A Silver Lamp

"Aye, and don't dawdle!" Sahat added.

Feeling a smile creep across his face, Bromm turned and darted across the wide boulevard. Less than fifty feet from him, a cart laden with clay pots was clattering down the street toward him, but even when the drover looked straight at Bromm, he showed no sign of recognition that he looked at a man. Stifling an excited giggle, Bromm ran full bore into the wall and leapt the last few yards. He struck against the wall with a thud, his hands and feet sticking solidly to the plaster.

He had attracted the attention of a sentry, and the soldier snatched up his bow as he stared straight at Bromm. Bromm felt his heart leap into his throat, for the sentry was no more than ten yards from him, but even as the sentry nocked an arrow to his bow, he gave no indication that he saw him. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, the sentry ran his gaze along the wall between Bromm and his post, then looked to the opposite side. At last satisfied, he lowered his bow and turned away.

Bromm wasted no time in scrambling up the wall and down the other side. He alit softly on the earth and looked around. He was in the gardens, hidden beneath a short palm tree and behind some leafy ferns. Not far from him was a green-tiled pool filled with water that flowed from the mouth of a bronze dolphin. The pool was empty, though chairs and short tables were arranged beside it and the remnants of a meal lay atop one table.

Bromm crept closer and sampled the dates left behind. They were plump and juicy, true to the emir's reputation as a man of taste. Bromm looked to the trees behind him and wondered if these dates were grown in this very garden. Beyond the pool he could see fruit trees, some laden with lemons still.

He felt a change coming over him and looked down to his hands with consternation. They were slowly fading back to visibility and Bromm felt exposed. He cast a hurried look at the wall behind him and was relieved to see the sentries staring dutifully out into the street instead. All the same, he hid himself in the garden's bushes and surveyed his surroundings.

The garden was deserted, though from the palace he could hear the distant sound of music and laughter. The doors to the main palace building were open, and sheer silk curtains blew in the wind. Through the curtains, he could just make out the sight of people sitting around a table, eating.

Bromm crept around the edge of the pool, looking for some sign of the library. He stopped suddenly as he heard voices coming through the doors. As two figures emerged into the garden, Bromm threw himself behind a large rose bush. He froze, listening for any change in the voices that might indicate he had been spotted. There was no such indication.

A man and a woman chattered away in the foreign tongue of Zahir, which Bromm had never learned to understand. He caught a few words here and there, for they were discussing the food, but the specifics of the conversation eluded him. Which suited him just fine, as he crawled away from them through the garden's bushes. The voices faded behind him as he at last reached the wall of an outbuilding and stood up again.

Pressed against the wall, Bromm circled to the rear of the building and found himself facing the outer wall of the palace compound. There were no sentry posts here, for on the other side lay only a small expanse of boulders and then the open sea. Bromm relaxed and began a casual stroll along the narrow alley between the building and the outer wall. The building beside him did not even have windows, for they would have seen only the featureless white wall, at least on nights when the emir was not being robbed, and Bromm felt as safe as could be.

He turned a corner to find a small channel had been dug across his path, carrying water from the garden through an iron grate into the harbor beyond. Bromm crouched by the opening and looked across the wide expanse of the harbor. Somewhere along the docks, he was sure he could see his ship moored along the quay.

This might make a fine escape route, Bromm thought to himself. He inspected the grate's fastenings and found a heavy iron padlock was all that kept it from swinging easily open. Plucking a set of lockpicks from his belt, Bromm soon had the grate open. He tested it, and despite the exposure to salt and wind, the grate swung silently open.

A most fortuitous find, he told himself, Surely, Apliss is looking out for me this night. I must offer thanks at the first opportunity. Closing the grate, he left the padlock open, though it might pass for locked at a casual glance.

Smiling confidently to himself, Bromm continued his circuit of the palace grounds in search of the library. The main courtyard was filled with horses and grooms awaiting the guests that they had brought here for the emir's banquet. Bromm smiled to himself. To think, here he was about to steal the emir's lamp right out from under the noses of all these guests!

A pair of guards passed by, and Bromm flattened himself against the wall. They were strolling casually and laughing with each other without concern for their surroundings, and so they did not notice Bromm pressed against the wall. They passed quickly, and Bromm resumed his search.

