Not deigning to dismount, I addressed him from the saddle. "I have come to obtain the release of slaves."
I do not believe he recognized me at all, but I remembered him: he was the pit overseer Dugal had inadvertently struck, and who had directed our torture. He now stood in the sun, his small pig eyes all asquint, trying to work out how this unexpected demand might be turned to his advantage. The wrinkles of his sun-swarthy face arranged themselves in a shrewd expression. "Who are you to speak thus to me?"
"My name is Aidan mac Cainnech," I told him. "I am advisor to J'amal Sadiq, Amir of Samarra."
He stiffened at the name, the memory of his predecessor's treatment at the hands of the amir's men still sore to him. "The amir has no authority here," he declared. "Who makes this demand?"
"Protector of the Faithful, Khalifa al'Mutamid," I replied.
The chief overseer became sly. "You have proof, I presume?"
Taking the khalifa's decree, I passed it to Faysal, who leaned down from the saddle and offered it to the overseer who untied the silk band and carefully unrolled the parchment. "You can read, I presume?"
A frown appeared on his face as he scanned the document. After a moment, he lowered the decree and stared at me; this time he seemed to find something familiar in my face, but clearly could not think where he had seen me before.
"Come down from your lofty perch, my friend," he said, "and let us discuss this matter face to face."
Looking down on him, revulsion surged through me. God help me, I despised him. Oh, he was a vile creature.
"We have nothing to discuss," I replied. "I will tell you the names of those who are to be freed, and you will free them."
His face closed like a fist. "Names mean nothing here," he replied with an air of superiority. That was true, and I should have remembered. Thinking he had thwarted me, he allowed himself a smug sneer.
"It makes no difference," I responded coolly, "you will assemble the slaves and I will choose those I require from among them."
"All the slaves?" He sputtered like a pot about to boil. "But there are hundreds of slaves here-scattered everywhere in these hills. It would take the entire day to assemble them all."
"Then I suggest you begin at once."
"I would lose a day's worth of silver!" he shrieked. "Come back tomorrow," he suggested. "Come at dawn and you can see them before they begin their labour."
"Do you refuse the emissary of the khalifa?"
"You are being hasty," he said. "I must point out to you that what you ask is very difficult. There are many questions to be considered." His pained expression smoothed. "There is no need to invoke the khalifa's name; this is a matter between the two of us."
"My thoughts precisely."
"Seeing that you understand me," he said, his voice oily and insinuating, "I believe we can reach a fair agreement." He rubbed the fingertips of his right hand against the palm of his left.
"I understand you better than you know," I told him, my voice thick with loathing. Placing a hand to the jewelled daigear at my belt, I said, "Assemble the slaves at once, or lose your worthless tongue."
Turning to Faysal, I said, "I am going to wait in the overseer's house. See that this son of a rat does what is required of him."
"If I refuse?" the overseer said, the arrogant sneer back on his face.
"If he refuses," I said to Faysal, "kill him."
The overseer gaped, unable to decide if I was in earnest; he opened his mouth to protest, then decided to save his breath, and hastened away to begin the task of summoning and assembling the slaves. While Faysal and one of the rafiq accompanied the overseer, I dismounted, secured my horse to the whipping post and went into the overseer's house to await his return.
The interior was dim, the low wide windholes shuttered against the sun. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a room of clutter and filth. The powder-fine red-brown dust, which was everywhere in the mines, blew in on the breeze and was never swept out again; it clung to everything, and was hard caked in the places he habitually walked.
The dwelling reeked of bitter smoke; the stink clung to the carpets and cushions on the floor. "Hashish," muttered one of the warriors scornfully, and pointed to a small iron brazier filled with ash which stood beside a large greasy leather cushion. Here then, the chief overseer spent his nights, inhaling the potent vapours of the stupefying plant. I did not like to sit down in this hovel, so I stood, and the rafiq stood with me, contemptuous of a man whose life could be read in this slovenly mess.
My thoughts turned to my friends, and I wondered what they would say when they saw that I had returned to free them. Did they think I had forgotten them? Did they imagine I had abandoned them? Or was hope yet alive in their hearts? When this day dawned and they rose to take up the tools of their torment once again, did they realize how close was their liberation? Did they sense the nearness of their freedom even now?
