Sinbad and The Eye of the Tiger (15 page)

The seagull stopped its pacing and the tiny locket swung on its gold chain, almost hidden under the thick, soft breast feathers. The bird moved close to a coil of rope, and seemed ready to move on, but there was the sound of a cabin door closing. The seagull hopped quickly behind the rope and all but disappeared. Sinbad came along the deck and passed the coil of rope without stopping, going on toward a group of sailors working in the lee of the poop deck.

A wisp of green smoke came from behind the coil of rope. It curled and twisted. More smoke drifted out, caught by the sea breezes, and turned, coiling, twisting, but not being carried away. Sinbad spoke to the sailors, then climbed the ladder to the afterdeck and stood there, his legs automatically shifting his balance with the bob and weave of the ship.

More smoke drifted out in a puff, and through the emerald mist appeared Zenobia . . . but a Zenobia shorter than a man’s forearm, a Zenobia only as tall as a short dagger. She peered quickly over her shoulder at Sinbad and the other sailors, fingering the crystal locket on its chain around her throat. She ran quickly across the wooden deck, a surface that now appeared to her to be something like a furrowed field, only hard. She darted to a bucket and hid behind it, until she had ascertained that no one had seen her.

The tiny sorceress started out, then threw herself back as a barefoot sailor came along the deck, carrying a bucket and a mop. She jumped into the shelter of a canvas covering over one of the sledges of equipment, and peeked out. The sailor was humming a ditty, oblivious to her presence. He leaned the mop against the railing and picked up the bucket, tying a line to it and throwing it over the side.

Zenobia started to ran toward the open door to the passage leading to the cabins. Then she threw herself back into the shadows under the canvas as she saw a sailor coming up the deck toward her.

“Aha, Ali, you have the deck to wash, eh?”

The sailor at the railing pulled up the bucket from the sea, grunting. “Aye, you know Sinbad—he likes a clean ship!”

Zenobia stared with horror as the sailor grasped the sloshing bucket and threw its contents down the deck toward her. The bucket full of water came at her like a tidal wave. She bolted and leaped for the sledge above her, grasping the grainy edges of the raw wood, which still ran with sap, and pulled herself to safety as the flood waters passed below her.

The tide quickly thinned and passed, running this way and that as the ship swayed. She peeked out again and saw Ali mopping the deck in a desultory manner. She swung her feet to the wet deck and waited. When he had worked his way around, so that he was facing away from her and his left shoulder hid his face from her, she ran out from under the sledge and toward the hatchway door.

The door was swinging with the pitching of the ship and Zenobia paused, giving the afterdeck another quick look, then braced herself. As the door started its swing toward being fully open she bolted, grasping the worn sill and vaulting over. She threw herself to the scraped wood of the top step as the door swung back, narrowly missing her and slamming shut with a boom and a metallic click of the latch.

Zenobia got to her feet and dusted herself off. She sat on the edge of the step and jumped down. Each step was as high as her shoulders and while not difficult, it was a strenuous climb down. At last she stood in the small passage before the door to Sinbad’s cabin.

The door was closed and she examined it carefully. It was old and carved, with only fragments of its paint left, worn away by the years of seagoing life. The latch was higher than she could possibly reach, or even climb to. But a chance for her lay at the very bottom of the door. Once close-fitting and snug, the door had been warped by the years at sea, making it less than a perfect fit. There was a space just big enough for her to slide through at the bottom.

Lying down, Zenobia slithered under the thick wood and paused, her slanted eyes surveying the room in a quick arc. The old Greek, Melanthius, was hunched over the scrolls on the table, his wax tablet and stylus to hand, muttering to himself. Princess Farah sat cross-legged on the bunk, sewing the thick furs into sturdy, warm coats. She was partially turned away, to catch the light from the stern windows.

Dione was trying to coax the baboon into drawing on a wax tablet, but the baboon was nervous and short-tempered. The blonde beauty looked up at her father, past the odd set of “keys” that he had prized so much. She was about to ask her father’s advice on getting the baboon to cooperate when there was a clatter. She looked back to see that the hairy animal had thrown down the tablet and seemed to be looking at her challengingly.

Dione sighed. “Very well, Kassim, as you are so bad tempered . . . no more writing today.” Dione closed, the door of the cage and latched it. Sighing, Dione took up some sewing and was soon deeply involved with the heavy stitching the garment required.

