THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (25 page)

Oro was sweating profusely as he waited for the answer. While Mariana stood trembling she watched the bosun rub his chin and consider the change in plan. Then he smiled, glancing lecherously at the girl.

“Would be a shame, wouldn’t it, mousey?” he chortled to her disgust. Mariana looked away as he said, “Tell you what, little man. I’ll consider going along with your idea—but only if you want to sweeten the offer a bit.”

Oro’s jaw hung; Mariana could see his beady eyes narrow as they began to bulge. “Sweeten it how?” he stammered.

“Like with more gold, that’s how! Lookie here, little man. I been watching you, and I seen that hidden chest of yours. Every man aboard knows you’re paying us just a pittance of what you’re hiding.”

“But you’ll be getting the ship!” cried the dismayed hunchback. “Isn’t that enough? It’s worth a fortune by itself.”

The bosun laughed with an evil fire burning in his eyes. “Maybe so, little man,” he drawled, looking at him sharply. “But now me and me mate here, we decided that we want more—much more. For everyone. Unless …” He wielded his knife and grinned. “So make up your mind. How much does mousey here really mean, eh? Alive, that is. Dead, I can let you have her for free.” The bosun chuckled meanly and his friend howled.

“No, no,” pleaded Oro. “D-Don’t hurt her. You win, I’ll pay you more. Double what I promised.”

“Well, now. You’re getting closer, little man.” He pressed the point of the gleaming knife against Mariana’s soft throat. “A prize like her should bring a better offer from a rich man like you …”

Oro was shaking. “Triple, then! I’ll pay you triple!”

The bosun exchanged a quick glance with his companion and both men grinned. “Ya made yerself a deal, little man. Triple it is.” Then he looked back at his companion and said, “Let’s get on with it.” He ordered his crony to wake up the rest of the conspirators and sat Mariana down in the corner, threatening to cut her throat, deal or no deal, if she so much as batted an eye.

Seconds ticked by slowly; Mariana lifted her head and stared contemptuously at the nervously pacing hunchback. A minute later she could hear whispered voices from the nearby crew’s quarters and bare feet shuffling as the crew roused themselves from their slumber.

The rest came swiftly. There was shouting; the haj must have been giving a terrific fight, she knew, hearing him bellow as a handful of sailors scrambled to subdue him. Doors banged, the shouting became louder and louder. She could hear Ramagar curse and Captain Osari’s deep voice sternly commanding his crewmen to let him go. All to no avail. One by one the passengers and the few trusted sailors were hustled topside to meet their fate.

“Okay, mousey,” growled the bosun. “Get up. Now it’s your turn.”

He pulled her roughly to her feet, cut the bonds around her ankles, and forced her through the door and up the darkened steps to the poop deck.

The ship was suddenly swaying horribly and Mariana struggled to keep her balance. As she climbed into the night she could see no stars, only a thick black mass of low clouds scudding their way from the northern horizon. And the ocean was becoming turbulent, tossing waves more violent than she had ever seen before.

Ramagar and the others had been forced to stand in a single line, hands bound behind their backs, prodding knives and billy clubs assuring they kept in their places. Across from them, forming another line, also with their hands firmly tied behind, were the Cenulamians: the cabin boy, the helmsman, the first mate, and the Captain.

Three men gruffly pushed the captain forward when they saw the bosun appear on the scene.

“You! You scum!” shouted Osari lividly. “You’ll pay for this! I promise you’ll pay! Every last one of you!”

“Shaddup!” barked one of his captors. And with an ugly sneer on his lips the sailor belted the captain in the back of the head with his fist.

Ramagar tried to break loose; his foot kicked high and caught one of the nearby sailors in the groin. As the man staggered, another sailor delivered a pounding blow to Ramagar’s stomach, doubling the thief over and forcing him to gasp for breath.

Mariana tried to run to his side, but the bosun grabbed her arm and swung her back viciously. “Not yet, mousey,” he said. “Don’t worry. If little man here doesn’t mind, I’ll let you say goodbye.”

Osari shook himself out of his daze and glared at the leering bosun. Mountainous waves were increasingly breaking over the bridge, splashing spray down to the poop. “What do you intend to do with us?” he asked.

“Tell him, little man,” chortled the bosun.

