“In me?”
“Yes. I don’t understand it very well, but I wanted to… well, I don’t like the sound of Al-Rayyan growing sick, and that is just what they spoke of. Sickness.”
“But I feel healthy as a horse. Except that I never get quite enough sleep… ”
“And… sire, your mind and spirit?”
“What about them?”
“Health, um, health includes spiritual and mental well-being… ” Dunya began to shrink in on herself. What was she doing, talking medicine with this strange man that, come to the point of it, she barely knew?
Because God has put him in charge of our city, and if this Sultan sickens, then… she thought. “I wanted to make sure you were all right,” she finished weakly.
The Sultan considered for a moment. Then he said, “If those mermaids had a word about my health, I rather wish I’d had the chance to talk to them before they all left. Get them to tell what they really mean. But you are genuinely concerned for me?” When Dunya nodded, he tilted his head. “Fancy that. Most everyone I know has only ever been concerned for me because of my position. They want to gain a little power for themselves. It’s… lonely, to tell the truth of it,” he leaned on the table with his elbow and rubbed his beard. “But here you are, concerned for me for my own sake. And no benefit to yourself?”
“No benefit to yourself,” the Sultan answered his own question. “That’s a first, in all my life. I will remember this kindness,” he said. “I am not kind, but I can recognize it in others. Someday, I will figure out how to reward you. Now go away.”
“Yes, sire.”
Eventually, Dunya and the Sultan left the library and headed, side by side, towards the Sultan’s bedchambers. There they would take their dinner and, of course, listen to Zahra’s stories. They crossed several hallways in silence, and finally Dunya felt it was all too awkward to endure.
“Your Majesty,” she asked him, “what do you like best about Zahra’s stories?”
The Sultan glanced at her. “Why do you need to ask? They’re wonderful.”
“Yes, they are.” She would not press the issue, the man was already annoyed with her. So she was surprised to hear him say, “I love how inventive the stories are. I can never tell just what will come next. I like being kept waiting.”
After a time, Dunya asked, “Your Majesty, if it is not impertinent… ”
“What is it?”
“What is your story, sire? If you were to sum up the story of your life… how would it sound?”
“It would be a story much like the hundreds of Sultans who came and died before me. I was born to a Sultan, and from the moment of my birth, they predicted I would have a great destiny—aren’t all the Sultans gifted with great destinies? When I was four, I learned to ride a horse; when I was six, to shoot an arrow; when I was ten, I could take a hand in the appointment or dismissal of Palace officials. So, I grew into power, just as my father had, and his father before him.” The Sultan stopped on the stairwell and looked at Dunya. “You’re trying to figure out how I became ‘ill,’ aren’t you?”
“Well… yes. You do not sound happy.”
“I’ve told you before, I’m very happy. The whole city rises and falls at my bidding. And I’m not cursed with ambition, like some of our neighbors. The size of Al-Rayyan suits me nicely, so long as everyone knows their place and knows me.”
Something in his tone chilled Dunya. He did not ask for her story, she noticed.
A few days later, it was the Feast of the Sacrifice, and Dunya and Upalu leaned on the Palace walls. Tonight, the cavalrymen returned to Al-Rayyan and the Palace would celebrate them. But they hadn’t shown up yet—or if they had, they were still passing through the welcoming city.
“I got in a little bit of trouble with the Sultan,” Dunya said.
“Nothing too bad, I hope,” Upalu replied, glancing at her.
“You have something to do with it. He wanted to know why I took the issue of the mermaids in hand.”
“You’re soft-hearted.”
Dunya didn’t dispute it. “If I am, it was your magic that helped make it possible.”
“So I got you in trouble, is what you’re saying?”
“No.” Dunya took a deep breath. “I hate being in trouble. But this was my responsibility. All you did was help.”
Upalu blew out the breath she’d been holding. “I wish… ” She looked at her hands. “I wish I could help more. But my magic is still… ”
“Don’t worry about your magic.”
“I’ll worry all I want! Sorry… it’s just… I should be over her by now. I should be able to help you more.”
“Don’t worry about it. You do enough. Honestly? Having you listen to me is a help all by itself.” Dunya looked over at Upalu. The djinni wore a faint smile. “I’m serious.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Aha! Here they come. Now which one is your friend?”
“That one.” Dunya pointed. Munir was riding in front, on a high stepping bay. He was wearing the same ceremonial robes as the first time Dunya had met him.
“He’s looking for you,” Upalu remarked.
“No, he’s not.” Dunya kept her face stoic, knowing that Upalu was watching her for a blush.
“He’s looking for someone, anyway. There they go through the gates.”
They watched until the last row disappeared, then Dunya said, “I had better get going.”
“Be sure to smuggle me some tidbits.”
“I will.” They had agreed some months ago that Upalu had better keep out of the Palace eye. If the kitchen ever wondered at Dunya’s capacity for food, which she requested politely and then took out of sight, they said nothing.
Dunya bid Upalu goodbye and headed towards the activity. She arrived in time to see a bit of the Sultan’s welcome speech. Munir stood with his head high, his helmet tucked under one arm. Dunya couldn’t catch his eye.
