Illustration by Jennifer Snow

The Jewel Below
by Michael D. Turner

"There is a treasure, hidden beneath the city," the dirty beggar-boy declared. "I swear it is true! Abar the Golden, grandfather to Ilkan the Munificent-- may he live in glory for a thousand years-- who is our Sultan now, sealed all the ways into the ancient under-city and hid a great treasure there."

"It seems more likely, to me," Al-San said, "that the mighty Sultan, wise in the ways of the world and possessing many vaults and chambers within his own palace, ready to hand for the storing of treasures, sealed the ways under his city to cut off the highway for thieves and miscreants in his realm."

Al-San reclined on the edge of the shaded porch of Beba the wine merchant and regarded the boy crouched on the sun-baked bricks beyond the porch's latticed rail. The rag-clad boy was not so thin as to be starving. It was likely he was only spinning out a story to draw close enough to lift Al-San's purse--though how he should do so through the lattice-work was a mystery.

Al-San drained his cup and waved it near his head. The girl that Beba had attending the porch hurried to refill it from the water-chilled pitcher balanced on her shoulder. The silk-clad Al-San never took his eyes from the boy.

"Truly, the golden Sultan's wisdom was great! Many thieves were hanged in the years of his reign, but never was there a shortage of thieves in the market places. What cares a Sultan for thieves? What ruler's coffers so overflow with gold that he will spend it to inconvenience desperate men with empty bellies?" The boy shook his head. "The confounding of thieves was only a happy coincidence of the Sultan's plan. There was a greater purpose."

Al-San waited for the beggar to continue but the boy remained silent. Finally the man sighed and asked, "What purpose?"

The boy ceased his idol doodling in the dirt of the street and held out his bowl. "A coin, master, for the tale? A mere bezati, that I'll not starve, to hear the full of it?" Cool wine filled the poet's mouth as he considered the beggar. Al-San had been hungry in the past but he had a full purse today. He drew a bezati from his sash, the nut shaped copper marked by a hundred merchant's teeth. It rattled in the boy's bowl and disappeared into his rags before the lad had drawn a breath.

"A blessing on your house, Master."

"The tale," demanded Al-San.

"The great ruler sealed the under-city to hide a treasure too valuable to risk loosing, yet too dangerous to keep within his mighty palace. A thing of wonder, wrested by a mighty hero from the tower of a black sorcerer. A thing of magnificent beauty and great power, ah, but not entirely under the Sultan's control. What to do with such a thing? Too precious to let out of his hands, too dangerous to keep in his palace."

"So he sealed it under the city."

"The Catacombs of Jubah have great renown! Miles of tunnels that twist around in an incomprehensible maze, great vaulted chambers the size of a market, ages old. They provided refuge and passage not only for thieves and cut-throats, but also served as a haven for black sorcerers and the mad followers of false gods.

"And so the Sultan decided he would seal the catacombs to guard the treasure and use the treasure to guard the catacombs."

"What was this treasure, this object of wonder and peril?" Al-San shifted the jeweled scimitar at his waist. The beggar eyed the sword and dipped his head

"It was said by some to be a wondrous jewel, by others a magnificent statue. Still others claim it was an oracle, a font of mystical lore. Abar the golden came into possession of it while he was still a young man in the fullness of his strength. Today his grandson-- may he bask in the glory of God forever-- has a beard more white than grey. Who today can say for sure what the great treasure was?"

The beggar's eyes gleamed. "I and I alone know what it was the golden Sultan sealed beneath the city, master. For I have seen it with my own eyes."

"And what is this mysterious treasure? How did you come to find it?" Al-San sneered, "And, if you have indeed found such a wonder, why do you still beg on the streets of Jubah?"

"I shall tell you, master." The mendicant settled into the dust beneath the rail. "It has been my habit, due to the lowliness of my station and cruel vagaries such a person as my self is subject to, to seek out such places of safety as I can find to pass my hours of rest, and I make it a habit as well to never sleep in the same place two nights running, nor in any particular place more often than thrice in a single month. For it is the sad truth that men will rob even a poor beggar, slitting my throat for the few paltry bezati I might have in my bowl."

