We began unloading our camels. The tail end of the caravan had not yet come to the oasis. I heard a terrible ruckus. Men on shaggy little mountain-bred ponies were riding full tilt into the rear of the column. How many I couldn’t tell, I only caught a glimpse. The raïs may have expected pitiful starvelings. These looked fairly well armed with lances and long-bladed swords.

  The pack animals were shrieking. The bandits, I learned later, were trying to blind or maim them, cut the legs from under them, and rifle whatever valuables came to hand.

  Our guards galloped to their defense. Whatever the raïs paid them, they more than earned it. They were ferocious, chopping and slashing with heavy, upcurving scimitars. But the robbers had been clever. This attack was only to lure the guards from the main body of the caravan.

  There had been no sign of bandits along the way. They were already here.

  They had been waiting for us. Now they burst out of the shrubbery, whooping and howling. A moment later they were among us. The only thing I clearly remember was taking hold of Shira and sending her into the arms of Baksheesh. I shouted at him to get her out of there. She struggled with him. Had he let go, I believe she would have gone hand to hand against the robbers. Salamon ran to Baksheesh. Between them, they pulled her away. That was the last I saw of them.

  These things happened quickly. They seemed to go on forever. I was being shoved, stabbed at, battered back and forth. I struck out blindly, without even a chance to draw my dagger or tulwar. I thought it would never stop.

  I have no idea exactly when the tide turned in our favor. The bandits surprised us. We surprised them. They never expected us to fight back so fiercely. I would see two or three traders and camel-pullers fling themselves against a robber, drag him down, and kill him on the ground. And so it went. At the end, our attackers lost heart. They broke and ran.

  And I did one of the stupidest things in my life.

  Istole Shira’s horse.

  The raïs had a knife cut across his face. He was very angry. He kept shouting at us to go after them, run them down, damned if he’d let those pigs’ offspring get away. I heartily agreed. Was I outraged because Shira could have been killed? And the rest of us, as well? Our goods ransacked? Yes, it was all of that. And stupidity, of course. Lunacy as much as anything. At the moment, it seemed the right thing to do.

  The white mare, untroubled by the fighting, stood at the edge of the pool, cropping the grass. I ran and jumped astride.

  She startled and tossed her head. I kicked my heels against her flanks. She plunged full stretch through the ruck of traders and camel-pullers, nearly leaving me straddling empty air.

  I got only as far as the middle of the road. The mare, by then, realized she had an idiot stranger on her back. She halted, reared, and sent me flying over her hindquarters. I sprawled to the gravel. She snorted and ambled away to the caravan.

  My fall knocked the wind out of me. I sat up and looked around. I saw none of the bandits on their ponies. The ones who had attacked us on foot were scrambling up the slopes and disappearing into the underbrush. I staggered to my feet and set after them, trying to run and catch my breath at the same time.

  Surprisingly, I ended up capturing one. Accidentally. I had plunged into the brush, making little headway. If his foot hadn’t slipped, if he hadn’t stumbled, he would easily have escaped. Instead, he came crashing down on top of me.

  I didn’t get a good look at him. Only the quick impression that he was about my size. Maybe a year or two younger, he had no more than the peach fuzz of a hopeful beard. A lanky boy. But he was strong. All I could do was grapple with him and hang on while he kicked at me and thrashed about.

  He bit me on the side of my face. I flinched but kept my grip on him. I managed to heave him clear of the bushes and brambles.

  We went rolling down the slope to the roadside. I still hung on. He struggled to get his arms free. One of our guards rode up. He slid off his horse, walked over, and kicked the boy in the head, which calmed him down.

  I untangled myself. The guard bent, set a knee on the captive’s neck, and deftly roped his hands behind his back. I stood up, very unsteady.

  “Well done,” the guard said to me. “You go on, I’ll take care of this.” He grinned. “That’s what they pay me for.”

  I went to the caravan. The oasis was a mess. Some of the baggage had been slashed open and rifled. Clothing and odds and ends of equipment were scattered over the grass. The travelers, cursing and complaining, sorted through their goods.

