The Journey Begun (30 page)

“A lesson.”

The menacing tone in her low voice communicated much more than the two words they carried. Nothing else would be said on the matter.

“I shall take personal charge of the prophet. Let there be no mistake. He must now deal with me.”

Thirty-two

aint yellow rays stabbed through the crumbling masonry around the doorway of Ari’s tavern. A single rough-hewn plank propped the doorjamb against the wall. The lintel frame had been hastily and poorly reconstructed after Elihu’s abrupt departure a week earlier. It sagged, appearing ready at the slightest provocation to collapse into a heap of rotten wood and chalky sealing clay. The door hung crooked on its pins. Jammed into the opening, it seemed to be the only thing holding the structure together. A faint hum of voices penetrated the building’s façade with an occasional curse or bark of guttural laughter breaking the still night air.

Jonah peered around the corner. He and Moshe hid in the shadow of a low shed at the corner of the tavern’s alleyway. Here they could observe who came and went from the tavern with little danger of being noticed.

“What happened to the door? It looks like a bull rammed it.”

Moshe snorted. “Dunno. Probably just fallin’ apart from age. Ari’ll let the place crash down around his ears ’fore he spends a half-shekel on it. Always was a dump. Used ta be a storehouse for used stable straw they’d haul away ta throw on the grain fields in the valley. Ya know what’s in that stuff, don’t ya, eh?”

Jonah’s shoulders sagged at the memory of leaning against the grimy wall during his brief visit to the tavern not two weeks prior. He felt the sudden urge to bathe. “Were you a regular there?” He craned his head around but could barely make out Moshe’s face in the darkness.

“Yep. Heh, heh. Still am.” Moshe’s throaty chuckle echoed down the quite alleyway. His voice grew thoughtful. “Now I think of it, wonder if he ever did clean it out. Hmm.”

Jonah’s stomach turned. Time to change the subject. He turned his attention back to the doorway. “Do you think he’s still in business?”

“Jachan? Sure. Been runnin’ women fer years. Don’t know how many he’s got now. Prob’ly not many. Doesn’t really need many an’ they’re too much upkeep.”

Jonah’s voice tightened. “This was no woman.”

“Yeah, Jachan’s lower than beetle dung. Whatever brings in a shekel, stolen or otherwise.” Moshe spat the words.

“Does he drug all his…customers?” Jonah could still taste the bitterness of the opiate Jachan spiked his wine with that night.

“Only the ones goin’ to the young or the ugly. You prob’bly caught his eye when the girl was the only one available. If he can trap a man into being with a girl, he can get even more silver ta keep quiet about it. This town don’t take ta men who like the young ’uns. Might find himself cut up some night.”

A wave of heat flushed Jonah’s forehead. He wished he could remember everything that happened during the ordeal of the last time he walked these backstreets. His mind was blank, though, from the time the drugged wine took effect to the time he awoke and discovered the young harlot tugging at the cords of his treasure belt. He tried recounting his steps after he fled the stable, but the combination of the darkness and his unfamiliarity with this part of the city made it impossible. Following Jachan was the only way to find out where he’d been that night. Jonah just hoped the scoundrel was still working the tavern and nothing had happened to the girl.

Their conversation was interrupted by the twisted door scraping across its threshold. The rusted iron pin hinges protested with a grinding squeal, and when the door reached the edge of the sill it dropped to a jarring stop halfway to the surface of the street. The lintels creaked ominously at the weight of the open door as it threw off their balance. Jonah was sure it would fail at any moment.

“It’s him.” Moshe muttered into Jonah’s ear.

Jachan’s familiar squatty form filled the dimly lit doorway and, as expected, he was supporting another limp figure by the shoulders. The two men stumbled into the alleyway. Jachan tried to kick the door closed, but it collided with the edge of the sill and swung back against the side of the building.

“Shut the
door!”
came a shout from inside the building.

“Shut it yourself!” Jachan cursed under his breath and lurched to regain his balance under the inert form whose arm was draped over his shoulders. He turned away from where Moshe and Jonah hid and teetered down the alleyway under his load.

Moshe nudged Jonah. “Need to stay close to ’em. They’ll lose us fast in the dark.”

They slipped from their hiding place and set off down the backstreet. As they approached the open door of the tavern, a tall silhouette stepped into the swath of dim light pouring through the opening. Moshe grabbed Jonah’s shoulder and flattened him against the side of the building not five paces away from the door. The hulking figure took no notice of the two men, but turned and grasped the sagging door. He muscled it onto the sill as he stepped back into the tavern, plunging the alley once again into darkness.

Jonah feared the delay would cause them to lose track of Jachan, and he and Moshe strained their ears in the sudden stillness. Fortunately, Jachan’s burden impeded his progress. Jonah could hear their sandaled feet scrape across the pavement. Jonah judged the distance with his ears as he and Moshe felt their way along the front walls of the buildings lining the street.

The shuffling in front of them quieted when their quarry rounded the corner of an adjoining alleyway. Jonah and Moshe picked up their pace as much as they dared in the darkness. Reaching the end of the building, they paused and peered around the corner. The passageway was silent.

“We’ve lost them.” Jonah muttered.