When Oro appeared from the hatchway Ramagar’s veins popped from his neck. It didn’t take very long to put two and two together, and he rued the day he had left Kalimar without first paying the hunchback a visit.

“Well?” said the captain.

The diminutive foreigner paced up and down before the prisoners with a silly grin on his face. “The dagger, thief!” he demanded. “Where is it?”

Ramagar spit in his face for reply.

The hunchback began to rave. “You’ve taunted me once too often, thief! Throwing you into the sea is too good for you. Maybe we should give you a good lashing first.”

“Or have him keelhauled,” laughed the bosun, much to the delight and agreement of his friends.

Osari scowled. “Have your fun with us, if you like,” he warned. “It won’t much matter. By tomorrow we may well all be dead.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” derided the bosun.

Captain Osari smiled grimly. “The weather, you fool. Take a look. Can’t you see what’s coming? Look at that storm—she’ll rip the
Vulture
to shreds.”

The bosun glanced at the advancing swirl of clouds and turned back to the skipper. “We ain’t afraid o’bad weather,” he rattled. “We been in storms before.”

Osari laughed. “Not like this one you haven’t. These are Northern climes, my scummy friend. Ever been in a hurricane? Ever fought one out for three, four days at a time?”

The bosun shook his head.

“Aye, looks like a bad ‘un,” someone called.

“You need me,” said Osari triumphantly. “Me and my first mate and my helmsman. Without us to help you, you’ll never make it through tomorrow.”

And as if for emphasis to what was said, a huge wave slammed fiercely against the port side of the ship, sending the boat tilting hard to starboard and straining every board. Slipping and sliding, the crew and the passengers grabbed for anything that was bolted down.

The first rain slanted harshly in the rising wind, and Captain Osari regained his stance, glaring eyeball to eyeball with the hesitant bosun. “Do you believe me now?” he said.

The bosun gritted his teeth, wiping salt water from his eyes. “All right, then,” he conceded. “Maybe me lads do need some help. I’ll spare your life, as well as your crew’s—”

“Not good enough,” replied the captain stoutly.

The bosun stepped back a pace and studied the skipper’s resolute features. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You heard me. Your offer’s not good enough. I want freedom for us all. My crewmates as well as all the passengers. Either we’re all set free—or we die together.” And he glared up at the thunderous sky.

“I’ll set your crew free,” said the bosun hastily. “But the others will still have to be dealt with—” Just as he spoke a tremendous blue-charged flash of lightning lit up the blackened sky, swiftly followed by three deafening claps of thunder. The rain began to whip furiously in the wind.

Captain Osari looked at his adversary evenly and shook his head. “No compromises, bosun,” he said. “All or none.”

“Don’t listen to him!” cried Oro, growing frantic. The very thought of seeing Ramagar set free from his bonds left the hunchback shaking with terror. “It—it’s a trick! They’ll try and win back the ship!”

Osari scowled. “The hunchback talks like a fool,” he said, his voice regaining its vitality. He knew he had played his hand well; the bosun would have to make a decision quickly. The storm was bearing down too fast for any debate.

With an untried sailor now at the helm, the twin-masted ship was already steering badly, yawing beneath the punishing blows. The bosun bit tensely at his lower lip and glanced about at his increasingly anxious companions.

“The storm’s a killer, for sure,” sighed his crony. “And she’s overtaking us faster than I’ve ever seen. If we’re hit with the stern to the wind she’ll tear us apart…”

“Make up your mind,” said the captain. “While you still can.”

The bosun drew his knife and freed the captain’s hands. “All right,” he rasped. “You win. Get us through this weather and I promise to set the lot of you down at the nearest land.” Then he turned into the wind and faced the crew. “Untie them all, and get them below.”

“You can’t!” screamed Oro. His beady eyes focused intensely on the thief, and Ramagar smiled grimly. “I order you to throw them over!”

The bosun glared at the little man who stood at his side shaking from limb to limb, and grabbed him by the collar. “You what?” he shouted. “You
order
me? I’m in charge of the
Vulture
now,” he reminded. “And I make the rules. Understood?” And he dug his knife lightly into the hunchback’s exposed throat. “Bucky-boy don’t play no more games…

Oro’s face drained of any remaining color. He nodded submissively, knowing the bosun would kill him without a second thought if he gave him any more trouble.