  Shira saw me right away and came over. She was furious. I never imagined she knew words like that. I couldn’t decide if she was upset because I risked my life or because I had temporarily stolen her horse. Probably the horse. I wasn’t listening closely. The bite on my face hurt. I was in no frame of mind to be yelled at by anybody. Shira least of all.

  I sighted Baksheesh and Salamon. Both looked unharmed; our animals likewise. Closer to the tail end of the caravan, some of the pack animals had been badly maimed. The camel-pullers had to go and put them out of their misery.

  The raïs called us around him. His wound had stiffened and puckered up a corner of his mouth. He gave a quick tally of our damages: one camel-puller heavily wounded; two, lightly. Three merchants dead, including the trader who had addressed me so respectfully as “Chooch Mirza.” I saw him stretched on the ground. His throat had been cut; his caftan was sopping red. The raïs ordered them buried a little way from the oasis.

  There remained the matter of the bandits. Three others had been caught in addition to the one who tumbled into me. Hands tied, they squatted on the gravel, saying nothing. Their faces were hard-set, without expression. Except for the youngest, who looked more boy than man. His eyes were so wide open the whites showed all around.

  “Put them up.” The raïs motioned to the guards standing, arms folded, behind them. He pointed to the far side of the road. The guards hauled their charges to their feet and herded them to the spot the raïs indicated. No one hurried. It was almost leisurely.

  A couple of the camel-pullers, meantime, had found tent poles and whittled points at the ends. Twilight was coming on. The air itself seemed thick and blue. Somebody lit torches and carried them over so the guards could see better what they were doing.

  “If they’re careful about it,” one of the traders remarked to me, “those pigs should last a good while.”

  I didn’t know what he meant. I wanted to join Shira, who had gone to Baksheesh and Salamon. But I watched in spite of myself. Some of the traders broke out provisions and started cooking supper. A handful of merchants and camel-pullers strolled across the road. They stood around, observing, making comments, joking among themselves.

  The guards flung their captives to the ground. One turned stubborn at the end, kicking up his heels, flailing his legs back and forth. The guards ignored this and went about their business.

  I had to turn away. I pressed my hands over my mouth and ran through the camp as fast as I could. I wanted to go into the bushes at the far side of the pool. I didn’t get quite that far. I doubled over and threw up. Several times.

  Shira had followed me. I gestured for her to go away. I didn’t want her near me. I stank too much. My stomach kept on heaving. I went past the fringe of shrubbery. Far enough to be out of earshot of the screaming.

  I still heard it inside my head. I sat down. I thought I was going to throw up again, but there was nothing left. At first, I didn’t notice Salamon beside me.

  He asked if I was all right.

  I said no, I wasn’t.

  “You will be,” he said. “More or less. Sooner or later.”

  “There was one of them. A boy.” I told him about it. I hadn’t known anything like this would happen. But I had a hand in it. I killed him as surely as if I had stabbed him with a knife.

  “I’m afraid that’s true,” Salamon said.

  I thought he could have come up with something better than that. It did not cheer me.

  “What shall I do?” I asked.

  “Anything you choose,” he said. “Only one thing you can’t do, nor can anyone: Undo what you’ve done.”

  “Does it matter?” I wondered. “Why care one way or another? Why not run like a madman with all the other madmen?”

  “The world has trouble enough as it is,” he said. “So why would you add to its miseries?”

  “The raïs is really the one who killed him,” I said after a time. “Out of hand. Just like that. Judge and executioner. He condemned them all to death.”

  “And you,” Salamon said, “have been condemned to life.”

  Later, he went back to tend our animals. I still sat, knees against my chest, eyes tight shut, hands over my ears.

  I decided to sit there—how long? Forever?

  The body makes its own decisions.

  Mine slept.

  In the morning, I got up and went to the oasis. It was going to be a perfectly beautiful day; cool and clear, the sky without a single cloud. Dew filmed the grass. At the pool, I splashed water on my face. I glimpsed my reflection. I had trouble recognizing myself. Shira once raised the question: Was I a criminal or a pirate? I can only say that if I had seen someone who looked as I did, lurking around the port of Magenta, I would have gone briskly in the opposite direction.

