The Mystic Rose by Stephen R. Lawhead Page A

all for going back and letting Cait decide what should be done, but the young Syrian had the bit between his teeth now, and he was determined not to be bested.
    They walked to the end of the street, and then down another street, and yet another, coming to the less respectable dealers of gold, gems, and precious objects—places where formerly wealthy people often found buyers for treasures acquired in more prosperous times. Abu chose one of the most disreputable-looking of these, and told Otti to stand across the street and stare very hard at the shabby little shack and not to move. Next he instructed Haemur to accompany him, but to stand by the door and say nothing. It was agreed. Abu drew a deep breath and held it until Haemur feared he would burst, and then, gathering up the box, he darted across the street and into the dealer’s dwelling.
    â€œThis fellow looks up to see Abu rushing in all red-faced and out of breath,” said the young Syrian, “and it is ‘Allah help you, my friend, what has happened?’” So, Abu explained that he had something to sell, but was concerned that nothing should be known of his visit—not to anyone, not ever. The dealer said that he himself could not imagine any reason why anyone should learn of any transactions they might undertake. He took special pains to point out that his customers often required sympathy and understanding. Ask anyone, he said, they would tell you that Faraq Irbil is the soul of discretion and silent as the tomb.
    Apparently satisfied, Abu opened the sack and agreed to allow the dealer to examine the goods—but first would hemind going to the door and looking outside, please? “This he does,” said Abu, “and as the fellow peers out he sees Otti standing across the street glaring at the door of his hovel. ‘Oh, no!’ I cry. ‘We must vanish at once!’ I close the sack and jump up to leave.
    â€œThe dealer is not content to allow his opportunity to disappear so abruptly. ‘Wait a moment,’ pleaded Faraq, ‘there is nothing to fear. Let me see what you have. Maybe I can help.’ ‘But no,’ I said. ‘It is too late! Too late! I am sorry. I had hoped to raise a little money, but now…Allah help us, it is too late! Forgive me for troubling you.’”
    Abu chuckled at his own shrewdness. “I close up the sack and rush to the door. ‘Please do not leave,’ the dealer cries, clutching at my sleeve. He has glimpsed the golden bowl with the gem-edged rim, and is loath to let it vanish as quickly as it has appeared. ‘I can see you are troubled,’ Faraq says to me. ‘Perhaps events have overtaken you, eh? Yes, I thought so. But there is nothing to fear. You are safe here. Come, sit down. You say you wish to raise money. You have come to the right place. I am a dealer in fine gold, jewelry, and precious stones. Let me see what you have brought.’
    â€œâ€˜Very well,’ says Abu, ‘I may as well show you—but remember: no one must ever know I was here. A woman’s honor is involved. She is a wealthy woman, you see? The fault is not hers. Forgive me, I wish I could say more.’ So, Abu brings out the sapphire-and-ruby-rimmed bowl, and says, ‘It is worth sixty thousand. You know it. I know it. Alas, the time for bartering is past. I will take forty.’
    â€œâ€˜Forty!’ Faraq pretends to be shocked. ‘If only that was possible. Alas, my purse is not so capacious as those in the upper street. I am a man of more slender means. Twenty is the best I can offer. You think it over while I go and see if that belligerent fellow is still waiting for you across the street. Oh, yes, he is still there. It seems you must choose between us now.’
    â€œBut, Abu Sharma, slayer of demons, is not finished yet. He brings out the crystal dagger, withdraws it from its sheath of gilded leather, and lays the pearl-studded hilt beside