master Blair took his time picking up the bags of swagah and putting them in his pockets. When he was finished, he yawned and stretched. “I could do with a good night’s sleep, Master Bush. Shall we take to our mats now?”

“I would advise against it,” Master Bush said. “The air is rife with treachery. I believe our sleep would be disturbed by agents of vengeful wrath.”

“A pity,” Master Blair sighed, then started towards the door. Two more of the mesh balls appeared in his hands as if by magic. People quickly stepped out of his way, then took another step back when Master Bush followed him.

The traders were almost at the door when Master Blair spotted Jebel and Tel Hesani. “There you are!” he boomed. “I thought you had departed already.”

“We couldn’t get out,” Jebel said, nodding at the innkeeper.

Master Blair raised an eyebrow at the um Shihat. “Would you please step aside, kind sir? We wish to leave.”

“I want a death tithe,” the innkeeper snarled. “That savage was part of a group. They’ll come here looking to cause trouble when they find out he’s dead. The only hope I have of keeping them quiet is to fix them up with ale and women.”

“A troublesome task,” Master Blair said. “You have my condolences.”

“I don’t want your condolences,” the innkeeper growled. “I want a death tithe. A tenth of your winnings — that’s fair. Then you can leave without any trouble.”

“That would be fair,” Master Blair agreed. “Except I think he was traveling by himself, and you are trying to con us.”

“A tenth is not so much,” Master Bush said. “Perhaps we should take this good man at his word and pay the tithe.”

“I have looked deep into his eyes, Master Bush. He is a liar. I am certain.”

“I ain’t no liar!” the innkeeper barked. “And I ain’t letting you out unless you pay that stinking tithe.”

Master Blair’s smile tightened. “And if we choose to kill you, sir?”

“You won’t,” the innkeeper snorted. “Killing a savage is one thing, but if you kill me, you’ll have half the soldiers in Shihat on your backs before you’re ten paces out the door.”

Master Blair nodded. “You make a valid point. But I believe we could get more than ten paces from here… twelve at the least. Master Bush?”

“Most definitely twelve,” Master Bush murmured.

Master Blair tutted. “You have placed us in a dilemma. If we pay, we’ll never know who was wrong and who was right. And we are men who hate to live in doubt. So, as hazardous as it may prove to be…”

With a lazy smile, Master Blair’s left hand jerked, and the mesh ball struck the innkeeper in the middle of his throat. As he fell aside, choking, Master Blair yanked the door open, grabbed Jebel, and thrust him through. He made to grab Tel Hesani, but the slave was already following the boy. Master Blair spun, launched his final ball at the crowd — Master Bush had thrown both of his too — then the pair of traders darted after the um Wadi and his slave, slamming the door shut on the screams of the outraged mob.

“This way, gentlemen,” Master Bush said, heading for an alley.

Jebel started to follow the traders, but Tel Hesani caught him. “We shouldn’t go with them,” he said.

Jebel paused. Events had unfolded so quickly, his head was in a whirl.

Master Blair winked. “You’re free to make your own way if you wish, young Rum, but we know this town better than you or your slave. My advice is to throw your lot in with us.”

The pair fled down the alley. Jebel stared at Tel Hesani, wanting him to make the call. The slave hesitated, then heard the door of the inn opening. Slapping Jebel’s back, he pointed after the traders. They ducked down the alley just before the first members of the mob appeared, screeching bloody murder.

Jebel and Tel Hesani soon caught up with Masters Bush and Blair. The traders were making good time, but they weren’t racing. Master Blair even took a moment to stop in front of a window to check his appearance and smooth his mustache.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” Jebel gasped.

“The Um Safafaha?” Master Blair said, surprised.

“No — the innkeeper. Why didn’t you pay him?”

“He would have raised the alarm regardless,” Master Blair said. “I know his sort. He would have set the soldiers on us even if we’d given him all our swagah.”

They turned down another dark alley. Jebel had no idea where they were. He could hear the mob somewhere behind, yelling and cursing. He was terrified, but Master Blair seemed unaffected by the uproar.

“Was it true?” Jebel asked Master Bush as they jogged. “Did you cheat?”

“Please!” Master Bush said with a pained expression. “One never asks a valued friend such an insensitive question.”

“Where are we going?” growled Tel Hesani. He would have gladly broken free of the traders, except he didn’t know the town.

“The docks,” Master Bush said. “We have a small skiff moored and ready to sail. There isn’t much room, but you’re more than welcome to share it with us.”

“We can’t,” Jebel said. “I’m a quester. I have to travel on foot.”

“I understand,” said Master Bush. “But in an emergency such as this…”

“No,” Jebel said stubbornly. “Sabbah Eid would curse me if I did.”

“As you wish,” Master Bush sighed. “I admire your dedication, even though I fear it may prove your undoing.”

They jogged in silence, winding their way through the dark, twisting streets. The sounds of the mob faded but didn’t go away. Jebel’s heart pumped furiously. He had never had to flee for his life before. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

Ten minutes later they reached a quiet section of the docks. There were few boats moored here and Jebel soon smelt why — they were by the rim of a sewer, where waste overflowed into the as-Surout. The stench was overwhelming. Jebel reeled aside and was sick. Tel Hesani was almost sick too, but he managed to keep his food down. Masters Bush and Blair seemed oblivious to the smell. They made for a skiff tied close to where the waste opened into the river. A wretched boy was standing guard. He was naked except for a short sword strapped to his side. He drew it now and snarled at the traders. Master Bush tossed him a silver swagah and pushed onto the boat.