Zenobia started to come out from the edge of the door and a noise made her freeze. It was a suspicious sniffing sound, as if someone or something had made an unpleasant discovery. Zenobia eased her way along the crack until she came to the cabin bulkhead, where she rose silently to her feet. From her new position Zenobia could see the baboon cage. Within it, the baboon was stirring restlessly, his head bobbing and turning, his thick nostrils twitching and sniffing.

Zenobia ducked down and moved quickly to hide behind a large sea chest. She edged to the side and watched the baboon with only one slanted fiery eye around the corner of the chest. When the animal was looking the other way the tiny sorceress ran to another hiding place, behind a crate of delicate measuring instruments. She tiptoed along through the narrow slit between the crate and another leather-covered box. She stuck her head out and peered first at the baboon, then up at Melanthius. Satisfied, the tiny woman darted across a narrow space between boxes, but a space into which the baboon could see. She slithered into a very tight spot between a hardwood coffer and a brass-bound chest, went quickly to the other side, and peeked out.

The baboon was still sniffing and looking around, but Zenobia was now almost directly behind the animal. She looked at the space ahead with a critical eye. The table itself now hid her from Melanthius, but there was a chance the baboon might turn. The diminutive figure took a deep breath, then ran toward the table leg.

She grasped it, a huge tree trunk of a shape, and found that the legs of the Casgar wise man hid her from the baboon. With more confidence she then surveyed the area beneath the table. To her, it was almost as vast as a cathedral, with the “roof” very high over her head. The floor beneath the table was covered with stacks of reference books and bundles of scrolls. Zenobia stepped out carefully, looking at each scroll as she passed, hoping to find the ones she wanted.

Climbing over an open volume, Zenobia found the hand-drawn letters were thick beneath her fingers, and the colorful illuminations were like great bedspreads. She sat down and jumped to the floor, and moved toward another bundle of ancient parchment scrolls.

There was a thunderous rumble as Melanthius shifted his feet. Engrossed in his studies he accidentally kicked a bundle of scrolls. Zenobia was knocked backward, falling against the open book. The edges of the paper almost cut her, but she recovered.

More cautiously now, she crept forward, keeping an eye on the old Greek’s feet as well. Zenobia stopped and peered into the “tunnel” of a roll of parchment. The lettering, what she could see of it, was some ancient cuneiform. Ducking, she stepped into the papyrus tube and moved along it, trying to piece out the lettering that curved around her. The paper pipe acted like a sound-gathering device and Zenobia could hear the suspicious sniffing of the baboon even louder than before. She also heard the bars of the cage being rattled, but her concentration was on translating the cuneiform and determining if this was, indeed, one of the ancient scrolls from Hyperborea.

Then the bearded old alchemist shifted his feet again, brushing against a pile of scrolls. That bundle struck the one in which the tiny figure of Zenobia hunched. She tumbled, rolling as the bundle tipped and rolled, almost crying out, but stifling her cry at the last moment.

Angrily, Zenobia crept to the end of the paper tunnel when the roll had stopped moving. She looked out and up at Melanthius with a bitter look, then swung her gaze to the baboon with a startled cry, which she managed to dampen.

The baboon was looking right at her, his red eyes glaring. He hissed loudly, baring his fangs, and started shaking his cage angrily. Zenobia ducked back into the tube, turned, and ran bent over to the other end. She looked out, then ran out and behind some books. Breathing hard, she waited. The baboon still hissed and chittered.

“Kassim, please . . .” Dione said.

After a few moments the baboon became quieter, but Zenobia could still hear him sniffing and moving about. She crept out and tiptoed to another roll, where several big sheets of parchment had been tied together. The paper was old, the edges soiled and cracked. She climbed within, only it was darker here, and she could not easily read the symbols written on the surface.

“By the brazen horns of . . . !” Zenobia caught herself. This was not the scroll she wanted. She stepped out and stood with fists on her hips, staring about. She saw an untied scroll right at the legs of the old man’s chair. She hesitated, looking at the baboon, then ran quickly to the scroll. It was rolled too tightly for her to climb in, so she had to press aside the curling sides. It was like shoving great thin sheets of metal, but she managed. She looked eagerly at the symbols on the pages, then swore. Egyptian pictographs!