"In truth, life is a hard thing for all concerned," Al-San said.

"It is said that all trades have their draw-backs. I shall never face a shower of arrows on a field of glory, and I have never known a night of restful sleep. As that may be, Master, it is my habit as I go about my daily business to keep an eye open to such nooks as may provide, under night's bejeweled cover, a haven for my rest. It was during the monsoon of last year, which as you may recall were the most fearsome downpours Jubah has seen since the age of…"

"Yes, yes," the warrior cut short the beggar's digression with a wave. "I well remember the rains of last year; they flooded the high plains and damaged many farms and bridges, including some of my estates. On with the tale."

"I had misjudged my night's lodging, finding my first choice under water, and my second occupied by a pair of cut-throats. Thus I was forced to wander the alleyways of the poor quarter searching for some overhang to guard my neck from the fearsome rains. I found such a place within a twisting stair and huddled in it to sleep. The brick was strong enough but the mortar so weakened by the water that, while I slept there against the wall, some bricks came away from it and stirred me from my rest. Seeing a gap in the wall-- and no rain beyond-- I enlarged the opening, hoping to escape the rains."

"Hoping you'd found your way into some merchant's house," Al-San conjectured, "to plunder his larder and pilfer his stock." The beggar held his hands up before him, showing in the way of the market traders that he still had both and was, therefore, no thief. "I sought only to get out of the rain, Master! In any event the hole proved to be without bottom, my hands found only air, and I was obliged to climb down into it to explore it. Being without light, and fearful of the rats that dwell in such places, I returned the bricks to a semblance of their proper place and vowed to return better prepared.

"That I did, Master. At first thinking only that I'd stumbled on secure shelter, a place to lay my head at last, I discovered instead a vast realm, the fabled under-city, long sealed. With stubs of candles or tallow-soaked rags for torches I wandered its depths, explored its ways. And then I found it, Master. The great King's treasure, but alas, one so lowly as I cannot benefit from such a thing. I would be cheated, robbed, killed outright to ensure my silence.

"What I need, Master," the beggar said, clutching his hands as if in prayer, "is a patron, someone of wealth and position, who could get the full value of the thing. A true noble who would reward his poor servant fairly. . . ." "Indeed," the poet replied, then scowled. "Perhaps I, a noble of the Sultan's court and officer in his army, should not be violating the Sultan's will?"

"There is no edict," Dakkam declared. "You did not break the seal of the city below. It is treasure, unlocked, now, and unguarded."

"And the first rule of wealth . . ."Al-San mused.

"Is finder's keepers." The beggar completed the well known market-saying.

"There, master." The beggar-boy pointed to a cramped stair that curled against a mud-brick building off the narrow alley. "Behind those stairs is the space where the brick fell away during the rains. That is the way in."

Al-San fingered the jeweled hilt of his shashimir and eyed the narrow, curving alley and the rundown, windowless buildings it ran between. "I see no space."

"I replaced the fallen bricks." The boy explained as he mounted the first few steps and poked at the wall with a finger, sending pulling dirt from between the bricks. "It is just dust that holds them now." He worked at the wall with his hands. In moments he had removed a brick, then two more. Reaching his arm into the resulting hole, he pulled away a section containing a score of bricks still held together with their original mortar. The boy staggered under its weight as he lowered it to the stair.

Now the stair's wall had a hole in it of a size to admit even as broad-shouldered a man as Al-San. The beggar reached into the hole and pulled out a stout stick with a rope tied to it. He braced the stick across the hole and left the rope trailing into the blackness.

"It is not so far a climb, Master," he explained. "Two man-lengths, no more."

Al-San examined the hole, then the stick-and-rope. Satisfied, he pulled the sack from his sash and withdrew the lantern he'd purchased on the beggar's advice. Carefully he trimmed the wick and lit it. "You climb down first with the lantern. So I may see where it is we travel."

"Of course, Master."

"If all is as you say, I shall get you your fair share." Al-San said. "A Half."

