Darren Shan - The Thin Executioner

“To your good health,” Master Bush toasted Jebel when he sat down again.

“And yours,” Master Blair said to Tel Hesani after they’d drunk the first toast.

“And ours,” Master Bush laughed, and they drank yet again.

Jebel made a face. “It tastes strange,” he said. Tel Hesani was also grimacing.

“Abu Nekhele honey,” said Master Blair, “from al-Attieg bees. They’re larger than most, and their honey isn’t the sweetest. But it’s better than none at all. You develop a taste for it after a while, especially when it’s all you can find.”

Master Bush moved the conversation on to Jebel and Tel Hesani’s plans. Where would they go next? Did they need any swagah to tide them over? Could he and Master Blair help in any way? Jebel said that they were fine, that they meant to head west, then north along the as-Sudat. Remembering Tel Hesani’s warnings, he didn’t tell them how much swagah he and his slave were carrying but said they had enough to struggle by on.

“We hunt for food most of the time,” he lied. “We’re getting quite good at it.”

Jebel thought Tel Hesani would be proud of the smooth way he’d lied, but the slave was paying little attention. His head was swimming, and his vision had blurred. Then his stomach clenched, and he doubled over. He thought at first that his food had disagreed with him, but as he straightened he caught Master Blair studying him with a cold gaze and realized he’d been tricked. Summoning all of his strength, the Um Kheshabah tried to leap to his feet and cry foul. But dizziness washed over him, and he fell off his chair, moaning.

“Tel Hesani!” Jebel cried. “What’s wrong?” He bent to turn the slave over.

“Easy, young Rum,” Master Bush said, holding him back. “If he’s having a fit, he might bite.” He pretended to examine Tel Hesani while the barman and the other customers looked on with mild interest. Then he cursed. “Master Blair, have you tried any of that honey?”

“Not that particular jar,” Master Blair answered. “Why?”

“You’ve been conned,” Master Bush huffed. “It’s old stock.”

“What’s happening?” shouted Jebel. “Will he be all right? Is there anything—”

“No need to panic,” Master Blair said, reaching down to pick up Tel Hesani. “Foul honey can turn a man’s stomach. But it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll take him outside, pump him dry, and once he’s thrown up, he’ll be fine.”

Master Bush grabbed the Um Kheshabah from the other side. They stood, holding the semiconscious slave between them. “Jebel,” Master Bush grunted. “Could you get the door for us? The effects of the honey will probably strike you as well sometime soon.”

Jebel ran ahead to open the door. He did feel somewhat queasy, but his wits were still his own. He stood aside as the traders tottered out, then closed the door and followed as they dragged Tel Hesani around to the rear of the inn. There was a gutter there. It was overflowing with waste, and flies buzzed around it. Masters Bush and Blair dropped Tel Hesani close to the gutter, then stood back, wiping their clothes, smiling slyly.

“Shouldn’t you hold him up while he’s vomiting?” Jebel asked. “And I thought you said you were going to pump—”

In a flash, Master Bush clubbed the side of Jebel’s head with a cudgel. As Jebel staggered backwards, Master Bush whipped the boy’s hands behind him and bound them with a strip of cloth. Stuffing a leather ball into Jebel’s mouth, he tied another piece of cloth around his chin and neck, rendering him incapable of anything louder than a grunt.

While this was happening, the three Um Saga from the bar stepped into sight. Two of them picked up Tel Hesani. “A moment, good sirs,” Master Blair stopped them. Crouching over the slave, he rifled through his pockets and picked him clean of his bags of swagah. Then he stepped back and grinned. “He is yours now.”

“You not say he have swagah,” one of the Um Saga said, eyeing the bags.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” replied Master Blair. “I don’t know what’s in these. But whatever they hold, it’s ours. You get the slave as we agreed, nothing more.”

“Maybe we take boy too,” the Um Saga growled. “And not pay you anything.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” Master Blair said, and there was an edge to his voice. “You haven’t had to fight to subdue the slave. We’re giving him to you for a pittance. It would be foolish to get into an argument, when you can simply pay us the price we agreed and be on your way without any bother.”

The Um Saga studied the foreigners. They were smaller than him and his partners, but something about them made him think they would not go down easily in a fight. Besides, he and his men had come to Jedir only to kill a few free hours. The slave was an unexpected bonus. There was no point risking their lives when there was no need.

“Here,” he said, tossing a handful of silver swagah down by the gutter. “Keep the boy and bags. May they bring you no luck.”

“The same to you with your slave, good sir,” Master Blair laughed, stooping to retrieve the coins, picking a few out of the waste where they’d fallen, taking no notice of the filth or swarming clouds of flies.

Jebel roared into the folds of his gag when he saw the Um Saga pick up Tel Hesani and head away with him. He kicked at Master Bush and desperately tried to tear his hands loose. But the fake Master had bound him expertly. He knew the boy couldn’t break free, so he stood back while Jebel struggled angrily, then took his cudgel and clipped Jebel’s right knee, so that he collapsed in agony.

“That’s what you’ll get anytime you make a nuisance of yourself,” Bush said.

Blair came over and kicked Jebel hard in the ribs. “And that’s what you’ll get if you look at us the wrong way,” he added.

Then they picked up Jebel, stripped him of his swagah, pointed him towards the inn, and thrust him ahead of them, casually debating what they could buy with the surprising amount of money that they had taken from the pitiful boy and his slipshod slave.

The staff and customers of the inn barely blinked when the odd traders came back minus the tall man and with the boy bound and gagged. That was life in Abu Saga.

Bush and Blair dumped Jebel in his room and tied his legs together. They didn’t remove his gag. Bush pulled Jebel’s trousers down and stuck a bedpan by his side. The pair then retired to the bar, where Jebel could hear them singing drunkenly a few hours later and far into the long, lonely night.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. His world had always been an orderly place. He’d led a calm, steady life. Now everything had fallen into chaos, and he had lost control of his destiny completely. Not only had he failed to complete his quest but he’d surrendered his freedom into the bargain. Not for the first time since leaving Wadi he cursed his rash decision to quest. What a fool he had been to chase invincibility, when he could have simply carried on as normal and put his disappointment behind him. A life of quiet shame as a trader or teacher would have been vastly preferable to one of slavery or an abrupt, early death.

When he considered his range of options, Jebel paused, confusion temporarily getting the better of his horror. What did the bogus Masters have planned? If they meant to sell him, they’d surely have let him go at the same time as Tel Hesani. Were they going to torture him? Kill and eat him? Worse?

Jebel got no sleep that night, struggling vainly with his bonds. He tried to break a chair and use the splintered wood to cut himself free, but he couldn’t. He kicked at the door, hoping to attract attention, but either nobody heard him over the singing in the bar or the um Jedir simply didn’t care. He even prayed to the gods for help, though he felt ashamed afterwards and regretted bothering them.