The Djinn (12 page)

From
behind the Djinn, Gregory saw two of his men stirring. They moaned softly as
they attempted to untangle themselves from the limbs of their unconscious comrades.
Knowing he had to keep the creature preoccupied to allow his men time to
awaken, the baron lunged forward, his sword singing through the air.

His
foe spun right, blocking the thrust with the scimitar. In a single motion, the
Djinn ducked down, curling into a ball, and rolled backwards toward the
recovering guards. Springing into the air, he swung around with one heavy boot
slamming into both guards’ jaws, causing them to collapse once more into
unconsciousness. As the creature glided down to the bedroom floor, a single
dart flew from his fingertips, imbedding itself into Gregory’s right thigh. He
screamed in pain as he collapsed to the floor.

The
baron’s hands probed for the projectile in his leg and yanked it out. Blood
seeped from the open wound as flesh and tissue tore free. The blade of the dart
was serrated, Gregory observed as he tossed the thing to the ground.

The
creature backed slowly to the balcony doorway.

“I
never wanted this, Gregory,” he said. “But I will finish what I started if you
don’t give up this obsession of yours. I can’t let you succeed in this.”

The
baron writhed in pain, clamping down on the gash in his leg to stop the
bleeding. Looking up at the Djinn, Lord Gregory couldn’t help but laugh, but
there was no mirth in it.

“You
have no choice,
boy
. There is nothing
you can do now to stop it. I know who you are…your reign of fear is at an end.
Soon, I will awaken
Rakeesha’s
golems. I will recover
the
Book of Creation
and I will
recover
Solomon’s Seal
from your dead hands. You have
lost this night, traitor. And you have been stripped of all your power.”

The
Djinn had edged his way to the railing of the veranda.

“Perhaps.
But I know you will not out me. Not yet, anyway.
To do so would eat away at any confidence your men still have in you. In the
meantime, I will do everything I can to stop you. Next time, I won’t be
merciful. Next time, if you continue on your course, I will have to…” the
creature hesitated. “I will have to kill you.”

Without
another word, the Djinn vaulted over the railing and into the night. Its
wretched bird flew from its perch and followed into the shadows.

Gregory
limped toward the edge of the balcony and peered over. No sign of him. The
creature was gone. But he would be found soon enough.

“Guards!”
he cried as he hobbled down the stone staircase from his room.
“Guards!”

He
would send his men to scour this city for the Djinn despite the sudden dread
that plagued his thoughts. His enemy was right about one thing: once the
Djinn’s
identity was revealed, the humiliation would be
unbearable.
 
His reputation would be
ruined. The betrayal would be revealed and it would be discovered that the
Baron Gregory De
L’Ombre
could not keep his own house
in order. If a man couldn’t manage his own people, how could he possibly rule an
entire land?

No.
Despite his misgivings, the creature simply had to be found. Gregory was much
too close to fulfilling his plan. He could not allow his betrayer to succeed.
But, Gregory decided, he would keep the truth a secret until the very end. He
would not tell a soul what he knew…at least not yet. If he planned this just
right, he might find a way to turn the situation around.

A
weak smile crept onto his face as he descended the staircase in search of his
guards. Yes, this just might turn out all right after all.

Guards
scrambled through the streets surrounding Gregory’s chateau, searching
frantically for the
Djinn’s
trail. As usual, he had
disappeared as efficiently as a mist evaporates at dawn. The creature had
simply melted into the shadows of the Jerusalem night as if made of the same
dark substance, and it infuriated Gerard.

He
had heard the clanging of the alarm bells just as he had ascended from the
dungeons. He had no need to be told what the commotion was about. The dark spirit’s
presence had already been felt within the dungeon walls. The idiot squire,
Samuel, had vanished from his cell—not only the barred doors, but the iron
manacles that had restrained him were still insufferably fastened. To add to
the mystifying disappearing act, Samuel’s dungeon rags were folded neatly on
the dirt floor as if the vile spirit had merely whisked him magically away to
his otherworldly abode.

That
was the second reason that Djinn would pay. He had still not yet recovered from
his encounter with the creature in the nomad camp. Not only had he lost the
Ring of Aandaleeb that day, but the damage to his ego and the loss of respect from
his men
were
potentially irreparable. And now, the
demon had rescued the simple little squire right from under his nose as well.

Gerard
thanked the lord above for having given him the good sense to move the Essene
nomad to a different section of the prison when that Saracen physician had
visited the whelp earlier that day. Otherwise, the Djinn might have taken him
as well, and all truly
would
be
lost.
 

One
of Gregory’s personal guards rushed past the seething mercenary. Gerard
clutched his arm and twirled him around mid-stride.

“What
news is there?” he asked the man who was wheezing from his exhausting search.

“None, sir.
The foul thing is nowhere to be found.”

“Keep
looking. He has to be here somewhere. As far as we know, he hasn’t sprouted
wings.”

The
young guard stared slack-jawed at Gerard.