  Everybody was awake and stirring. The campsite had been tidied. I did not dare glance across the road. I wanted to find Shira. Wherever I went, she was someplace else. I suspected she was avoiding me.

  The raïs, on horseback, ordered us all to gather around. His face was gray; the knife wound had turned black and crusted over. He seemed a lot older than when I first met him. He motioned for us to be quiet.

  “Listen,” he said. “I’m not a coward. Not a fool, either. How do I know those devils won’t get themselves together and come at us again? Tonight? Tomorrow? Here? Or down the road?”

  He held up a long pole, nearly twice my height; a heavy spear with an ax blade set on one side of it, an ugly looking hook on the other. I would have called it something like a halberd, the kind our night watch carried in Magenta.

  “Where did they get this?” he said. “Stolen somewhere, of course. Do they have any more of them? Probably not. If they did, they’d have used them. And most of us would be missing a few arms, legs, and heads. Are there still more robber bands? Bigger? Stronger? I don’t know. All I know is I don’t like the smell around here.

  “What it comes down to is this,” he said. “If we go on, I can’t promise you’ll be safe. So I’m not taking you any farther. The caravan has to turn back.” He grimaced. “I won’t swear I’ll even get you to Marakand again.”

  Some of the travelers grumbled a little, more for the sake of grumbling than anything else. After they thought it over, and had a good look at that halberd, they grudgingly admitted he was right. I really believe they were glad.

  I know that I was. My treasure hunt had started badly and left a sour taste in my mouth. I needed to make other plans and follow some different road.

  “Get your people ready,” the raïs said to me. “The sooner away, the better.”

  Salamon had already bridled the donkey. I told Baksheesh to pack up and load the camels. He did not protest. He said never a word about his lumbago, his knees, bunions, or anything else. I feared he might be sick. He was not. He was overjoyed, practically hugging himself with delight.

  “I hasten to obey your command, O Repository of Wisdom,” he said. “Only forgive me for mentioning it, but had you listened to me in the first place, we’d not be here at all. The last thing in the world I wish, Gracious Worthiness, is to see you deceased. The other last thing is to see myself in that unhappy condition. I suppose,” he added to Salamon, “that includes you.”

  “You show concern for a fellow creature,” said Salamon. “I knew you had an affectionate nature.”

  “Profound affection,” said Baksheesh, “for my own skin. Besides, I don’t want to tempt fate. You should have sense enough to be concerned for yours.”

  “Yes, up to a point,” Salamon replied. “Death is an inconvenience, forced upon us whether we like it or not. Fate is something we make for ourselves. In any case, I find other things more enjoyable to contemplate.”

  “Contemplate to your heart’s content, Scaramuzzo,” Baksheesh said. “Meantime, you could lend me a hand with the camels.”

  Shira had finished saddling the mare. We had hardly spoken to each other since the night before. She gave me no more than a glance when I walked over to her. She did not appear too happy with the world in general and myself in particular. Apart from that, I thought she looked marvelous.

  “You look awful,” she said.

  I told her I knew that. I added I was sorry about the horse.

  She began stowing things into her bag. “You should be.”

  She did not continue the conversation. I wondered if I had been sorry enough.

  “I’m really very sorry,” I said. “Really. Very sorry.”

  “I’m sure you are,” she said.

  “It’s going to be all right.” I told her the raïs knew what he was doing. It was for the best. We’d stay in Marakand a little while, then start over. It was the only sensible thing.

  “Do as you please.” She tied up the bag and roped it behind the saddle. “It’s your caravan.”

  “I suppose it is,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  She pressed her lips tight and tinkered with the harness.

  More than necessary. Finally, she turned to me. If she hadn’t been so annoyed, I would have said she seemed forlorn.

  “Kharr-loh,” she said, “I’m leaving you.”