"A third, Master," the beggar corrected, as he climbed to sit at the edge of the hole. "Even if I dared to touch the great gem, I could not carry it. Even if I carried it out, I could not sell it. A humble beggar with such a thing? It would be seized by the first guardsman I encountered and I would be slain as a thief!" He lowered himself into the hole, the lantern stem clutched in his teeth.

No ambush offered itself; the beggar stood at the bottom of the hole on a pile of bricks tumbled from some other, forgotten structure. He beckoned to Al-San.

Gingerly the warrior-poet eased himself into the opening, carefully moving his sword so as not to catch it on the edge. Taking hold of the rope, he lowered himself. Once at the bottom he could see the opening, a low passage overhung by the foundation of the building above. He would have to crawl.

"What is your name, beggar-of-the-marketplace?"

"I am Dakkam, Master."

"Well, Dakkam, it seems I am about to place my life in your hands. Swear to me by your name that you will lead me well and true, that you will not attempt to abandon me in the dark maze below the city, but will lead me safely to this treasure and back out again."

"Master, I swear it. By my name and all I hold holy, I swear it to you."

"Very well, Dakkam. And this I swear to you; that I, Hakim ibn Hassan ibn Akbar Dar Al-San, shall reward your service-- loyalty with riches, betrayal with vengeance. By my name and all I hold holy. Now, lead the way."

On all fours, as if penitents seeking salvation, they entered the labyrinth.

Al-San marveled at the extent of the tunnels beneath the bustling metropolis. It was another world, another city rivaling the one above. At first the passages were coarse and filthy, abandoned sewers. Soon the beggar turned from these and led Al-San down a passage so narrow the warrior was obliged to turn sideways to fit through.

"Be careful of the footing here, Master," the beggar spoke from the shadows ahead. "The way slopes, and it is wet."

"It still stinks."

"Not so bad as before, Master. Ahead the way will be wider, and the air clear."

The narrow passage opened onto a hall, the walls still bearing tiles glazed in muted colors. Al-San took the lantern from the boy's hand and peered about Ahead the way twisted and turned, blocking sight of what lay ahead past more than a dozen paces.

"Come, Master," the boy gestured down the winding path," this way."

"By the Sultan's snowy beard, this place is larger than I thought! How did you come to learn your way about this great dark place, Dakkam?"

"It was not difficult, master," the mendicant replied. "With light you have only to follow your path in the dust to return whence you came."

"And without light?"

The youth shuddered, his shoulders hunched as if from a lash. "It is better to have a light."

The tiled hallway continued, several times branching off or intersecting others. At these places Dakkam was ever sure of his way, going first one direction and then another.

"How do you mark your path?" the poet asked. "One way looks as any other to me."

"In the streets and alleys of Jubah," the beggar replied, "those of the street have a system of subtle marks and signs that only we can read. Gangs will make sign to mark their territory, beggars to lay claim to a pitch, streetwalking whores to claim a spot as well." The path came again to an intersection, as grimy and featureless as all the others. "Look here, see Master? At the height of my shoulder, I swiped four fingers along the tile. You can still see the mark."

And so it was, begrimed by settling dust, four stripes marked the indicated tile.

"So, as you explored each way . . ."

"I would wipe the marks of the pathways I eliminated, or mark them else-ways to tell where they went."

"Very clever, Dakkam." The boy shrugged but smiled at the compliment.

The hall finally came to an end at a greater hall that in turn led to a wide stair. The hall and stair were not tiled, but rather made of cut and polished stone.

"My own home is not constructed so finely," Al-San declared. "All this lay unused, abandoned?"

"Not abandoned, Master," Dakkam replied. "Forbidden."

The stair led to a vaulted hall as wide as the streets of the great market that let ox- drawn wagons pass two in each direction. Arched doorways twice as tall as a man led off on either wall.

In the great hall Al-San became aware of the oppressiveness of this underground maze. He had come far from the streets above; did he remember the way back? Could he find the beggar's marks? The chambers echoed with sound-- dripping water, the scuttle of rats and other vile things. Things he did not want to share space with any longer than necessary.

"How much farther to this jewel of yours?" Al-San asked.

"Near, Master," Dakkam raised the lantern and pointed into the gloom. "The third chamber from where we stand, on the left. See, the dust marks the trail I made when I discovered it."

