The Slave Market of Mucar (17 page)

The man bowed with an ill grace.

"If it be so willed, brother."

He drew back and a moment later huge bolts rasped back. One side of the main gate opened and the Phantom clattered into the city. The door clanged to hollowly behind him. He found himself in a maze of narrow courts, his mount picking its way delicately between laden carts, herds of goats and sheep, and peddlers pushing their wares on flimsy barrows. The smell was indescribable and the big man pulled his cloak across his mouth more tightly as he urged his mount through the cursing passers-by crowding the narrow ways.

Presently he was clear of the crowd, walking his mount through a more affluent part of the city, a place of elegant squares and courtyards, where fountains played in the sunshine and lattice-work grilles, showing the influence of the Moors, threw fretwork patterns across exquisitely tiled pavements. Clouds of white pigeons flew here and tropical flowers grew in great stone troughs. In this place of great space and light, the Phantom found a bronze vessel full of muddy water for horses and he slipped down from his mount, which drank gratefully.

Tying the horse to the metalwork of a filigree balcony, the big man took the opportunity to mix with the passersby, keeping his ears open for any snatches of conversation which might lead to news of Saldan. He paused beneath the striped awning of a prosperous brass-merchant's establishment and examined a pair

Page 84

of finely wrought vases. Near him two men, obviously merchants, by their prosperous bearing, spoke of cattle and sheep prices.

Presently they glanced around and lowered their voices. The Phantom pressed closer beneath the awning, as though examining the brass-merchant's wares more closely. The men did not appear to have noticed him, or, if they had, had dismissed him from their thoughts.

The taller of them, a courtly man with-a grave, bearded face, plucked at his belt with long-nailed fingers and said casually, "When is the sale?"

The other glanced around the half-empty court and replied in low tones, "After dark, in the usual place."

The first man nodded with satisfaction and the two men stepped away. As the brass-merchant was now approaching from the dim interior of his shop, the light of avarice in his eye, the Phantom moved casually away and walked back to his horse. He remounted and rode farther back into the fastnesses of the secret city.

The prisoners were exhausted. They staggered across the burning face of the desert toward the distant turrets of Mucar as though it were a city in a mirage. One stubble-faced convict, his neck chafed red with the grass-rope halter, said bitterly, "We left Masara for this!"

Even Zadok was beginning to feel the strain. He still had his handcuffs and, too late, he had found that there was no spare horse. He would make sure about this detail on his next trip. Saldan should have seen to it. The Arab slavers declined to let him ride two-up with one of them, so Zadok was reduced to bringing up the rear. He did not dare walk among the convicts. That would have been asking for assault. He smiled bitterly to himself. This was his toughest assignment so far. Another dozen trips or so and he would have enough money to establish his own trading concern. That day he would escape from Masara for good. He chuckled to himself at the thought.

It was late afternoon and the sun was casting long shadows before the group came to one of the smaller gates of Mucar town; this was a postern much favored by the slavers and one of three most frequently used by Saldan and his Arab partner. The dejected men filed through in almost complete exhaustion. Zadok was the last through, but his spirits rose when he saw the form of his master in jodhpurs, open-neck shirt, and pith-helmet waiting for him within the shadow of the walls.

The two men exchanged curt greetings, as was their fashion. Saldan's eyes looked at Zadok sardonically from behind the mask, taking in his assistant's bedraggled condition.

"So you know what it's like now, Zadok, do you?" he said raspingly. "You had a nice walk?"

Zadok smiled his lopsided smile, his lips drawn back from the teeth like a dog.

He almost spat out his reply.

"The fool you sent had no key for my handcuffs," he said holding them out and rattling them.

"Too bad," said Saldan, shaking his head. "Had a rough trip, did you?"

"Rough wasn't the word," said Zadok, some of his rage evaporating. "There wasn't a spare horse, either."

Page 85

Saldan waved away his grumbling.

"Take them to the usual quarters," he called after the Arab slavers. "Give them food and water. I want top price for them tonight!"

He turned back to find Zadok at his elbow.

"Saldan, you should have gotten me a horse," the Arab hissed. "I'm worn out."

"Quiet, you fool!" the big man growled, raising his fist to strike the Arab, who dodged back to avoid the blow. "How many times have I told you not to use my name."

"It was a good job, wasn't it?" said Zadok.

"Very good," said Saldan, stroking his chin. "One of your best." He turned away to follow the slavers.

"Just a minute, boss," said Zadok, plucking at his arm. "You've forgotten something. My handcuffs."

"I haven't forgotten anything," said Saldan calmly. He spat expressively upon the ground.

"Times change, Zadok. The pressure at Masara from the Jungle Patrol is getting too much for the trade to stand."

Zadok turned pale.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he stammered.

He held up his handcuffed hands, jangling the chain in mute appeal. Saldan lit a cigar, puffing the fragrant smoke in his assistant's face.

The Arab reeled away, his eyes stinging. He felt tired and faint after the long march and he was light-headed from the heat.

"This is my last haul," said Saldan, looking Zadok closely in the eyes. "After tonight I'm going out of business."

There was a long pause as the Arab stood very still.

"So I don't need you any more, Zadok," Saldan said gently.

The Arab shook his head as though he had not heard properly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, shaking his head again.

"Just what I said," Saldan replied. "I'm going out of business."

The Arab's face cleared.

"I understand that, sir," he said. "But how about these cuffs?"

There was a tinge of regret in Saldan's voice as he went on.

"Zadok, don't you understand, I can't have you running around loose, shooting off your mouth."

He blew cigar smoke thoughtfully in the Arab's direction.