  “I told you I would,” she said. “I told you from the beginning.”

  She really did have a gift for putting me off balance. This time, her face held a fragile expression I hadn’t seen before. “Well,” I said, after a couple of moments, “you mentioned something like that.”

  “I didn’t tell you I wanted to,” she said. “I’ve come this far.

  I have to keep on. I’m going home.”

  “So you’re leaving me?” I said. “But I’m not leaving you.”

  “That’s your choice,” she said. “Your decision.”

  “My caravan, too,” I said. “I’d better tell the others.”

  She nodded. “Do that.”

  Salamon took the news happily.

  “Marvelous,” he said. “Though not surprising. I’d be surprised had you done otherwise. If it suits you, I’ll come along. You’ll need someone to tend the donkey.”

  Baksheesh was another matter. When he heard what I intended, he carried on as expected. He begged, he pleaded, he warned of every possible disaster. He whined and sniveled by turn and at the same time.

  “Woe and misery!” he wailed. “Looking for treasure is one thing. Looking for trouble, that’s something else.”

  I told him never mind, he’d be going with the raïs.

  “You think that’s any better?” He stopped short. “No. I can’t do that. I gave you my word—”

  “So you did, and I accepted it,” I said. “Now I release you from it. Go. You’re free to do as you please.”

  “O Liberating Benefactor,” he protested, “Ocean of Generosity, I must decline. There is a difficulty.

  “While I was patronizing the Thieves’ Market—on your behalf and for your benefit, of course—a small misunderstanding arose. Certain things were said and done, accusations—altogether false—were made. Threats were expressed, suggestions offered. Something along the lines of if I had any interest in staying alive I’d best not set foot there again.”

  “You never told me anything like that happened,” I said.

  “Didn’t I?” said Baksheesh. “Ah. I neglected to mention it? Yes, it slipped my mind. I forgot. I didn’t want to upset you. I let it pass. I’m just now reminded—”

  “My dear friend,” put in Salamon, “I say this with all respect and affection: You are a liar.”

  “I’m an innocent victim of circumstance.” Baksheesh drew himself up indignantly. “I’m stuck with the lot of you, like it or not. And I don’t like it, never did, never will.”

  “I think you’d rather be fried in oil than admit it,” Salamon said, “but I do believe you may have had a twinge of decency.”

  “A lot you know,” Baksheesh retorted. “Do me a kindness, Savonarola. Keep your nonsense to yourself.”

  I took my leave of the raïs. He shook his head, much concerned.

  “Go off on your own?” he said. “Then you’re truly a fool. Of highest quality. If you were a diamond, you’d be flawless. The girl has something to do with it, I’ll be bound. There’s no room in your head for common sense. Ah, well, that’s your business. Peace unto you. And I thank you for the loan of your donkey.”

  I never knew if he reached home safely.

  As Shira said, it was my caravan. Though it had never dawned on me that I might actually carry some responsibility for it. In Magenta, I had imagined myself boldly leading an expedition that brought us happily to a fortune. I did not reckon on obstreperous camels belching and spitting on me. Or on keeping a constant eye on Baksheesh, who worked extremely hard at doing as little as possible. Or on watching over Salamon, who tended to wander off and marvel at some strange rock formation or odd specimen of plant. I certainly had never looked forward to the fine grit that seeped into every garment down to my underclothes. Not to mention blisters where blisters had no right to be.

  And Shira —yes, of course, she understood the network of roads and trails and knew more than I ever would. Even so, in time it pleased me to believe—or, at least, pretend—that I became an almost acceptable karwan-bushi. Anyway, I liked being an imitation karwan-bushi better than being a genuine chooch.

  However, on the day we parted from the caravan survivors, I wanted only to get away from the place as fast as possible. The raïs had ordered the bodies left to rot on their poles as a warning to other gangs of bandits.

  Bound in awkward, angular postures, they were dead by now. Or so I hoped. I still had to turn my eyes from them. I had no stomach for the sight. From what I accidentally glimpsed, they no longer looked like people. They gave me nightmares for a long time after.