Al-Sal looked at the floor but it was lost in the shadows of the lantern. He peered ahead in the gloom. The beggar took hold of his sleeve and tugged him forward. He batted the lad's hand away and walked firmly toward the portal, the boy at his side. As they drew near, the chamber seemed to shimmer with some inner fire that flickered and danced on the walls as if in the light of a dozen flames. Al-San stood in the doorway and gaped.

The light of their lantern caught and multiplied a hundred-fold, scattered across the walls like heaven's stars by the magnificent object inside the chamber, an amber statue the size of a man. Of monstrous form, like a misshapen ape with hooves for feet and lion's paws tipped with ivory claws as long as Al-San's fingers, its face was that of a beautiful woman. In place of hair, her brow sprouted a dozen curling goat-horns.

"You see, Master," Dakkam said, "A great jewel, a statue of surpassing beauty. I could not take it from this place!"

"It's magnificent!" Al-San stalked a wide circle around the jewel, viewing it from every angle. "I do not agree about its surpassing beauty. It is a masterpiece, yes, but it's hideous. No doubt carved for some forbidden temple of a false god. You are right, Dakkam, no beggar could sell this in the marketplace. You would not be stoned as a thief, you would be burned as an apostate.

"It is too wide for the way we came." Al-San said. "We will have to scout out a different route. It'd be a shame to break it, but it is so large! Amber is not heavy, though. I think I may be able to lift it."

So saying, he stretched out a hand and laid it upon the glowing jewel. It was warm to his touch, though the caverns were cold and clammy. He marveled at the thing, its gleaming surface free of dust, its golden face that of an angel. It was hideous and beautiful. Yet his heart quaked and his hand sought his sword hilt.

For beneath his touch, Al-San felt the jewel's warm hardness grow soft. The angelic face turned toward his, its claws bit deeply into his side even as he stepped back and drew the scimitar from his sash. Watered steel flashed like forked lightening. The blow rang, sparks sprung from the blade, but no mark marred the horrid thing's tawny surface.

Al-San screamed as it hoisted him off his feet, its leonine talons buried within his flanks. Twice more his blade rained down upon the horrid horns on its head, now washed with his own blood, to no effect. The sword slipped from his nerveless grip and clattered on the floor below. The thing flung him to the floor and the warrior heard his body break.

He tried to push himself up, to draw the dagger from his sash, but he had no strength left and he knew it was his life's last blood he bled onto the dusty stones. Then a feather-light touch passed around his waist, retrieving his dagger in its jeweled sheath, and his purse still well-weighted with coin. The beggar-boy tucked his goods into his rags and stared at the murderous jewel.

"Dakkam!" Al-San gasped, his voice cracking with the effort. The lad turned to him and placed a finger over his lips, shushing him. Then Dakkam crept forward on hands and feet until he sprawled in abasement before the gore-crusted idol.

It fell still, once more in the pose it had held when they'd arrived. The blood seemed to sink into it, lighting its form with a sanguine glow that eclipsed the light of the lantern. Dakkam raised his head and spoke, saying;

"Nobel blood you have tasted, now answers you must reveal."

"Three times you have fed me blood, three questions I have answered," the thing replied in a soprano voice of surpassing loveliness. "For the blood of a beggar I told you of my purpose, for the blood of a thief I taught you a charm of beguilement, for the blood of a merchant I told you of a charm of seeming. Now you have fed me noble blood. Ask your question."

"Teach me the working of the spells of summoning the spirits of the dead," the beggar demanded.

"Dry the root of the abasi weed, which grows along the edge of graveyards, grind it into powder and soak it in the blood of a gallows-bird. Take the mixture and make a mark . . . ."

Al-San watched as Dakkam, a beggar-boy not so thin as to be starving, and not so young at all but nearly man-aged, dipped his finger into the spreading pool of Al-San's life's blood and used it to jot down notes on the rag from his back, recording the knowledge of dark sorcery the statue revealed to him. The poet's eyes dimmed as the beggar wrote, muttering the instructions to himself. With his dying breath, Al-San cursed himself for a fool.