“Shh!” Moshe edged past his companion and eased down the side street, pausing every two steps to listen.
[B51]
 
Jonah crept behind him, trying to remain silent and avoid stumbling over rubble littering the road. He didn’t sense Moshe stop and ran into his friend’s stooped back with a muffled grunt. The old warrior had gone stock still, but Jonah wasn’t certain why. He was just about to whisper a question into Moshe’s ear when the dull thud of a wooden latch dropping into place not five paces ahead sent his heart into his throat.

As they inched forward, Jonah heard Moshe’s fingers brushing across the rough mortar. The brushing stopped at what appeared to be a low a doorway set into the crumbling façade of what—a stable, by the smell of it. Moshe shifted his weight and grunted into Jonah’s face. “They went in here.”

“Are you sure?”

A sharp crack of a hand on flesh penetrated the door, followed by weak whimpering. Jonah flinched, not sure what was happening. Moshe went still. A foul curse violated the still air from inside the building, followed by a slurred voice choking out a low threat. The words were too muffled to make out, but the tone was clear enough for Jonah to identify the voice as Jachan’s. He flinched at what sounded like a body hitting the ground inside the stable.

“What do we do now?” The shaken prophet steadied himself against the wall.

Moshe paused. “We wait ’til he comes out. He’s got the advantage. He knows the building an’ the street. We wait for him ta leave.” Moshe’s hoarse whisper was measured, rising barely enough for Jonah to hear him even less than a pace away.

Jonah nodded into the darkness. Moshe led the way several more paces down the alley until they came to a narrow gap between the stable and the next structure. Jonah heard him probe the opening with his staff. Apparently finding nothing blocking the way, Moshe reached back, grabbed Jonah by his cloak, and pulled him into the narrow opening. The veteran posted himself at the corner and leaned his head forward into the alleyway.

Moshe turned his head. “So, have ya decided what yer goin’ ta do once we get inside?”

Jonah had pondered this question several times during the evening. “Not exactly. I’m not even sure it’s the same place I was taken.”

“It is. Trust me on—”

Jonah barely heard the faint click that stopped Moshe mid-sentence. The old soldier tensed and went still. Jonah edged forward and peered over his friend’s stooped shoulder. A faint glow of yellow light splayed across the pavement as a door swung noiselessly from a low opening in the stable wall. Jachan’s stocky shadow obscured the illuminated pavement. He ducked out of the doorway, turned, and pushed the wooden panel closed, plunging the alleyway once again into utter darkness.

Jonah caught the scrape of wood against stone, followed by the fading shuffle of sandaled feet retreating up the alleyway. When the footfalls faded around the corner, Moshe and Jonah stepped from the cleft between the buildings. Jonah grasped the back of Moshe’s cloak and followed in step. As they reached the low doorway, Moshe lurched forward. Jonah nearly toppled onto him, while the old veteran tottered to regain his balance. Jonah looked down and could just make out a rough timber board wedged between a hole in the pavement and a rough latch handle in the stable door.

“The dog! He’s jammed the door shut from the outside.” Moshe muttered a curse and yanked the board free. He laid it onto the street against the front of the building and felt for the latch. He eased the wooden peg up and tugged on the door. Jonah watched him peer into the dim interior of the building. Faint shadows danced across his bearded face from the flickering ochre glow of an oil lamp. Moshe didn’t move, and even in the gloom, Jonah could see the muscles in his friend’s jaw tighten. The veteran’s bent hulk ducked through the doorway.

Jonah followed.

Lll

Moshe stopped two paces into the room. Jonah stepped around him and froze.

Her back was to them. She knelt over Jachan’s latest victim with his head propped onto her lap. Her petite frame shivered as she tugged at the man’s shirt in an effort to pull it over his head. The dead weight of his limp arms frustrated her attempts to free him from the loose material, and she grunted between stifled sobs.

The odor of old straw and stale perfume together with the spectacle of the veiled young girl flooded Jonah’s mind with the gut-wrenching memory of the last time he was in this room. The puny oil lamp still flickered yellow flame on the small shelf near the far corner, casting undulating shadows across the walls. It turned Jonah’s stomach as it took him back to a week earlier, but what seemed like another lifetime. In that life, he was the unconscious man on the filthy floor of the animal stall. There was nothing in his experience to prepare him for this. He had no idea what to do—indeed, he wondered why he had come back at all. Completely at a loss, the baffled prophet glanced at his companion.

Moshe’s expression was like nothing Jonah had ever seen. His gray eyes, normally moist, glistened with fire. His mouth twitched furiously, the ripples in his cheek betraying the fury and raw power that clenched his jaw. The old warrior’s knuckles were white against his staff, and his shoulders hunched at an awkward angle. Jonah reached out and lightly grasped his friend’s arm, breaking the veteran from his trance. Moshe jerked his head and Jonah quickly released his grip. The old warrior rocked for a moment on his feet and then, to Jonah’s amazement, sank to one knee, supporting himself with his staff. Moshe never took his eyes off the girl.

The word scraped across Moshe’s gravelly throat and burst into the room, shattering the stillness. “No!”

His voice froze the young girl, but only for an instant. With a cry, she dropped her victim’s head to the stable floor, and lunged to the corner of the room. She cowered against the grimy wall with her knees drawn up and her head pressed against the loose mortar. The wisp of a torn scarlet veil drooped across her pale face, which she buried into her hunched shoulder. The pathetic waif shivered against the cold masonry, her chest heaving.