At last, Bromm stopped in his tracks, for he spied through a window a desk with an open book on it. Pens and papers were scattered across the desk, but his eyes were drawn behind it to a heavy shelf laden with books. Found it! he crowed to himself. He hurried around to the front of the room, where the library doors faced onto the garden.

The door was a wooden frame paneled with glass, and left open so that the night breeze could flow through it. Bromm cautiously advanced toward it, looking through the glass to the single light inside that illuminated tall shelves piled high with scrolls. Bromm padded forward with one ear cocked to the wind. The library was still and quiet. High above him, a stuffed crocodile hung from the vaulted ceiling.

The library was octagonal, with rows of shelves arranged in rings around a central sitting area and nooks and alcoves prepared for reading and writing in seclusion. Bromm passed a hand over the racks of scrolls as he moved, wondering what knowledge was contained in them.

He knew that sorcerers and the like prized libraries above almost all else. I wonder what scrolls in here might be of use to Carella? Alas, I cannot even read their script!

In one alcove, Bromm found a suit of gleaming armor. It was made of overlapping plate and mail, jeweled and furnished with brightly colored silk. He leaned closer to inspect it. The armor showed no signs of rust or battle, but someone had spent a great deal of money on it. What wealth this emir has! Bromm thought to himself.

He passed a half dozen painted porcelain vases, an ivory elephant statuette, and a bronze sculpture of a dragon before he at last found what he was looking for.

The lamp sat on a marble pedestal beneath a burning lamp, though the lit one was merely made of bronze and far less impressive than the one Bromm had come for. He crept closer, watching the light shine in the silvery reflection. He could see his face in the lamp, distorted and contorted by its curves. An oversized nose loomed before him, and he put his face up close to inspect it.

The lamp was engraved with lettering, though not in the Zahiri script. Its nature was foreign to Bromm, though he would admit he was no scholar. No matter, he thought, I'm not here to read. He gingerly picked the lamp up from its pedestal. It was cold and heavy in his hands, feeling at once both aged and unblemished like new.

Bromm looked around, half expecting a guard to be standing behind him. But Felitharna kept him secret this night, and so he crept back toward the library door. A light breeze drifted in from the garden, the sheer curtains billowing toward him.

He stole through the garden and made for the sea grate at the back of the palace. He could smell the salt in the air when suddenly, as he rounded a corner, he ran straight into a dandily dressed young man leaning against the wall. They fell to the ground in a tangle and the lamp spilled from Bromm's hands.

For a moment, both men froze, looking from each other and then to the lamp. The other man's eyes narrowed in recognition, and he cried out in the Zahiri tongue. Somewhere beyond them in the palace, someone shouted back in response. Bromm snapped to, snatching up the lamp. The dandy seized it as well, and they wrestled over it in the grass. Bromm threw his adversary off and turned to run, but the man grabbed his ankle and hauled him down again. Bromm fell to the walk, the lamp again spilling from his arms.

He turned over in time to see his attacker draw a dagger. It gleamed in the moonlight as it plunged down at him. Bromm caught the man by his wrist and stopped the fatal blow, but it was a near thing. Both men tangled over the blade until Bromm kneed his opponent in the gut.

With a loud "oof!" the dandy dropped his knife and Bromm capitalized on the opening to slug the man in his face. As his foe recoiled, Bromm grabbed the lamp from where it lay and took off running. He made for the sea grate again, but in his path a door was flung open and out burst two guardsmen with drawn scimitars. Bromm skidded to a halt and reversed course, running for his life as the guards shouted from behind him.

The whole palace seemed to come to life around him. Doors and windows swung open and accusing fingers were pointed at him. Up above in a cupola atop the roof, he saw a guardsman readying his bow. Bromm darted into the garden brush for cover. Bells sounded further away, followed by shouts and the rattling of spears.

If they catch me, they will surely kill me, he thought. He had witnessed a horse thief's execution on the day the winds had died and had no desire to share that man's fate. I must give them some reason to keep me alive, he thought. He skidded to a halt beside a tall potted plant. With the sound of armored feet clanging on the flagstones all around him, he scooped up handfuls of earth and shoved the lamp into the dirt. He just had enough time to cover the lamp in earth when the guards rounded the corner and spotted him.