Page 86

"So I'm putting you in the sale-with the others."

There was a howl of rage from the Arab and the next moment a bundle of flailing fury sprang through the air at Saldan's throat. Taken off guard he reeled back as one of the Arab's handcuffs caught him across the side of the mouth. His cigar fell to the ground in a shower of sparks as the Arab traders turned back, aroused by the uproar behind them. One big man spurred to Saldan's side as the slaver fell against the city wall. Blood was beginning to ooze in an ugly trickle from the side of his mouth.

"You're selling me? You scum!" Zadok went on screaming.

He screamed again as one of the slaver's whips cracked across his back, sending him sprawling into the dust.

"Get away from me, you filthy pig!" said Saldan, seizing the whip from the guard. He dabbed at his bleeding mouth with a handkerchief and as it came away scarlet it seemed to enrage him more than ever.

The whip descended again and again onto Zadok's recumbent form. The Arab groveled, trying to avoid the blows rained on him.

"You can't do this" he shouted. "I worked for you for years. I arranged the breaks and brought the men in here.

I even stayed in prison to organize the trade-the trade which made you rich."

Saldan finally threw the whip down, his body trembling. Two of the guards dragged Zadok to his feet.

"I took all the risks!" the Arab went on shouting. "I was loyal to you. You can't put me in with them. They know now. They'll kill me."

Saldan had recovered some of his calm. He kept on dabbing with the handkerchief.

"You should have thought of that before," he said.

He motioned to the guards.

"Take him away," he said.

Unnoticed in the general melee, the tall figure of an Arab had been surveying the chaotic scene from behind a shadowed pillar fringing the court. He slipped away silently to mingle with the crowds in the bazaars as the big wooden door closed behind the still-shouting Zadok and his captors. Saldan stood a moment longer. He picked up the whip. Holding it loosely coiled in his hand and still dabbing at the side of his face, he too disappeared among the crowd.

Page 87

CHAPTER 16

VALUABLE PROPERTY

Prince Selim's face looked grave. The light of the late afternoon sun stained his beard a pale rose as he stood on the terrace of his villa looking out over the golden roofs of Mucar to the distant fringe of the desert. The air of the roof garden was heavy with the perfume of many flowers, brightly coloured birds flew among the foliage, and the splashing of many fountains sounded coolly on the ear.

The Prince looked down thoughtfully at the fine pattern of red, blue, and green tiles which infinitely repeated themselves across the floor of the terrace. Behind him the golden cupolas of an ornamental pavilion caught the last of the sun's rays. Soon they would sink behind the taller buildings of the city. Down below the terrace steps, on the inner courtyard, two white horses pawed the dusty paving. Palm trees, sheltered by the courtyard walls, shivered slightly in the rising breeze.

The file of soldiers stood in line, facing outward from the bottom of the steps; the breeze fluttered their cloaks until it looked as though the whole line was suffering from the ague. Saldan's heavy face was enigmatic in the rosy evening light. He stood next to the Prince, smoking the inevitable cigar, drinking in the blessed quiet of the garden.

Selim turned away from the courtyard at last and made a small impatient movement of his hand. His eyes were troubled as he tried to probe beneath the big slaver's mask.

"Are you really going to put your assistant on the auction block?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Saldan sighed a heavy sigh as though he bitterly regretted the action.

"Yes," he told the Prince. "This is our last mart tonight."

The two men, as if by common consent, turned away from the balcony and started a slow pacing along the edge of the roof garden, savoring the coolness. Saldan's cigar smoke rose up above the balcony wall and was then dispersed by the rising breeze.

The Prince clicked his tongue with annoyance; loss of Saldan's supply of slaves would also mean a big drop in revenue for him.

"Is it really necessary?" he asked for the third time that evening.

Saldan shook his head impatiently.

"Zadok? Loose, he's dangerous. He can talk. Or he can blackmail me." He shot Selim a quizzical glance. "Or you, Prince."

The old ruler of Mucar shivered slightly, as though the breeze were a chill one, and drew his jeweled coat about him with one withered hand. He said nothing and as the two men continued their pacing, Saldan went on.

Page 88

"Look at it like this, Prince," he said. "The way I've organized things, Zadok is taken care of. He's safely out of the way, there's no danger to you and me and in addition there's the profit to consider."

He paused in his pacing and blew fragrant blue smoke out of his mouth. His face beneath the mask tried to assume a look of benevolence, but failed.

"He's worth five thousand to us, Prince."

The ruler of Mucar shook his head doubtfully. His eyes were still troubled. His gaze traveled over the cool beauty of the roof garden without seeing anything.

"You're a hard man, Saldan," he said.

Saldan turned on the Prince with an abrupt movement.

"No, practical, Excellence," he said.

And then he added, with another hard look, "And don't use my name in this town!"

Selim made a placatory movement of his hand.

"As you will," he said. "May Allah forgive you for what you do this night."

Saldan stepped forward to the balcony and looked once again down into the courtyard. Neither of the two men saw the tall figure in Arab robes who regarded them keenly from the dense foliage of the garden. The eyes of the figure were hard and watchful from behind the mask he wore. He flattened himself behind the basin of a fountain as the two men passed near the spot where he crouched, silent and unseen.

"I don't know about Allah, Prince," said Saldan, giving his companion a contemptuous look, "Or about forgiveness, come to that."

He paused again, until his cigar was drawing satisfactorily.

"But if He exists then I am sure He will."

"I do not care for blasphemy, Saldan," said the Prince in scandalized tones.

"I didn't know you were so devout, Excellence," said Saldan sardonically. "Do they have a mosque in Deauville?"