Angrily, she let the scroll snap closed. Suddenly the baboon was again chittering and hissing noisily.

“Kassim! Be quiet!’ Dione said, looking up from her sewing.

The baboon snarled and shook his cage angrily, jumping up and down, baring his teeth.

Melanthius sighed. “Do as she says, Kassim . . . behave yourself. I’m trying to work . . .” There was a pause, then the old Greek muttered, “Oh, drat . . .”

A scroll came rolling down from the table, a great flopping thing as big to Zenobia as a ship’s sail. It hit the deck with a noisy crash, bouncing and rolling into a huge loose tube. Zenobia froze, listening to the old Greek’s activities. He was muttering again, unintelligibly, and his stylus was punching calculations into his wax tablet. Zenobia started to move very cautiously toward the scroll. Even from where she was she could see it was older than those she had looked at, the paper itself different.

The baboon was still stirring restlessly, circling its cage nervously. Suddenly the baboon stopped, its head jerking to look at the hook securing the cage door. It was loose, almost out of its catch, the result of the shaking and thumping. The baboon became quieter as he reached through the bars to try and push the loosened hook out of its catch.

Dione smiled, her eyes on her needle. “That’s better . . . There’s a good boy . . .”

Below the table Zenobia moved cautiously toward the scroll. It was lying out farther than she had dared venture before, quite within sight of the baboon. But with the quieting of the beast, which she could not see, Zenobia was emboldened to try for it.

A movement made her look up as Melanthius shifted position. A heavy seaman’s knife, lying on the edge of the table from its use in the previous meal, was brushed by the alchemist’s sleeve. It tipped, fell, and Zenobia saw it coming down at her. She leaped back and the knife—as tall as she was—stuck point first in the deck. It quivered from the impact, swaying slightly and sending off a low vibrating noise. It had missed the tiny Zenobia by less than the thickness of a finger.

There was a roar as the baboon slammed back the door of his cage, throwing himself recklessly out into the room. Zenobia, seeing the beast’s snarling face, screamed. The cry was lost in the scramble of claws on the wooden deck, the shuffle of scrolls as Melanthius turned to see what was happening.

“Kassim!”

Roaring, the baboon scampered around Melanthius, who tried to stop the chittering animal. Trapped by the clutter around his table, the philosopher’s hands only fluttering at the animal, distracting it, but not stopping it. Dione. cried and the old man turned to calm her.

“It’s all right, it’s all right—don’t worry, I’ll . . .”

The baboon spied Zenobia under the table and jumped for her, but she ran. The baboon swerved, tried to reach her through the legs of the old man’s chair, and failed. The Greek reached down and tried to grasp the baboon’s scruff but the animal eluded him as it went under the table.

Scattering manuscripts and tipping over piles of old books, the baboon searched for Zenobia with a snarling muzzle and frantic paws. Zenobia, knocked to the deck by a flung scroll, used the paper documents as cover in getting to the stacks of chests and boxes.

Melanthius reached under the table to grasp at the baboon. “Now, now . . .” he began, but the baboon turned and snapped viciously at his hand. The Casgar sage pulled back his extremity quickly and the freed baboon kicked his way through the clutter under the table and out the other side.

Seeing the edge of Zenobia’s dress, the baboon reached into the crevice angrily, scratching and clawing.

“Kassim!” screamed Dione in fright. “What are you doing?”

With a mighty swipe of his paw the baboon knocked over a stoppered jar of chemicals, which broke and almost splashed on Zenobia. She fled along the narrow corridor between the chests, her bosom heaving with exertion. The baboon shouldered his way into the stacks of boxes and tumbled down several with loud thumps. One broke open and a large glass beaker smashed loudly.

Sinbad burst into the cabin, sword in hand, ready for anything. Farah, hand to her mouth, pointed wildly to the corner, where the baboon had burrowed in his search for Zenobia. Sinbad sheathed his sword and waded into the falling, swaying, clattering stack of equipment boxes, following the trail of the apparently demented baboon.

The animal shoved forward a chest, blocking Zenobia’s wide-eyed escape and almost crushing her. She whirled to try another path but the baboon was too swift for her. His paw snaked out, snapping her up deftly. His teeth were bared in a soundless snarl as he shook her viciously.