Barry Sadler - The Assassin

Still he was taken into consideration and upon questioning, the name of the inn at which he was to take quarters was duly noted and, with the changing of the guard, passed on to higher authority for consideration. To them the name and description meant nothing. He was only another of the wandering infidels who sought employment for their swords. And perhaps might even one day be brought into the ranks of the guard the Emir was forming of men who were born outside of the boundaries of the Seljuk Turks' Empire. There was even a name for them. Janissary. Most would come from the ranks of young slaves who had never known any other life and who served their masters as loyal beasts to the death. Though they were technically ferengi they would have privileged status and be made to feel that they were part of a new elite in the world and be totally devoted to serving the interests of their masters.

Casca did not know or care about the new idea of using units comprised totally of foreigners as a fighting force. He just moved easily through the crowded streets ignoring the outstretched hands of the beggars who cried plaintively and piteously for alms, and cast pleading eyes on him as he approached, then cursed him as he passed. For a fleeting second he thought about the beggars of the world and how at one time an edict had been passed stating that thieves would no longer lose their right hands or have a leg chopped off for running away from the authorities. In protest the beggars had banded together in their thousands in the streets of Baghdad and demanded that the punishments be reinstated. If the populace did not feel pity for their mutilated limbs then the thieves would either starve or have to go to work. The state relented and gave in. The old time punishments for transgressions were reinstated.

High on Castle Alamut, Hassan al Sabah held conference with a man who had once opposed him. This man had been part of the former inner council but had not been killed during the purge by which Hassan took control of the Brotherhood of the Lamb. This man, Hakim ben Souk, had fled, not to be found till this time. It was with the understanding that he had no choice but to cooperate or go over the parapets to the distant valley below, that he gave to Hassan the information which the master of the mountain had been lacking concerning the physical description of the one who had slain the Lamb. All this Hassan knew, till Hakim mentioned the scar, which like a bracelet circled Casca's left wrist.

Maybe? Could it be? He had seen such a scar on the left wrist of Kasim and he was a ferengi. It seemed impossible that he should have been that close to the "damned one." Yet he had to know. To Bu Ali, who had returned to his duties with the slave master Mamud, he sent word that it was to be arranged for him to go to Apnea and to observe the actions of Kasim and to make certain the scarred one was returned to Castle Alamut with all dispatch, even if it meant that Bu Ali took over the job which Kasim was sent to do. He had to have the scarred one back. There were too many questions he had to ask. He knew that Kasim had not taken to the Shiite faith with any sincerity and that did not bother him. One used such tools as were at hand or could be molded. He had long known that Kasim was not one to be readily molded, and that presented Hassan with the challenge of finding out what would bind Kasim to him as much as blind faith bound the rest of the Hashassin.

Casca never checked into the inn figuring it was wiser to keep mobile. He went over the events of the past months in his mind. He thought that the Old Man of the Mountain might be a little bit mad, but then who in this country wasn't? He had to admit, though, that he still admired old Hassan al Sabah. He was intelligent but not given to wild flights of fancy. As for the selective removal of those he considered undesirable, as far as Casca could tell, Hassan hadn't had anybody liquidated that didn't need liquidating. Nizam al Mulk? Well, that one might be a mistake, but on the other hand, maybe there was something about him Casca didn't know. Give Hassan the benefit of the doubt. Certainly he had been right about Friar Dilorenzi. Casca smiled to himself. He had been tempted to give Dilorenzi the shegita treatment — kosher slaughtering. But that might have been too much. Hassan might not have had a sense of humor when it came to mixing religions. Most people who took religion seriously did not.

His thoughts broke away from Hassan to the more pressing needs of the moment. There would be a thieves' market — there always was. He might even locate a little wine somewhere, not having had a drink now since that night in the Cafe of the Infidels, and his throat was getting dry.

"To Apnea?" Bu Ali repeated Mamud's words as though he had not heard right.

"Yes. I have just received a purchase order on these three men" — he pointed at the slaves with a horsetail fly whisk — "with the request that they be put in your charge and delivered to a dealer there most expeditiously. For a fee, of course." Mamud was in one of his "efficient businessman" moods, and he didn't notice the lack of surprise on Bu Ali's face.

Times and distances were going around in Bu Ali's mind. They were two days' travel from the Emir's city. That meant he, Bu Ali, would be present at the time when Kasim was to assassinate the Emir.

What if Kasim were not successful escaping?

Ah…!

Temptation.

However his orders from the Master were quite clear. He would return Kasim even at the cost of his own life, for the failure to do as he was ordered would bring about his death without his just reward. But if he did die following the Master's commands was he not guaranteed a place in Paradise? He would obey.

"What's your name?"

"Yousef, lord."

"Get your ass out of my sight. Do you think I'm fool enough to give alms to a filthy beggar who has all of his parts and eyes, and is therefore capable of being able to work for a living?"

The captain of the Emir's bodyguard aimed a kick at the scruffy little man in front of him, but Yousef scurried out of reach and headed down the nearest alley.

The captain forgot him immediately, his mind on a more important subject, the corner before him where the attack on the Emir was to take place. His practiced eye took in all the possible places from which an assassin could throw a lance. He had already prepared his men for just these places. Observers had been placed strategically so they would be able to observe any who visited these places. Some were housewives and fishmongers, others soldiers in mufti. All had been ordered to use their eyes very carefully or they would lose them. It was all taken care of. This final trip was to see if he had missed anything.

He hadn't.

The trap was set.

The captain smiled. He liked the torture sessions. He wondered what kind of man they would have this time. The tough ones were always the best. The torture lasted longer with them. Like the last one. The source of their information had been one of the Emir's own body servants. An Assassin. Of course they had to torture all the rest of the Emir's servants to get to the right one. But that was a small price to pay and slaves were easy to replace. The now-dead body servant had tried to take his own life when they took him to the dungeons below the palace. Only the captain's sharp awareness had prevented the man from hanging himself before questioning. Stroking his forked beard in pleasure the captain gave a short laugh at the memory of the servant's balls being lowered gently into a pot of boiling water and the exquisite look of agony in the man's eyes. It was positively delicious. Next, the threat of telling the man they were going to make him eat his own cooked oysters had done the trick. He broke. Telling everything in the hope of an easier death. Now they knew the date of the attempt and the general location. The slave was to have accompanied the Emir on his pilgrimage to the mosque. He had been given orders to kill the Emir if the spearman failed. Of course the fool's hope for an easy death was a futile thing. Even now he was hanging from a meat hook in the dungeon, the hook strategically placed between his shoulder blades so it would take some days for him to die. Normally his head would have been placed above the gates leading to the city but that would have warned the accursed eaters of Hashish that their plans were known.