The cloak, he decided now, looking at it up in their room, and he was once more tempted to use his magic to control the temperature inside the cloak, so that he would be comfortable.

But no, better he just toughed it out. Carolinus had never given any advice yet that had not turned out to be important. He reminded himself hopefully that the cloak would hide the chain mail he was wearing, not only from public view but from the direct rays of the sun, which might otherwise heat up the metal links to make matters even more uncomfortable.

"Hob," he said, before picking up the cloak where he had left it, "you're back in your pouch there?"

"Yes, m'lord," Hob's voice came back.

"All right," said Jim. "I'm going to put the cloak on and we'll be going out to go through the souk-that's a sort of market they have down here. Do you still have that special tinder? And do you remember the magic word I gave you to say to make it light up and create smoke, so that you ride the smoke right out of the pouch and be out of people's reach before they even know you're there?"

"Yes m'lord," said Hob. "And I remember the magic word to light the tinder very well. It's-"

"Don't say it!" said Jim hastily, and a little more loudly than he had intended. He lowered his voice.

"That's only to be used if you need to hurry home to the Lady Angela with word Brian and I are in serious trouble. The minute you say the word, that tinder is going to kindle; and you'll be in a pouchful of smoke."

"I'd like that," said Hob.

"Yes," said Jim, "but you realize that once you've used it you won't have any other way of making smoke in a hurry if trouble crops up."

"Oh," said Hob. "Very sorry, m'lord."

"That's all right. Just remember the word is for emergencies only," said Jim. "I'll try to call out your name when the time comes you should go. But if for some reason whatever happens to us doesn't give me a chance to, then it'll be up to you to decide when to make your smoke and start back for England as fast as you can."

"I'll watch everything very carefully," said Hob. "Is it all right, then, if I peek out of the pouch, or ride on your shoulder? Somebody said something to you about my being taken for a monkey, I think they said, if they saw me here."

"I suppose it'll be all right," said Jim. "But if you can see by peeking, I'd like that better. After all, I'd just as soon not have anyone know that there's anyone riding with me."

"Yes, m'lord," said Hob.

Jim put on the cloak and went down. The second bowl was empty; and both Brian and Baiju seemed in a good humor. Jim paid for their meal- there was evidently nothing such as putting your meals on your hotel bill in this place-and they sallied forth.

The souk, Palmyra's open-air market, occupied what must have been the location of the chief Sanctuary of Palmyra at one time; now, in this fourteenth century, the remains of the Roman architecture were generally buried by an acc.u.mulation of dirt and filth. In the time of Jim's original world, he remembered reading once, a French expedition of archaeologists had uncovered four porticoes and a ritual basin plus a large altar for sacrifices as well as other pieces of architecture in this area.

Certainly, at the present moment there was nothing architecturally remarkable about it. Most of the shops were half-tent and half-shack, and the lanes between them wandered like trails in the wilderness, barely broad enough for three people to walk abreast.

The one thing the shops all had in common was an opening fronting on the lane that pa.s.sed them, in which samples of their wares were displayed. Baiju led the way, first to a weapons shop, where they did not seem to have swords but offered long and heavy knives almost as large. For want of anything else, both Brian and Jim bought one, plus scabbards, and sashes to go around their waist and hold the scabbards.

Next Baiju took them to a shop that had both headwear and other items of clothing ready-made, plus bolts of cloth.

"What is this?" Baiju demanded of the shopkeeper, a blocky, not unkindly-looking man with a graying mustache and a striped headdress.

"It is the finest silk from beyond the Great Wall in the far, Far East," said the shopkeeper.

Baiju dropped the silk as if he had discovered it was suddenly unclean.

"It is Egyptian silk," he said flatly. "I had a friend who bought a headdress from you this morning, and spoke of silk this color. I would have been interested if it had indeed been silk from beyond the Great Wall, or even the silk of Hind."

"Allah pity me!" said the shopkeeper, wringing his hands. "And I bought it believing it to be the true Eastern silk. How will I ever recoup the great amount I paid for it?"