Bromm took off running and, their shouts sounding from close behind him. He turned a corner, then another, and ran along the rear of the palace toward the sea grate. But it was too late.

As he rounded the last corner toward the sea wall, he ran straight into a trio of guards. They were as surprised to see him as he was but wasted little time in seizing him by the arms. Bromm fought and kicked, but the three guards were soon joined by four more and they overpowered him. Hands searched him, pulling at his clothes and emptying his pockets. His shirt was wrenched off, tearing a sleeve in the process. Furious faces looked down at him.

"Where is it?!" one guardsman demanded. Bromm gave him an apologetic shrug.

"I'll trade it for my freedom," he replied. The guard laughed derisively, then backhanded Bromm across the face. The mailed fist split his lip open, and Bromm felt his whole world spin.

"You will talk," the man declared. His boot slammed into Bromm's gut and he doubled over in pain. Coughing, he spit up a bit of blood on the garden path. His captors held him up, ready to receive another blow.

But it did not come. Instead, they broke forth manacles and bound him in them. The lead guardsman signaled for a band of new arrivals to go back to their posts and, with a cruel smile, gestured for the others to carry Bromm away.

Damn it all, he thought, I should have just gone with Pyet to buy a whore.

Shackled by hands and feet, he was hauled away to the dungeon.

Bromm hung by his aching wrists in darkness for what seemed like an eternity until at last the jailor deigned to see him. He was a short man with a close-cut beard and hard eyes, one of which stared out dully from beneath a scarred brow. The heavy door was slammed shut behind him by two spearmen in mail and the jailor crossed his arms over his chest.

"Thief," he spat in the Common tongue, flinging a globule of spit at Bromm's chest. he produced a knife from his belt and pressed the tip against Bromm's chest. All his clothes had been stripped from him and he felt the colt of the iron as keenly as its bite. "Where is the lamp?"

Bromm retreated from the knife as far as he could, but he was suspended from the stone ceiling and rested only on his tiptoes so he could only retreat so far. He tried his best to summon some confidence.

"I have hidden it away. I will return it to you in exchange for my freedom."

The jailor scowled. "I don't think you understand your predicament. There is no escape for you. You will either surrender the lamp and die a quick death at dawn, or I will dismember you slowly and painfully until I get it, or you die. Either way, you will die within the walls of Arram, thief."

"If you don't free me, you will never see the lamp again. What will the emir think of that?" Bromm raised a taunting eyebrow, hoping that the emir was not the understanding type. But the jailor snorted.

"That is a problem for the captain of the guards. It was his failure, not mine, that allowed you to rob my master. My duty is only to these cells, and the prisoners within them." He stepped closer and grabbed Bromm by the beard. The knife crept up Bromm's flank from his hip, drawing a thin white line through his skin as it did. As it went over each rib, it broke his skin and small droplets of blood welled up at its point.

"What do you say, thief?" the jailor hissed. Bromm could feel and smell his breath hot on his face. "A quick death at the hands of the headsman, or must I make you beg?"

Bromm clenched his teeth. Without that lamp, he was as good as dead. "Do your worst," he hissed. "You'll never see that--aaaah!!!"

The knife dug into his armpit and Bromm felt white hot pain lance through his whole body. He clenched his fists around the chains that suspended him and raised himself up off the floor as he tried to get away, but the jailor had him firm by the beard. Bromm gasped as the knife at least retreated. His captor smiled.

"Had enough yet? I've barely gotten started."

Bromm summoned a laugh. "You think that would make me talk? Poor, foolish landlubber. I'm a sailor of the Devouring Sea. I've faced a hundred things worse than that. I've battled krakens and been wrapped in their coils, I've felt the sting of the Nan-Ami, who coat their arrows in black lotus extract. Your little knife is nothing to me. You'll never find the lamp like that."

Bromm was panting as his toes touched the stone floor again. He hoped that this jailor was as provincial as he had assumed, for Bromm was not even sure that the Nan-Ami were a people, or if they lived anywhere near the lotus' homes. The jailor regarded him carefully for a moment, then he stepped back.