The feast was a similarly inane affair—many speeches and toasts made in honor of the brave and loyal border guard. Dunya had no chance to speak to Munir. She stashed what food she could in an extra scarf and snuck out as soon as the first families began to leave.
The windows of the harem were lit up. Dunya hurried in. At least thirty lamps on various surfaces were lit, without any scent of burning oil, Dunya noticed. “Upalu?” she called. “I brought you food.”
Upalu stepped out from behind a screen. Her cinnamon-colored scarf was down around her shoulders, and she smiled. “That smells delicious!”
They settled down at a low table, Dunya explaining the unusual foods to Upalu and telling her about the feast. Upalu had just started on a pastry when she looked up, past Dunya, and her expression turned confrontational.
“What is it?” Dunya turned and saw Munir, in the doorway of the harem.
“Hello,” he said, uncertainly. “What are you… ? Never mind. I’ll leave.”
“No, no, come in, Captain!” Dunya got to her feet. In the corner of her eye, Upalu tugged her scarf over her hair.
“What are you doing here?” Upalu asked, none too friendly.
“I was… look, Morgiana was… ” Munir clenched his teeth, looking for the right words.
“You make a habit of walking in on women?”
“Upalu,” Dunya said warningly.
“Morgiana was my friend, and I miss her. I wondered if I could find anything of her in the harem. I thought it was empty.”
“You won’t tell,” Dunya said, with urgency. “No one knows she lives here.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s Upalu. She’s my friend.”
Munir looked between the two of them, considering, and then said, “If she’s your friend, that’s good enough for me.”
“Won’t you join us?” Dunya asked.
“He’ll be missed at his ow
n feast,” Upalu remarked. When Dunya glared at her, Upalu said, “I’m just saying.”
“I made my excuses… I was sufficiently well-mannered. Don’t worry on my account.”
Dunya somehow doubted that Upalu was worried. She took a deep breath and thought, How would Morgiana approach this? The answer came clear: with grace and care.
“Upalu,” she said, “This is my friend Munir. I’ve told you about him. Munir, meet my friend Upalu. Now you can be friends, yourselves.”
Munir settled himself at the table and took a pastry, just to be polite. He looked around. “Who lit the lamps?”
“I did,” Upalu said.
“It makes a beautiful effect.”
“Thank you.”
“How did you… come to live in the Palace?”
“I’m her lady-in-waiting.” Upalu jerked her head towards Dunya.
“Oh. And what is your family?”
“The Ember family.”
Munir blinked. “I don’t know them.”
“Munir,” Dunya said, “I brokered a treaty with mermaids… and Upalu is… ”
“Ah ah ah,” Upalu said. She held up a warning finger. Dunya fell silent.
“A mermaid?” Munir finished, looking between them.
“Do you see a tail?” Upalu snorted. “You should have brought more food, Dunya.”
“I’ll bring a sack next time,” Dunya said drily. “Anyway—Upalu helped me with the mermaids.” Upalu nodded.
“Then I am in the presence of two diplomats. I admire your work,” Munir said. “If I had a glass, I would toast to you.”
“But we don’t have anything to drink. Dunya.” Upalu glared at her.
“I can’t carry everything!” When Upalu snickered, Dunya slumped. “Don’t tease me like that.”
“If you had known we were having company… ”
“I can leave… I can take a hint,” Munir said, starting to stand up.
“That wasn’t a hint directed at you, don’t give yourself too much credit,” Upalu said.
“Upalu, manners!” Dunya said.
“What’s wrong with my manners?”
“This is the most honest conversation I’ve had in the Palace since… in a very long time,” Munir said. “I quite enjoy the candor. And I won’t give myself too much credit in future.”
“How should we credit you? What is your rank?” Upalu asked.
“Captain. Captain of the Border Patrol.”
“Probably passed down from your old man.”
“Upalu!” Dunya said. “I’m sure he earned it on his own.”
“No, it’s partially true. My father led the Palace guard. I chose the borders, when I came of age.”
Now Dunya was curious. “Why did you?” she asked.
Munir picked up an empty cup and tossed it between his hands. “I like the borders… you can hear yourself think out there. The sky is wide open… ”
“And it’s safer than the Palace,” Upalu suggested.
Munir glanced at her. He gave a half nod, but said nothing.
“Don’t put words in his mouth,” Dunya said to Upalu. To Munir she asked, “Why did you?”
He spoke slowly. “I’m not really a warrior by any stretch. I’m quite cowardly by nature.”
“No, you’re not,” Dunya said.
Munir almost smiled. “I’m touched by your faith in me. I try to stay out of… well, what you might call the saga of our Kingdom. I’m happy to have a little role. Barely a verse, and back to the main thread—that’s me.”
“But what’s your story?” Dunya urged. “Yours? Munir’s?”
“I… don’t know. I’m a man who likes to tool leather, in my spare time. I gifted Morgiana a lamp, once. It was copper. She laughed, because the harem… ” He gestured around himself, “already has an abundance of lamps. That’s something, I guess.”
“If I have any courage, I’ve learned it by visiting Al-Rayyan, disguising my station and walking along the river like any other girl and learning its stories. Munir, would you join me? There’s freedom in it.”