"By finding some other idiot who cannot tell Egyptian silk from the Eastern cloth," said the Mongol.

"How else? But I see my coming has been wasted, as another friend of mine from whom I would buy knows silk-though not as I do. He believed you had better stuff than this."

"I have indeed some better silks-silk that would ravish your soul if you knew the true materials," said the shopkeeper. "It is in the back of my shop. But do you truly wish to buy? I would not expose it to the light before one who was not serious about buying."

"How can a man know if he wishes to buy until he has seen what is for sale?" said the Mongol.

"This silk is very carefully wrapped and protected and deep under other piled goods of great value. It would be some labor to get to it. A shopkeeper cannot go to such trouble for any not serious."

"Ho, as for buying," said Baiju, waving a hand at Jim, "the buyer is here with me. I have come with him merely because I know silk. But he is interested in many things, and silk was only one of them. If it is too much labor for you to find this fine silk of yours, undoubtedly we can find some elsewhere in the souk; and meanwhile he can be gaining information and possibly buying other things which he wishes."

"Indeed?" said the shopkeeper. "What might these other things be?"

"They are too numerous to mention. But perhaps you might point the way for us to the slave market. He has a fancy to buy a Frankish slave. Being a Frank himself, and being able to indulge his wishes, he prefers to have Frankish slaves only around him."

"Alas," said the merchant. "There is no slave market today. There will be one in a few days, perhaps.

But Frankish slaves are not normally found in Palmyra."

"Yet my other friend, the one who bought the headdress from you," said Baiju, "spoke of seeing a Frankish slave here in the souk. He saw him for only a moment before he was lost in the crowd, but recognized him immediately for what he was."

"I know of no Frankish slaves about the souk, or in Palmyra at all," said the shopkeeper. "It may be that those with much wealth might have one or two. But the price would probably be very high. Is he indeed willing to pay such a price?"

"He cannot know that until he sees the slave," said Baiju.

"Such a slave is merely a curiosity, of course," said the shopkeeper, "but I do not think one would ever come cheaply. The price would be much more even than that for my finest silk."

"Price is not the problem if the slave is what he wants," said Baiju. "The problem is that he is staying but a few days only in Palmyra; and then he will be traveling on. It is a pity you do not know of any Frankish slave. He would be grateful to one who could direct him to finding one, particularly one that was for sale."

"What is not for sale?" said the shopkeeper. "But, if the owner has little intention of selling, of course, the price may be-possibly I could be of help in getting him a better price. I am, of course, a merchant in cloths only, and slaves are of no interest to me. Still, I hear things, and I know the ways of those who buy and sell here. It is just possible that before he leaves I might hear of such a slave. If so, perhaps I could get word to him. It would be an effort, of course, on my part and I would welcome his grat.i.tude for my finding such a slave for him."

"I am sure that he would not forget gratefulness in such a case," said Baiju. "If you should hear something, and if it should lead to what he wants, and if the purchase was practical, certainly the matter of his grat.i.tude will be something he and you can discuss between yourselves when the time comes."

"Certainly-" the shopkeeper was beginning, when the attentions of all of them were suddenly attracted to a hubbub that had broken out at some distance down the lane between shops. It was enough of a distance, and there were too many people crowded around, for them to see exactly what was happening, but voices were being raised, and even sticks were being waved.

Without warning, a figure broke through the crowd of people and ran toward them down the lane. All those in his way hastily got out of it, and the mob he had momentarily left behind tore after him, all but catching up with him and striking out at him with sticks. Only a few of the blows got home, but they kept him running; and in a moment he was up to the shop where Jim and the others stood, level with them and gone on, and there was a jostling, shouting and screaming crowd filling the lane in pursuit of him.

But in that instant, Jim had a momentary glimpse of a tall, brawny man with black eyebrows and black mustache and the sleeve of his nearer arm torn completely off, showing some unsightly disfiguration, which could have been a scar, running almost from wrist to elbow, or a wide, grayish-white rash. His face, glimpsed for a moment, was white and staring, his mouth half open as if he was screaming; but if he was, he could not be heard over the noise of the crowd on his heels.

