Read Online Sinbad and The Eye of the Tiger by John Ryder Hall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Ryder Hall
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the cabin. As the words began to form and as Hassan realized they were words, he gasped.
Wearily, the baboon dropped the charcoal and retreated moodily under the scarlet cloth. Hassan stared at the message written by the baboon: I am Kassim.
Sinbad whispered, “Now do you believe?”
Hassan could only nod.
CHAPTER 7
Z enobia’s castle was dark and silent under the thin shred of moon that was left. Captain Zabid was on watch, almost as sleepy and bored as his men, but determined to do his duty. One of the soldiers started to tell of a time he was in old Caesarea, in what once had been called Mauretania. “There was this woman—no tender ewe, but an experienced woman, the kind a man can appreciate—and she . . .”
“Sssh. Listen,” one of the other men said, holding up a hand. Zabid came fully awake, his one eye searching the darkness.
“What? I hear nothing.”
“I . . . I thought . . . no, there it is again.”
Their heads came up at a sound. “There,” the soldier said.
From somewhere among the black rocks at the base of the rocky cliff directly below Zenobia’s fortress came an unearthly sound, a weird, metallic beat like the ticking of a great iron chronometer.
Captain Zabid frowned, tipping his head one way, then another, to better locate the sound. “From the ground . . ? From under the ground? Somewhere within the cliff?”
“A cave!” one of the soldiers suggested.
Zabid gestured, starting along the rocky beach. “Let’s try to find out,” he said. “Come on.”
Zabid and his two soldiers scrambled over the rocks to the beach and along to a makeshift jetty, where they had seen a small boat tied up when they arrived at sunset. All the time they were trotting along the beach or scrambling over rocks, they continued to hear the peculiar metallic pulsing, even over the sound of the surf.
“Quickly,” Zabid ordered, and they climbed into the boat and cast off the lines. The two soldiers took up an oar apiece and Zabid sat in the stern, guiding the small craft with the short steering oar. “Well go out past those rocks,” ordered Zabid, “then around to the base of the cliff below the castle.”
The men were silent. As they pulled at the oars they gave each other looks. None of this appealed to them. They were simple soldiers, unimaginative and stolid. Give them an honest enemy and the promise of loot—or even pay—and they’d wade in, swords shrieking, their shields being dented by the honest soldiers of the other side. They’d face charging cavalry—not liking it, but seeing it as a job to be done, a visible enemy that could be vanquished before they returned to the boasting in the tavern and the cheap wine.
But this was getting to be beyond them. Not only the odd, thunderous metallic pulsing, but all the weeks and months past. The changes in the Caliph, the disappearance of the prince, the strange goings-on almost every night. The deaths of their fellow soldiers, Mulai and Mohammed Filali, found hanging on the main gate, their throats cut, had set them all on edge. The appearance of Sinbad had seemed to increase the strangeness of the events. The two soldiers shook their heads as they drew in concert upon the long wooden oars. Strange doings, and now, in the dead of night, there were even stranger sounds.
One of them cast an eye over his shoulder as the metallic ticking increased. “What’s happening, sir?” he asked apprehensively.
Zabid gasped and pointed. The small craft lost way as the two rowers turned. From around a shoulder of rock, the source of the bizarre sound emerged.
The rising thin crescent moon revealed a long, narrow boat made of beaten and bolted sheets of gleaming golden metal. The ship had a long, bladelike bowsprit and was powered by banks of long metal oars that cut through the water with inhuman speed, force, and precision. Zabid’s one eye widened in surprise, then terror, as he got a better look at the shining brass boat. The metal oars were not
Wearily, the baboon dropped the charcoal and retreated moodily under the scarlet cloth. Hassan stared at the message written by the baboon: I am Kassim.
Sinbad whispered, “Now do you believe?”
Hassan could only nod.
CHAPTER 7
Z enobia’s castle was dark and silent under the thin shred of moon that was left. Captain Zabid was on watch, almost as sleepy and bored as his men, but determined to do his duty. One of the soldiers started to tell of a time he was in old Caesarea, in what once had been called Mauretania. “There was this woman—no tender ewe, but an experienced woman, the kind a man can appreciate—and she . . .”
“Sssh. Listen,” one of the other men said, holding up a hand. Zabid came fully awake, his one eye searching the darkness.
“What? I hear nothing.”
“I . . . I thought . . . no, there it is again.”
Their heads came up at a sound. “There,” the soldier said.
From somewhere among the black rocks at the base of the rocky cliff directly below Zenobia’s fortress came an unearthly sound, a weird, metallic beat like the ticking of a great iron chronometer.
Captain Zabid frowned, tipping his head one way, then another, to better locate the sound. “From the ground . . ? From under the ground? Somewhere within the cliff?”
“A cave!” one of the soldiers suggested.
Zabid gestured, starting along the rocky beach. “Let’s try to find out,” he said. “Come on.”
Zabid and his two soldiers scrambled over the rocks to the beach and along to a makeshift jetty, where they had seen a small boat tied up when they arrived at sunset. All the time they were trotting along the beach or scrambling over rocks, they continued to hear the peculiar metallic pulsing, even over the sound of the surf.
“Quickly,” Zabid ordered, and they climbed into the boat and cast off the lines. The two soldiers took up an oar apiece and Zabid sat in the stern, guiding the small craft with the short steering oar. “Well go out past those rocks,” ordered Zabid, “then around to the base of the cliff below the castle.”
The men were silent. As they pulled at the oars they gave each other looks. None of this appealed to them. They were simple soldiers, unimaginative and stolid. Give them an honest enemy and the promise of loot—or even pay—and they’d wade in, swords shrieking, their shields being dented by the honest soldiers of the other side. They’d face charging cavalry—not liking it, but seeing it as a job to be done, a visible enemy that could be vanquished before they returned to the boasting in the tavern and the cheap wine.
But this was getting to be beyond them. Not only the odd, thunderous metallic pulsing, but all the weeks and months past. The changes in the Caliph, the disappearance of the prince, the strange goings-on almost every night. The deaths of their fellow soldiers, Mulai and Mohammed Filali, found hanging on the main gate, their throats cut, had set them all on edge. The appearance of Sinbad had seemed to increase the strangeness of the events. The two soldiers shook their heads as they drew in concert upon the long wooden oars. Strange doings, and now, in the dead of night, there were even stranger sounds.
One of them cast an eye over his shoulder as the metallic ticking increased. “What’s happening, sir?” he asked apprehensively.
Zabid gasped and pointed. The small craft lost way as the two rowers turned. From around a shoulder of rock, the source of the bizarre sound emerged.
The rising thin crescent moon revealed a long, narrow boat made of beaten and bolted sheets of gleaming golden metal. The ship had a long, bladelike bowsprit and was powered by banks of long metal oars that cut through the water with inhuman speed, force, and precision. Zabid’s one eye widened in surprise, then terror, as he got a better look at the shining brass boat. The metal oars were not
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