He laughed at the absurdity of it, then saw that she was serious. “If you wish me, I will gladly accompany you,” he said.
“Tomorrow, then.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
“Speaking of stories… ” Upalu raised her eyebrows at Dunya.
“Oh!” Dunya got to her feet. “Thank you for reminding me.—I apologize for the abrupt exit, but Zahra’s stories! I have to be there. Thank you—both of you—goodbye!”
And she hurried out of the harem.
“Now, son,” said Sinbad’s mother Zummurud, “You have said your tales, and it is time for me to tell mine, if you will listen…
“Before he married me, your father built a house, and I glowed with happiness when I came there as a new bride. But the house was cursed, and we could not understand how. The garden plants died, even though the well water was clear and cold; the walls cracked over the years; servants would fall ill, and it took me many years to conceive a child. I had almost given up hope when you came along, and I wept when your horoscope was read. You were born under a wandering star, so I knew that the day would come when you would leave me.
“There came a plague to our house, in the first year of your life. The houses to either side of us were untouched, but our house—ah! But of course, we sickened. Our servants’ children lay in fevers on cots. Our well, horrors! Our well went dry.
“My lord husband went to seek the best doctor in the city. But I had—call it woman’s intuition—I had a feeling that the root of our troubles went far, far deeper. I heard a voice from the bottom of the well, and scritches and scratches. When my husband went for the doctor, I left the housekeeper in charge of the sickbeds, tied you to my back, and ventured down into the well, carrying a torch.
“Under the well, there lurked a miserable ghost of a man. His house had stood on our property, in ages past. When alive, he had invited greed into his heart, and now his soul remained trapped, bound to this world.
“I brandished my torch in his face and told him he damn well ought to leave this property and move on or else he’d regret it. I never was one for diplomacy.
“In response, he made my torch go out.
“I thought—still think—that was playing dirty. I was terrified. But I held on tight to the charred stick and found a wall, and I wrote the name of God in the wall, with the charcoal. After that, the ghost couldn’t touch me. I summoned up a little pity for him and prayed to God for his soul. And God, the Merciful, the bringer of light into darkness, heard my prayer and the ghost vanished. The well filled with water quickly enough, but I always had a knack for swimming and I climbed out of the well with you no worse for the wear. My husband was shocked to hear of my exploits, but he was glad to know he was married to a successful exorcist. Our servants recovered, our house stood strong, and our garden thrived. And it was after that, my dear little voyager, that your brother the homebody was born.
“That is one way that a woman may protect her home.”
Waking Up
When Dunya met Munir outside the Palace kitchens the next day, she had to stop herself from laughing out loud with delight. Munir wore no sashes or ornaments befitting a Captain, but just the raiment of a low-ranking cavalryman from his own unit—his uniform in daily life.
“You look perfect,” Dunya told him. “Come on, let’s go.”
They took Dunya’s favorite walking route over the First Bridge, into the theater district. There, they ate falafels from a street vendor and walked through a public park built by a royal grant. Dunya showed Munir her favorite mosque, and he admired the calligraphy of the tiles around the door, and gave generously to all of the beggars waiting there. Dunya attempted to tell him one of Zahra’s stories, but she forgot incidents and misnamed characters an
d bungled it up until her cheeks burned, but Munir told her he liked it all the same. Then he began to tell one of his stories, about his early days on the borders, and how he had to befriend and master the most skittish horse in the cavalry. That was shortly after his father died—he abruptly stopped when he mentioned his father.
“Are you all right?” Dunya asked him.
“I’m well. Just reminded of parts of the past I would rather forget.”
“I’m sorry,” Dunya said. “Fathers can be… difficult.”
“Mine was not difficult, so much, as he was very distant,” said Munir. “He was more focused on the Sultan’s upbringing than on mine.” He paused.
“That sounds lonely. For you,” Dunya offered.
“It was a demanding job. For many people.” He frowned and looked off at the river.
“What’s the matter?”
“My cousin… ” Munir began. He checked over his shoulder, and then behind Dunya. “There was… an accident, when he was a boy. Sword training. The—my cousin was always deft with weapons. I wasn’t sure how this accident had happened, unless… ”
“Unless it wasn’t,” Dunya said in a low voice. “Was it?”
“I don’t ask,” Munir said, and his voice was almost a whisper. “My cousin was disciplined soundly and he performed all the rites and payments that are fitting and proper. I don’t ask any more of him. I ask nothing more of him, as much as I can help it.”
An image flashed into Dunya’s head: Munir, standing with his helmet under his arm, in front of the Sultan, telling of the safety and security of Al-Rayyan.
“That’s why you’re on the borders,” Dunya said.
“Not particularly that I belong there,” Munir said, “But I didn’t belong in this city either. You already know Al-Rayyan better than I ever did.” He straightened up from the railing and stretched his back. “The fresh air does me good. My domain is hills and high plains, and my men are loyal, even on a fool’s mission. And if I lived here more, I might be a danger to you.”
“A danger to me?” Dunya asked. “What are you talking about?”
The Ninety-Ninth Bride Page 13