"Allah protect us," said the shopkeeper, "it is Alboha.s.san Karasanij, the Persian-the leather-seller. It has been suspected for some weeks past now that he might bear the curse of leprosy secretly among us. He has sworn that he was only subject to boils; but someone must at last have torn off part of his garment to make sure."

He cast a glance up the lane in the opposite direction, then shrugged his shoulders and brought his gaze back to meet those of Brian, Baiju and Jim.

"Those with the shops on either side of him will have gained all his goods by this time," he said with a touch of regretfulness in his voice. "It is the will of Allah. Now, what else would please you?"

"I think that's all," said Jim. He wanted to get away from here.

"I will send word if there is any word to send," said the shopkeeper. "Depend upon it. Where may you be found, O my masters?"

"At the caravansary of Yusuf," said Baiju.

"Good, I will send word there then. I am Metaab, the silk merchant. All men know me."

Jim, Brian and Baiju moved off. It was a relief to Jim to be away from the shop with its a.s.sociation with what had just happened and what he had just seen.

"Where to, now?" Baiju said.

Jim found he did not want to go back to the caravansary.

"Actually," he said, "as long as I'm here, I'd like to see Palmyra while there's time to do it."

"You want to see a city?" said Baiju, staring at him. "You are seeing it now."

He waved his hand at the shops in front of him.

"No," said Jim, "I mean the whole city."

"Come to think of it," said Brian, "I would like that too. Particularly let us look around the oasis from which the women are carrying water on their heads. I am curious as to how they do it. Besides, it is always wise to look around any new place you are in."

"Perhaps," said Baiju, "but a city! They are all the same."

There would be no point, Jim knew, in mentioning to either Brian or Baiju the remnants of architecture that betrayed the hand of Rome, and civilizations before that, here in this place. The caravan route must be as old as time itself. But whatever they did it would be better than going back to the caravansary, staring at the wall and seeing the reputed leper, running.

He still kept seeing-as if in a sudden still shot made by a camera- the staring eyes, the half-open mouth of the fleeing, hapless leather merchant. Strangely, the sight had moved neither the shopkeeper nor Baiju at all. Nor, for that matter, had it evoked any emotional reaction from Brian. In fact, he was now talking to Baiju about the European way of handling such situations.

"-Our lepers are given a bell and must wear a garment that covers them completely head to feet," he was saying. "The leper rings the bell as he moves, that all clean people may safely move out of his path."

"Simpler just to kill him," said Baiju. "With arrows, from a distance."

They had reached the end of the souk-or at least one of its edges. At any rate, they were coming out from among the shops.

"If you must wander about this dung heap, I had best go with you," Baiju went on sourly. "Your customs are clearly not their customs; and you are just as likely to end up dead instead of back at the caravansary, through not understanding what you should do or should not do. Come with me, then."

He led them about the town and pa.s.sed the oasis. In spite of what Brian had said, it was on the women, rather than on the water-filled pots on their head, that Brian's eye lingered.

"If it's the women you want," Baiju said after watching him for a little time, "I can find you places where you can see much more of them than you can here."

"That would be instructive, would it not, James?" said Brian, looking across at Jim, for Baiju, being shorter than either of them, was walking between them, which was the most convenient position for conversation among all three of them.

Jim did not feel any particular urge to follow Baiju's suggestion; but since his only interest was in keeping from the caravansary, he agreed.

In the end Baiju took them to a place where coffee was served, but also where they were given the opportunity to buy, since they were obviously not Muslims, a thin astringent white wine at which even Brian made a face, though he drank it.

There, one by one, women came out and danced. They were still clothed, however, though in layers of gauzy cloths that, while evidently calculated to tantalize, actually were little less revealing than the complete coverings of the women getting water from the oasis.