“All right, Captain,” said the bosun. “I’ll keep my part of the bargain. See that you keep yours. Any false moves and the passengers die—the girl first.”

Captain Osari rubbed at the rope burns on his wrists and agreed. He didn’t trust the bosun’s word for a minute, sure that the treacherous sailor would do him and the others in as planned the moment the ship was out of danger. But any counterplan would have to wait. The storm would have to be dealt with first.

“Every man to his post,” he called. And as the crew dashed to their places and the passengers were shuttled below, he turned to face the coming wrath of the Northern hurricane—the most dreaded tempest a mariner could battle.

The sea raged all around like a battering ram, dealing blow after blow after blow. “Two points into the wind!” shouted the captain, and slowly his sure-handed helmsman battled to bring the lumbering vessel closer to the wind. Cold, icy waves exploded over the decks time and time again. Every man, even these misfits, though waist-deep at times in the frigid water, fought deftly with the lines and strained to keep the sails trimmed. They yanked at the lines, spared no effort in turning every wheel, even as ice-crusted water sprayed their hands and faces and left their skin raw and bleeding.

For hours they clung to their tasks, while the lightning flashed and the constantly shifting winds tossed the boat like a hapless cork. Captain Osari ordered the ship rounded-to first on the starboard side, then on the port. Again and again the angry sea lashed out, smashing them broadside and pounding in frenzy. The bow dipped and rose, dipped and rose; planks and pins and barrels went flying, shattering like tinder above their heads. And still the storm grew worse.

“We’re being pulled deeper into it, Cap’n,” called the helmsman.

Osari, lashed to a line at the bridge, nodded darkly. “We’re running across her face,” he replied. “And we’ll be lucky to make the eye by night.”

It was a gloomy dawn, the sky colored in shades of gray and blacks, broken only by the hideous lightning and the white-foamed rolling waves. As the ship canted with a sickening blow, the loft masts strained. Lines tore loose, a section of rigging flapped about furiously. Osari screamed a warning to the handful of sailors working at the block. When the lash lines parallel to the quarterdeck broke, they hit whip-like into everything in their path. It was a horrible sight. Frightened men tried to run, sliding, feeling the weight of the tearing waves crush over them, screaming hollowly as flying spray choked them and filled their lungs. Then over the side a handful were carried, hurled into the air like toys until they disappeared completely.

The rain became tiny pellets of ice, limbs became numbed. The captain knew that a few more hours of this and every man topside would freeze to death. But neither he nor anyone else faltered for a single moment. They were going to fight their way through like mariners, match the weather until it passed—or die in the effort.

Down below, meanwhile, the passengers had been huddled together in a single spartan cabin, the door bolted with an armed crewman posted outside. Helplessly they sat waiting while the tremor-wracked vessel fought for its life.

The beamed ceiling groaned under the weight of rushing water and Mariana looked up in trepidation. The
Vulture
was a sturdy ship, a fine ship, but it was plain that she could not take much more.

Ramagar sat at her side sullenly watching the steady trickle of dripping water pour through the cracks; he rubbed sourly at his whitened knuckles and prayed for the chance to get his hands on the hunchback for just a single moment before the end.

The haj stood leaning beside the porthole. He listened to the crash of the waves and the howls of the wind, lost in thought. Homer restlessly paced back and forth, from time to time putting his ear to the door and trying to determine if their guard was still posted.

Of them all, it was only the tall, yellow-haired Prince who sat calm and controlled.

The cabin shook from a tremendous blow above; the ship heaved heavily to port. Everything in the cabin that was not firmly bolted suddenly flew pell-mell from one wall to the other. The passengers grappled to grasp anything solid to break their awkward slide. The
Vulture
strained, slowly righted, and everyone regained his footing.

The thief wiped salt water from his eyes and scowled. “We’re pinned like worms in a bucket,” he complained. “I’d rather take my chances above, on deck with the others. At least we’d die in the open, not drowning like rats.”

The haj pulled a long face, deep worry lines cracking across his tanned features. “If only there were some way to get ourselves out of here,” he said. “Once the storm breaks …”

Ramagar’s shoulders sagged as he stared at the triple-locked door, impossible for them to break. “It seems,” he sighed, “that we are all trapped. Caught between the raging of the sea and a band of ruthless cutthroats. What chance do we have?”