“What
is it? Why are you looking at me like that?” Gerard asked, already annoyed with
the buffoon.

“Um,
sir, it’s just that…it’s just that the creature’s supposed to be
a
s-spirit. Can’t they pretty much go wherever they want?”

Heat
rose up the mercenary’s neck. With a growl, he spun the sentry around and
placed a good square kick to his rear, pushing him down onto the dimly lit,
stone paved street.

“Keep
looking anyway,” he spat.

The
guard, picking himself up, dashed off around a corner. He didn’t even bother to
dust himself off.

Gerard
sighed.
One man.
One man had done this—made all his
men, as well as Gregory’s, look like a gaggle of henpecked geese. Oh, the
mercenary was sure it was no ordinary man—those eyes, for one, gave testament
to that. He could never forget those strange, glowing green eyes. He had
suffered from incurable bouts of night terrors because of them. But the more he
thought about it, the more convinced he was that their prey was still just a
man—more than likely possessed by some foul spirit, but
 
nonetheless flesh and bone just as anyone
else. He could feel it.

And
if the Djinn
was
a man, then he could bleed. And
Gerard was betting he could bleed quite well. It was a wager he’d made to
himself, and he aimed to collect very soon.
 

The
mercenary strolled around the corner of the baron’s stately home deep in
thought. Torches in their sconces provided decent enough light, but he wasn’t
interested in catching the Djinn now. Such a search was futile. Someone
that
good would not be easily tracked.
It was a waste of time and energy to run around the city half-crazed looking
for an almost ethereal creature. It hadn’t prevented him from stopping the
young sentry earlier because it had just been too entertaining to watch him
scramble nervously away.

He
chuckled at the thought as he stopped and leaned against an ancient cedar that
grew in the courtyard of the chateau. He reached into a pouch on his belt,
brought out his pipe and tender box, and began puffing on the very expensive
blend of
charas
he had purchased in Persia three months ago. He’d discovered the intoxicating
substance seven years before in an excursion into Asia and had been indelibly
dependent on it ever since.

Exhaling
the smoke from his lungs, his watery eyes followed the smoke rings that drifted
into the air above his head. Of course, he had no interest at all in the rings.
It was past them that now held his utmost interest. Four levels above, just
past an opulent veranda, was the bedchamber of Isabella.

The
Lady
Isabella.

He
had been utterly enraptured with her since the moment he’d first laid eyes on
her, though she’d been a child of a mere thirteen years at the time. On more
than one occasion, he’d tried bargaining with the baron for her hand, but had
been flatly rejected. The pompous Gregory had even had the audacity to laugh at
him in his face at the mere prospect.

In
days past, before coming to Jerusalem, he would have simply taken the wench,
had his way with her, and sold her to a Nigerian slaver he’d been acquainted
with from years ago. But now he simply had too much to lose. He’d already invested
more into Gregory’s scheme than he’d ever intended. To pull out now would be
disastrous.

His
eyes scanned the balcony for signs of the lady who made his loins burn with
desire. The door stood tantalizingly open and the dancing glow of candles
flitted around her bedroom as if beckoning him to come to her. But she was
nowhere in view. There was nothing but empty space.

He
pulled another toke from his pipe and savored the sensation. He closed his eyes
and thought of the lady’s exquisite beauty and the many ways he could force her
to be his. He visualized how he would mark her. Scar her so that no other man
would ever desire her again. He would make her his and then, when finally
sated, he would cast her aside for the mongrels.

He
smiled at the images flashing through his mind’s eye.

Soon,
Gregory would have his indestructible army of clay and his mission would be
over. He’d be paid handsomely for his part in the whole affair. Then, after all
was complete, he would wrench her from the protective grasp of her peacock of a
father and carry her off to Egypt, or better yet, Constantinople. It was said
that the laws of Byzantium were much more lax when it came to absconding with
women. They were, after all, considered mere property in that region and had no
rights.

Yes,
Constantinople. He liked the sound of that.

Suddenly,
his eyes snapped open; his reflections severed by a sound high above on
Isabella’s veranda.
Crying.
She was weeping. But what
on earth could cause such anguish—especially at this time of night?

He
moved around the tree in which he’d been leaning and peered up into the night,
remaining out of the torchlight.
Effectively hidden.
The beauty glided out of her room onto the balcony, her head in her hands,
wracking with sobs.

Gerard’s
muscle’s tensed. From out of the bedroom, a shadow slithered toward her. A
human shaped shadow.
One that the mercenary knew all too
well.

With
Isabella’s back to the creature, she had no idea of her danger. Gerard drew his
sword and stepped out from behind the tree to shout a warning at the witless
girl.

The
Djinn’s
clawed hand slowly reached out to land a blow
that never came. Gerard gasped. Instead of attacking Isabella on the balcony,
it had laid its misshapen fingers upon her shoulder, turned her around, and
pulled her tight against its stout frame. The baron’s daughter dug her head
into the creature’s chest and let the onslaught of her tears pour out of her.

