The Geographer's Library

Jon Fasman
controlling his heartbeat, timing his breathing to coincide with the upswell in
the locusts’ song.
He had graduated from stealing fruit from orchards at night to stealing
animals from their pens to stealing merchants’ trinkets to stealing merchants’
profits. He eventually became an accomplished house robber, because he
could always tell—by the cut of their clothes, the look of anticipation on their
faces, the amount of luggage they carried—when the occupants were departing
for a long journey. Only then would he enter the house, examine its contents
at leisure, and take what he wanted, and only provided he could do so
without causing spectacle or commotion. He never robbed churches, synagogues,
or mosques, nor would he steal from priests, rabbis, or imams;
though he did not attend prayer services himself, he liked to avoid unduly
inciting God or His representatives on earth. King Roger II tended to protect
all servants of God with equal vigilance, and his sentries exacted retribution
in gruesome and varied ways.
Early one afternoon Omar passed a young novice, freshly tonsured and
still awkward in his cowl, and asked him what day it was. “Today is the feast
day of St. Theodore of Sykeon,” the boy answered, holding out an ironringed
arm as evidence.
“I see. And tell me, if you know, what house is that on the hill, surrounded
by such fine gardens?”
“Our abbot covets that house. But the occupant was a singularly strange
fellow who worshipped at no house of God and built odd-smelling fires at all
hours of the night. Some say he was a witch, but he always enjoyed the king’s
protection. His name is something I could not tell you.”
“You speak of him in the past. Is he dead?”
“No, put to sea yesterday. The abbot says His Holiness King Roger will
make the house into a second palace, far from the bustle of Palermo. But even
so, it would take his guards until tomorrow at least to reach this place. The
house stands abandoned until then, with entry barred by order of His Holiness
King Roger.”
“Is that so? Indeed. Well, thank you for your cheer and conversation, friend.”
“Go in God’s grace, friend.” Turning around, the monk tripped on his
cowl, rolled over twice, righted himself, and continued quickly downhill.
40