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.He certainly thought in one or the other most of the time, and that was,certainly, all for the best.He didn't even think of the ö?- as theö?- , or as hay'at al-amr bilma`ruf wa al-nahi `an al-munkar or even asal-Bilma, but, rather, as "the Committee" when he did, and he tried not tothink of it at all, and sometimes he even succeeded.He thought about himself all the time, but as Stavros Kechiroski known as"StavrosAndropolounikos" dockside because of his origin; Andropolouniki were notcommon this far south and he never even thought of himself as Nissim al-Furatanymore, and, truth to tell, days and even weeks went by without him thinkingof Nissim's home.Once a month, at least when he was in the satrapal capital, he would find sometime, privacy, pen, and paper the privacy was the hardest to come by; time theeasiest and write down everything he had seen that even might be of interest,using the simple substitution code where Hellenic letters substituted forPharsi ones.Pharsi, of course, not Arabic; even though it was highly unlikelythat RoyalNavy Intelligence ever would come across any of his writings, much less breakthe code, it could happen, and the added misdirection might be useful.Letthem think that the near-mythical Hassasanites had been reborn, if they would.The Committee traced its lineage from much more reputable origins, even thoughPage 131 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlit was said that there had been an assassin or two involved in the early days,and in the long run would do it probably had done far more damage to the Daral-Harb than a bunch of screaming killers waving swords possibly could.If he was to be seen writing, or even his writing was seen, what of that? Manya common sailor knew his letters, after all the Hellenes more so than theEnglish, for some reason and he wouldn't be the only sailor ever to dream ofstriking for a purser-clerk's cushy billet and higher pay.He always folded his reports carefully, then completely wrapped the foldedpaper in clay.The clay would be deposited in the same spot under an upthrustroot of an old oak tree a mile out on the northern road out of the city.Hehad a woman in the village just beyond the vineyards more of a whore, really;he was sure that Elikina took on other men when he was away, as she couldhardly get by on the few coppers he gave her, despite her smilingprotestations to the contrary which would easily account for his travels,should anybody ever stop and ask him.Not that anybody ever did, although dropping off his reports was always themost frightening part of what he did; it always felt like curious eyes werewatching him from the dark, and it took all his self-control not to lookaround.If somebody was there, the last thing he ought to be doing wasengaging in some furtive looks.Stavros had no idea who picked up his reports, or when, but whoever it was ofnecessity knew where he left his reports, and if his unseen brother surely itwould be only one? fell into Crown hands, and could be made to talk, it wouldbe a simple matter to lie in wait for Stavros.He had heard of an occasionalspy of the Dar al-Islam being captured, although had never heard of one beingcaptured alive.A fist-sized clump of clay wouldn't draw attention by itself even ifdiscovered, and was unlikely to be discovered by accident particularly sinceStavros always made sure to empty his bowels there on any trip, in or out ofthe city, whether or not he was leaving a message but the weakness of it allcame from the necessity.The Committee was like one of the wonderful grinding machines that theHellenes used to make their tasty, wonderful pork sausage Hellenes loved theirfilthy swine, and of course, being a Hellene, so did Stavros in went all sortsof scraps, and out came something useful, he hoped, although it would be along time, he suspected, before he would know if he had, indeed, ever been ofany use.The only thing he knew for certain was that he had not been recalled, and thathe was to continue, and continue he would.He had been pledged to theCommittee for a full ten years, not counting his two years of training, andthenWell, it was best not to think about then.It would only make his present lifethat much less endurable, and it was certainly a good enough life for thelikes of Stavros Kechiroski, eh?Stavros made his way through the twisting streets in the pre-dawn light,whistling a British sailor's tune, as though it would ward away the Press,were there gangs about this early, which there sometimes were, althoughusually not.The tune wouldn't, not by itself; the sealed certificate sewed into the liningof his teabag, however, would and, at least these days, enough of the localsailors had such certificates that the Press rarely bothered any sailor whodidn't run from them.There would be no point in stealing it, although you couldn't count on a thiefto be sensible, as it wouldn't do anybody else any good.It described him, asall such certificates did: the mole on his leftwrist and the pattern of scars on his back were drawn in ink on thecertificate, and while there were more than a few other men of his height,with black hair and short fingers, the scars and mole were distinctive.Page 132 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThere was another thing about him that would have been distinctive [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]
