Arabesque

Khoury

I am a coward.

This thought plagued the mind of Nabeel Khoury as he watched the man die.

He did nothing.

Said nothing.

He watched it happen and wept.

As the chief Rais officer of Havar, Khoury had known the man who would be killed. He also knew the assassin's identity. Sarn had killed before in Havar, and Khoury had let it happen then, too. Still, he felt unclean, his conscience tainted by the evil done.

Yet he did not stop it.

Because I am a coward.

Khoury was under orders from Emir Malek himself, delivered to him by Fajeer Dassai. You did not cross either man if you wanted to live. Havar was a valued sheikdom of Qatana, and the Sultan's reach was long. Malek and Dassai played politics as they pleased, and there was very little the sheikh's chief administrator could do about it.

Hiril Altaïr was to die—and Nabeel Khoury had made sure it happened.

Khoury felt shame as he witnessed the execution, watching from a safe perch high above as Sarn marked the mutilated form that had once been a man. He knew his life would be irrevocably changed after this—and it would not be for the better.

You are a coward.

Yes, he thought again. No one came to Altaïr's defense, and I made sure of it.

Khoury had met days earlier with an envoy of Eliës. There would be a killing. It would take place in the square on the high holy day of Istanna. Leave your mind free of guilt, he'd told the envoy. It was of no concern. Just be sure that you do not open your doors to this man or hinder the assassin in any way, and there will be no trouble.

Khoury said the words and left the bribe. Just as he had done with a dozen others.

He had met Altaïr twice before. The first time was years earlier, the second just a few days ago. Altaïr's reputation as a skilled siri spy preceded him—experienced, thorough, and loyal. A good man, thought Khoury—something he was not. Altaïr had come to Havar looking for answers. But Khoury was uncertain of the questions. He'd learned only a little, some from Altaïr, some from Dassai, who'd shown up two days later. And now Altaïr was dead.

Khoury fixed his eyes on Sarn. The assassin knelt beside Altaïr and laid something next to him, just outside the pool of blood that surrounded the dead man. Khoury could not tell what the object was, but Sarn's actions were strange and they'd caught his attention. Sarn stood and then was gone, leaving the square as quickly as he had entered it.

Was it a trap?

Did the assassin still lurk, just out of sight, looking to see if anyone would show? Dassai had mentioned nothing to him about Sarn leaving something.

Khoury wanted to know. He needed to know.

But caution and fear held him in place. Merely by interfering, he risked his own death. The royal family was never to be crossed, and apart from Sarn, Dassai might have been the most dangerous man Khoury had ever met. So Khoury waited, chewing his nails, and did nothing.

He was a coward.

He waited for several hours. Biding his time. The street remained deserted. It was late; there was no traffic. No one exited out of the building, either.

The ruined flesh and bones of Altaïr remained on the steps to the embassy, along with the object Sarn had laid down. The more Khoury studied it, the more he began to realize it was a book of some kind.

He looked up at the moons. Their positions told him it would be some time before the street below saw any life again.

Khoury looked again at the object that lay beside Altaïr's body. The urge to go outside and retrieve it was intense, but he resisted. The longer he stood at the window peering down, the stronger the urge became. Was he still a coward?

Only time would tell.