All in all they killed about four hours and by this time Jim had managed to come to terms with the memory of the leper-although he had a notion that the memory would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. It had not been just the fear of the crowd that had put that look on the man's face. It was the horror of what he, himself, now believed-or was at last acknowledging to himself-what afflicted him.

Even if he himself had truly believed he did not have leprosy, he was now facing a future in which he would have to live closely with actual lepers; and being a man of his place and time in history, he undoubtedly profoundly believed that it would be only a short time before he would catch the disease from them.

Jim, Brian and Baiju were finally back at the caravansary. There they were met by one of the regular workers, or employees-whatever they were-in the place as they came in.

"One waits for you," he said, as they came in. "His name is ibn-Tariq; and he waits in the eating place of this caravansary."

Jim would much rather have headed toward his room; but Baiju and Brian had immediately started off toward the caravansary eating place, and Jim went along with them. They found ibn-Tariq there, seated cross-legged on the cushions in one of the small niches, with what looked like some sort of pancake, grilling rather smokily on a brazier set up by his table.

"Ah, my friends," he called, seeing them. "Come. Sit with me!"

They continued across the room, and as the smoke from the brazier met them halfway Jim stifled a cough that he thought might be considered impolite.

"Are you all right, m'lord?" said a small, concerned voice in his ear; for the cough had only been partly silenced.

"Fine, Hob," murmured Jim. "It's just that smoke."

"It's not the best smoke," said Hob. "But there's no such thing as bad smoke."

Not, thought Jim, to a hobgoblin, maybe; but they were now at ibn-Tariq's niche, and greetings were being exchanged. There was no chance to utter the thought aloud.

"-A storekeeper in the souk, who was to specially make me a headdress, delivered it to me not an hour ago," ibn-Tariq was saying. "He enclosed a message that you three were here, had visited his shop and mentioned me. He also said you were seeking a Frankish slave. It happens that I have acquaintances here in Palmyra, having been here before, and it may well be that I can help you find him you seek."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

Jim gulped at the small cup of incredibly sweet, incredibly strong coffee that had just been put before him by a server, scalding his tongue but ignoring that in his need to get some stimulant in him to sharpen his wits. They were now seated with ibn-Tariq at his table in a niche.

Seeing the man was shock enough. His seeking them out like this, on top of their knowing that he must have pushed himself as hard or harder than they had pushed themselves to be here at this time, had rung every warning bell in Jim at ibn-Tariq's first sentence.

There were several things wrong with his offer. In the first place, it was far too suddenly made, according to the rules of normal conversation in this part of the world, where the practice was to talk for anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour about unimportant things before getting to the point. Also, it was remarkably direct for somebody like ibn-Tariq, personally, who had shown an almost machiavellian indirectness in his conversation.

But the man was looking at him now, smiling, with the open countenance of someone who was no more than delighted by being able to bring good news to someone he liked. It was true, Jim and ibn-Tariq had found a good deal of common ground in their talks, riding together in the first few days of the caravan; but they had certainly not become friends, in any real sense of that word.

"Ah," Brian was saying cheerfully, "the silk merchant."

"Yes, it is Metaab, the silk merchant you spoke to," said ibn-Tariq. "There are several other silk merchants in the souk. But I have always found Metaab the most honest."

"He promised to help us, too," said Jim. It was the first thing he could think of to say.

"That would be like Metaab," agreed ibn-Tariq. "However, his conversations are with those in the souk, in the street and in other low places. Those I know live on rather a more important level; and some are in positions to ask questions for me. I got the impression that this Frankish slave was more than casually important to you," said ibn-Tariq. In the easy, casual way in which such matters were regarded in these parts, he went on to ask, "An old lover of yours, perhaps?"

Jim, who had taken another, somewhat larger mouthful of the hot coffee, had trouble swallowing it politely.

"No," he managed. "Merely a neighbor to whom I owe a duty."

"Ah," said ibn-Tariq, "it is too seldom that duty is highly regarded in this world. I have gone about the lands, talking and asking, and seldom do I find pure examples of any of the virtues enumerated in the Koran-"