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.He certainly thought in one or the other most of the time, and that was,certainly, all for the best.He didn't even think of the ö?- as theö?- , or as hay'at al-amr bilma`ruf wa al-nahi `an al-munkar or even asal-Bilma, but, rather, as "the Committee" when he did, and he tried not tothink of it at all, and sometimes he even succeeded.He thought about himself all the time, but as Stavros Kechiroski known as"StavrosAndropolounikos" dockside because of his origin; Andropolouniki were notcommon this far south and he never even thought of himself as Nissim al-Furatanymore, and, truth to tell, days and even weeks went by without him thinkingof Nissim's home.Once a month, at least when he was in the satrapal capital, he would find sometime, privacy, pen, and paper the privacy was the hardest to come by; time theeasiest and write down everything he had seen that even might be of interest,using the simple substitution code where Hellenic letters substituted forPharsi ones.Pharsi, of course, not Arabic; even though it was highly unlikelythat RoyalNavy Intelligence ever would come across any of his writings, much less breakthe code, it could happen, and the added misdirection might be useful.Letthem think that the near-mythical Hassasanites had been reborn, if they would.The Committee traced its lineage from much more reputable origins, even thoughPage 131 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlit was said that there had been an assassin or two involved in the early days,and in the long run would do it probably had done far more damage to the Daral-Harb than a bunch of screaming killers waving swords possibly could.If he was to be seen writing, or even his writing was seen, what of that? Manya common sailor knew his letters, after all the Hellenes more so than theEnglish, for some reason and he wouldn't be the only sailor ever to dream ofstriking for a purser-clerk's cushy billet and higher pay.He always folded his reports carefully, then completely wrapped the foldedpaper in clay.The clay would be deposited in the same spot under an upthrustroot of an old oak tree a mile out on the northern road out of the city.Hehad a woman in the village just beyond the vineyards more of a whore, really;he was sure that Elikina took on other men when he was away, as she couldhardly get by on the few coppers he gave her, despite her smilingprotestations to the contrary which would easily account for his travels,should anybody ever stop and ask him.Not that anybody ever did, although dropping off his reports was always themost frightening part of what he did; it always felt like curious eyes werewatching him from the dark, and it took all his self-control not to lookaround.If somebody was there, the last thing he ought to be doing wasengaging in some furtive looks.Stavros had no idea who picked up his reports, or when, but whoever it was ofnecessity knew where he left his reports, and if his unseen brother surely itwould be only one? fell into Crown hands, and could be made to talk, it wouldbe a simple matter to lie in wait for Stavros.He had heard of an occasionalspy of the Dar al-Islam being captured, although had never heard of one beingcaptured alive.A fist-sized clump of clay wouldn't draw attention by itself even ifdiscovered, and was unlikely to be discovered by accident particularly sinceStavros always made sure to empty his bowels there on any trip, in or out ofthe city, whether or not he was leaving a message but the weakness of it allcame from the necessity.The Committee was like one of the wonderful grinding machines that theHellenes used to make their tasty, wonderful pork sausage Hellenes loved theirfilthy swine, and of course, being a Hellene, so did Stavros in went all sortsof scraps, and out came something useful, he hoped, although it would be along time, he suspected, before he would know if he had, indeed, ever been ofany use.The only thing he knew for certain was that he had not been recalled, and thathe was to continue, and continue he would.He had been pledged to theCommittee for a full ten years, not counting his two years of training, andthenWell, it was best not to think about then.It would only make his present lifethat much less endurable, and it was certainly a good enough life for thelikes of Stavros Kechiroski, eh?Stavros made his way through the twisting streets in the pre-dawn light,whistling a British sailor's tune, as though it would ward away the Press,were there gangs about this early, which there sometimes were, althoughusually not.The tune wouldn't, not by itself; the sealed certificate sewed into the liningof his teabag, however, would and, at least these days, enough of the localsailors had such certificates that the Press rarely bothered any sailor whodidn't run from them.There would be no point in stealing it, although you couldn't count on a thiefto be sensible, as it wouldn't do anybody else any good.It described him, asall such certificates did: the mole on his leftwrist and the pattern of scars on his back were drawn in ink on thecertificate, and while there were more than a few other men of his height,with black hair and short fingers, the scars and mole were distinctive.Page 132 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThere was another thing about him that would have been distinctive [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]