This
couldn’t be happening. The baron’s very own precious child had not only sided
with his fiercest enemy, but seemed to have some sort of relationship with it.
A relationship of some unholy affection.

Gerard
crept closer to the chateau’s wall, craning his neck to hear what
was
being said four stories above.

“Will
you kill him?” Isabella asked between choking sobs. “Will you really do it?”

“I
don’t know. I may have to. You’ve always known that.”

Gerard
could no longer see the two from his vantage point. But the unusually crisp
night air carried their voices perfectly. His brain churned with this new
discovery. What could he do with it? How could it be used to his advantage?

“Isabella,
you know I love you more than the world itself,” the creature said. “But my
calling is higher still. I cannot deny my mission. If your father succeeds with
his plans, it will mean the enslavement of thousands of people.”

“But
surely they can be stopped. There has to be a way to…to turn them off.
Like blowing out the flame from a candle.”

“No.
There’s not. At least, there’s no way that I’ve yet discovered. I’m hoping the
scroll that Gregory so desperately seeks…the text known as the
Sefer
Yetzirah
or
Book of Creation…might give a clue as to how to bring about their destruction,
but I am doubtful. If Solomon’s scrolls had the answer, then he would have used
his own knowledge to destroy them. Not bury them in his vault.”

The
Djinn paused for several seconds. Gerard shifted the weight on his leg in an
attempt to look over the railings of the veranda to see what was happening, to
no avail.

“But
even if I can discover a means to stop them, it would prove futile if your
father discovers the means to create more of them,” the creature continued.
“Destroy
one,
the baron will create two more in its
place. No, I’m afraid that my only hope of sparing your father’s life is to
locate the book before he does. If he gets his hands on it…if he learns the
secret to creating the golems…I’ll have no choice, but to…”

A
scuffle of feet from above caused Gerard to crouch further down in the shadows
cast by a torch to his right. The fair hair of Isabella poked out from behind
the rail. She seemed to be looking off into space.

“I
understand,” she said as she turned and disappeared from view.

“But
Isabella, just know that I have given him every opportunity. And I haven’t
given up on him yet. He’s not an evil man—just misdirected and beguiled by
hate. He’s never let go of the pain of your mother’s death and it’s eating him
up inside.”

“And
what about you?” asked Isabella in a soft, gentle voice. “You loved her too.
Probably more than my father.
How did you deal with the
pain?”

A
weak laugh floated down to Gerard’s attentive ears. The mercenary’s mind raced.
The creature had “loved” the baron’s dead wife? The very idea spiraled wildly
through Gerard’s thoughts. He just couldn’t quite grasp the implications.

“I
took comfort in the single greatest accomplishment of your mother’s life,” the
creature said. “I took comfort in you.”

Nothing
was said for several moments. The mercenary felt bile rise as he imagined the
two once again in a tight embrace.

“What
will you do now?” asked Isabella finally.

“I’ll
do what needs to be done. They have almost reached the Seventh Chamber in
Solomon's Vault. The Library is closer than they even imagine. I must get to it
before they do. That’s why I’m going tonight.”

Gerard’s
eyes widened.
Tonight
?
He’s going to the Vault tonight to try to
steal the scroll out from under them
.

This
was something the mercenary could not allow to happen. Besides, he now had an
advantage over the creature—two advantages to be exact.

One,
Gerard knew the
Djinn’s
plan. He would be there
waiting when the creature arrived. Two, he was privy to the strange
relationship between the creature and the baron’s beloved daughter. Both were
pieces of information that he was willing to use to his benefit.

Voices
from above once again halted his musings. They had been speaking, but the
mercenary had missed a portion of what they had said.

“Be
ready, Isabella. Things will become worse around here before they get better.
Be ready to move when I come for you.”

“I
will.”

“Good
girl,” said the Djinn. “Now, I must leave. But know that I truly love you more
than life itself.”

“I
know that. And I thank our Father in Heaven every day for that love.”

A
strange hiss spat out from above and Gerard saw a cord fly out from the
balcony, attaching itself to the building across the courtyard. Suddenly, a
vast black form sprang from the veranda into the air, catching hold of the cord
and skimming over to the building’s rooftop. And like that, the Djinn
was
gone.

And
so was Gerard. Springing to his feet, the mercenary dashed through the
courtyard and into the street, nearly knocking a sentry off his horse.

“I
need your steed,” the mercenary growled as he pulled the bewildered guard down
from his mount.

In
a single motion, Gerard swung his leg over the horse’s back and darted off down
the stoned streets toward the baron’s tunnels. He didn’t have much time. He and
his men had to be ready for when the creature struck. They would be ready. And
the Djinn would most certainly bleed.

****

Crouched down unseen
on another rooftop not far from where Gerard commandeered the horse, an
altogether different shadow watched with vigilant eyes. Emir, the hashshashin,
had left Al-
Dula’s
side the moment he glimpsed the
dark spirit traipsing along the rooftops.