Cas watched the harbour of Side from the balcony of a small inn on the waterfront. He sipped slowly on a glass of
raki
, his host never letting it run dry so long as he placed another coin on the table. As the
Raja
had made its way slowly along the meandering rivers that transected Babylonia and connected the Persian Gulf with the Mediterranean Sea, he had raced on horse and camel in an effort to beat the ship to Side.
He swirled the clear liquor in his glass, his dark eyes transfixed on the horizon for any sign of the
Raja
.
By all accounts he had arrived in time to meet her — none of the merchants could recall seeing a ship of her description in port over the past few days.
So where is she? What if I have it wrong? What if her captain decides to bypass Side and head for Phaselis? Or worse, what if doesn't intend to make port on the mainland at all? What if he steers her to Kourion or Knossos?
He set his drink down on the table a bit louder than he intended and the noise brought the innkeeper rushing to his table. He ordered a fish supper to appease the old man.
Cas kept his eyes fixed on the skyline as he ate his meal. The sun dipped closer and closer to the horizon and soon the fishermen were sailing into harbour to unload their catch. The harbourmaster announced the arrival of each ship with the mighty blow of a trumpet and, at each sounding, Cas sat up to see whether the ship that had arrived was the one he was waiting for. Ship after ship entered the harbour but none of them were the
Raja
. He set his knife and fork down and leaned back in his chair dejectedly. Unless he was wrong, the
Raja
should have made it to Side by now.
Nevertheless, he watched and waited as the sky grew dim around the few glowing clouds that remained of the sunset. Finally, he heard the harbourmaster sound the trumpet once more. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out the features of the dark ship on the horizon.
He paid for his meal and left the inn. He walked past the docks and climbed the stone steps that led to the top of the wall that guarded the harbour. Though he strained to see the ship in the growing dusk, he felt certain that it was the
Raja
.
As the first stars appeared in the firmament, the port lights were lit, bathing the docks in the warm glow of lamplight. Cas pulled his collar higher against a sudden breath of chilly night air.
He wondered whether the crew of the
Raja
had treated their prisoner with respect. The captain of the ship used to be Namaar —
he is a good man, a reputable man —
but naval captains could be transferred at the commander-in-chief's discretion. There was no guarantee that he was still the captain of the
Raja
and, even if he was, no guarantee that his crew would behave as honourably as their leader.
Cas' fingers rapped against the stone impatiently as he waited for the ship to draw closer to the harbour. The sooner he got aboard that ship, the better chance he had of finding the girl alive.
It seemed to take hours for the ship to navigate into port. He held his breath, waiting for the moment the name of the ship would be illuminated by the harbour lamps. Finally, he let out a sigh of relief — the ship was the
Raja
.
He quickly made his way down the stairs to linger in the shadows of an alley nearby. The sailors would be disembarking soon and he had to be ready to slip aboard. Sure enough, he soon heard raucous voices coming from the direction of the port and growing louder by the second. A group of rowdy sailors dressed in the King's uniform passed the alleyway, drawn to the closest tavern as moths to a flame.
Cas slipped out of the alley and followed the band of soldiers, looking for a sailor that was of similar height and build to him. He trailed into the bar after them, picking a seat where he could observe the group. They went through four rounds of
raki
with ease, their banter becoming more and more boisterous as the liquor took effect.
Finally he noticed a suitable candidate stumble away from the table, staggering towards the door that lead into the back alley. Cas downed the rest of his drink, swilling the liquor in his mouth to make his breath smell stronger, set a coin down on the table and walked out the front door. He glanced around and, seeing no one, ran quickly and quietly around the back of the building. He waited until the soldier had finished relieving himself and then crept up behind him, wrapping his strong hands around his neck. Cas was careful not to kill him. The man would probably have no recollection of what had happened and the splitting headache he awoke with would easily be mistaken for a hangover. He pulled the sailor's clothes off and threw his cloak over the body. He dressed quickly, mussing up his hair to match the soldier's dishevelled locks before stumbling back in the direction of the ship. He clambered aboard the ship, pretending to be blind drunk. The few men who remained aboard the ship laughed at him and clapped him on the back as teetered past them and clumsily made his way below deck.
When he was safely out of sight, he straightened his back and grabbed a lantern from overhead to light his way through the ship. Eventually he reached the trapdoor that led into the brig and gently slid the bolt out of place.
++++++++
Scheherazade knew the ship was at port. She could hear the timbers creak as they leaned against the dock with each rolling wave. She could guess what would happen next... the men would disembark to satisfy their thirst for drink and other vices, then they would return and it would be a matter of time before her tormenter reappeared through the hatch.
But this time he will be drunk...
The thought should have made her shudder but she could not muster a physical response.
It was her second day without water and her third without food. At first, the hunger and thirst had been unbearable and even the fetid water sloshing around her ankles had seemed tempting but, now, her entire body felt numb. So, when she heard the hatch bolt move, she merely closed her eyes.
"Scheherazade?"
The girl's eyes fluttered open at the unfamiliar voice and she looked warily at the figure advancing through the gloom.
"Who are you?" She asked hoarsely.
"You don't know me but my name is Cas, I'm a friend of Shahzaman's."
"That doesn't look like the clothing of a rebel," the girl said.
"It's not. We're docked in Side. I borrowed it off one of the drunkards crewing this ship when they stopped into a tavern," he said.
The young soldier knelt before the cell, taking in Scheherazade's drooping eyelids and sunken cheeks.
"Haven't they fed you?" He asked sharply.
"I was offered food and water but at a price I was not willing to pay."
Cas ran his hand over his face: "Fucking hell..."
"It doesn't matter," she murmured, eying him almost idly. "I'm going to die anyway."
Cas unhooked the flask of water at his waist and held it to her through the bars.
"Here. Drink it slowly."
The girl did not stir: "Who did you say you were?"
"I'm Cas, I'm one of Shahzaman's men."
"Why are you here?"
"I'm here to rescue you."
"Rescue
me
?" She repeated bitterly, closing her eyes. "A fugitive traitor?"