"Indeed," he said quietly. "I've heard much about sailors like you. I know what you're like. Months at sea, followed by days at port drinking and whoring. I've always wondered, do you like the wine or the women more? I bet it's the women. So what do you say this?"

He grabbed Bromm's cock in his hand and stretched it out. Bromm started in fear, but tried to collect himself and think of a witty retort. The jailor brought his knife to the base of his cock. "If I were to cut this off, what would you do the next time you make port, even if you got your freedom? I almost think that letting you live a eunuch would be a crueler fate that lopping off your head."

"Well," Bromm gulped as he struggled to regain his composure, "I can tell you one thing; if you cut if off, I'll never tell you where I hid the lamp."

"Hmm," the jailor replied. "What if I just cut it partway off? Would you be willing to talk then?"

"I---" Bromm stammered, searching for a way out. But the jailor had him, with his most precious item in his hand, and no way out. He thought back to the garden. Which pot had he stashed the lamp in? Could he guide them to it?

"I have money," he blurted, unable to think of another angle. "I could pay you, with some of my pirate's treasure. I've plundered many ships, many towns, just think of the treasure that could be yours! All in exchange for letting me go."

The man cocked his head to one side and rubbed his chin.

"Perhaps..." he thought. "But what will a whoremongering sea rat like you pay to save his cock?"

"A ship!" Bromm cried, "My ship, I'm the captain. It's down in the harbor and we've been unable to sail because of the winds."

"What do I want with a ship?" the jailor sneered. "I'm no sailor. And besides, I like it here at the palace. The emir brings me plenty of prisoners to work with, and some nights I can sneak over to the big palm and watch the harem girls play. Your ship is worth nothing to me."

"Ah, but it's worth quite a bit to someone else. Sell it, to the next captain who comes through. Or to the emir! Lords like him are always looking to expand their fleets, especially with so many pirates about."

"His highness has enough ships," the jailor snapped. He grabbed Bromm's cock again and Bromm felt his heart leap to a gallop. "What he does not have is a djinn's lamp. Perhaps you know where he might find one again?"

"Sell the ship! Sell it, or the cannons, or just the provisions! Just take the money and leave me whole, please!"

"Give me the lamp!" the jailor roared. Bromm felt cold beads of sweat running down his brow. The knife was pressing up at the base of Bromm's cock, enough to terrify him but not yet enough to draw blood. But the man was running out of patience.

"My freedom for the lamp! That's my offer!"

The jailor sneered. "Enjoy life as a eunuch, thief!"

There came a noise from the hall outside. The jailor stopped and turned toward the door. Bromm followed his gaze in desperation. The door swung open and in stepped Tahavi, a pistol in his hand. Behind him, Sahat held the two guards at pistolpoint while Imre disarmed and shackled them.

"What's this?" demanded the jailor.

"My friend here seems to have gotten lost," replied Tahavi. "If you don't mind, I'll take him home now."

"I very much do mind," the jailor snapped. He started forward but stopped when Tahavi shoved a pistol underneath his chin. The jailor sneered.

"Fire that pistol and you'll have the whole palace down around you in an instant."

"Aye," Tahavi answered, "it'll be small solace for you, though, what with your brains all over the ceiling. The key, please."

The jailor was trembling with rage but did as ordered all the same. Tahavi handed the key to Imre, who first shackled the jailor to the wall before freeing Bromm. Sahat led the two guards into the cell and chained them up as well.

"Gods be good, I'm glad to see you three," Bromm gasped as he fell free of his chains. Tahavi caught him before he could hit the floor and checked his wound.

"Looks like he got you a bit there."

"Not as badly as he was going to when you burst in. Thank you for coming back."

"We couldn't leave you behind," Imre said with a smile. The shackles clanked in his hands while the guards stared furious hatred at them.

"Aye, you're the captain," Sahat added. His demeanor was casual, but he kept his weapon trained on the guards and his free hand on the butt of another pistol thrust through his belt. "Who's to sail us out of here once the winds return?"

"Urgan would jump at the chance, I'm sure," Bromm grumbled as he settled onto his feet on the cold floor.             

"The chance to sail out, yes, but not with us."

"Aye, we'll be at the bottom of the harbor if we come back without you."

"Well, I'm afraid I don't have the lamp."