by D E Olesen
“Thanks,” Jawad managed to mumble, staring at Salah. The big man returned his gaze before extending a hand, helping Jawad to his feet.
“Sure.”
“I owe you,” Jawad added, and he was a little surprised to discover that he meant it.
“All part of fighting side by side. Let’s get back,” Salah replied, moving swiftly to climb down the hatch.
The last few moments had felt like a lifetime to Jawad; only as the feeling of danger receded did awareness of the general situation return. He turned to follow Salah back into the warehouse.
~~~~
To Jawad’s relief, the fighting seemed to be over. Some of the mamluks stood milling about; one was sitting on the floor, having sustained some injuries. Two of the Black Teeth lay dead. “It’s done,” one of them told Salah. The latter went outside to inspect the surroundings. Two more soldiers stood next to the corpse of the thief that had remained outside, acting as lookout.
To his distress, Jawad noticed someone missing. “Where’s the big lout? The one giving orders,” he asked alarmed. Hashim’s body was not among the dead.
“He ran for it when Salah went after you,” one of the mamluks explained pointedly. “Two of the boys set after him.”
“They won’t get him,” Jawad muttered to himself. The soldiers would be running in heavy equipment, and Hashim was familiar with the area.
Salah returned to the warehouse. “Well done, boys,” he told the mamluks. “Get him to a physician,” he ordered one of them, pointing at their wounded comrade. “The rest of you, stay on guard. You’ll be relieved tomorrow morning.” A few of the soldiers grumbled. “You’re with me,” he finally told Jawad. “The master will be expecting to hear how it went.”
“Of course.”
~~~~
Together, thief and warrior walked through the streets of Alcázar. The city seemed almost serene at night; the hojon were not allowed inside the city walls after dark, meaning they were all either in Almudaina or staying in those southern medinas where the city guard rarely ventured after sunset. They encountered the occasional harlot or servant on some errand; given Jawad’s and Salah’s bloody appearance, everyone gave the pair wide berth.
“Did you see the Prince?”
“What?” Jawad’s mind had been far elsewhere.
“Among the dead.”
“Oh. No, he must have gotten away.”
“Was it that big brute who tried his knife against me?”
Jawad considered his answer carefully; he did not want to reveal being too knowledgeable nor too ignorant about their elusive prey. “No. Given his feats as a thief, the Prince must be slimmer of build. Short, adroit, and all that. He must have stayed outside while sending his gang ahead.”
“Perhaps he could smell the trap,” Salah suggested. “He’s a slippery fellow, I’ll give him that.”
“Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Eels are slippery too. It doesn’t mean they’re not disgusting.”
“Good for eating, though,” Jawad claimed.
Disgust floated across Salah’s expression. “I’d rather starve.”
“In Almudaina, that is often the only other choice.”
“Right.” Salah’s reply came slightly hesitant; Jawad could tell that for a moment, he had forgotten about his companion’s humble origins. “You did well tonight.”
“Master Salah, I do believe that is a genuine compliment towards an ill-reputed fellow such as myself. If news of this spreads, your reputation will be tarnished.”
“You always use fifty words where five would do,” Salah growled, but there was no bite in his words, and Jawad hid a smile.
“In that case, thank you.”
“Of course, you would have died, fighting on that roof,” Salah continued, “but at least you tried.”
“Why would you add that unnecessary after-thought? Didn’t you just extol the virtue of brevity?”
“I guess you didn’t do well, but rather, you did the right thing even if you accomplished little by it,” Salah elaborated.
“Stick to five words in the future,” Jawad suggested with indignation.
Salah grinned. “I told you, thief, I would settle the score between us. Be glad I am using words and not whips. Now, what were you actually planning to do once you reached the roof? I’m assuming it wasn’t lying on your back, blinded and raving your hands about after dropping your weapon…”
Jawad groaned. It was a long trip home.
~~~~
Reaching the palace, Salah beckoned for Jawad to remain waiting in the salāmlik. “I will tell the master,” he explained.
“Don’t forget my antidote,” Jawad reminded him. No need to let them know he had slipped their leash.
“Right.” Salah left with speed.
With nothing to do but wait, Jawad walked around the reception hall idly, staring at its pillars. He was afraid that if he sat down, he would collapse from exhaustion and be unable to get up. Instead, he admired his surroundings. Stripes of misty white ran through the green marble, cool to the touch. Lamps burned, casting long shadows through the room. The smell of lamp oil fought for supremacy against the scent of incense.
Faint footsteps could be heard, coming to an abrupt halt. Turning, Jawad found himself face to face with a woman.
Her clothing was of far finer cut and material than even the most favoured servant or slave could command with fine embroidery; even though it looked old, it would cost thirty to forty silver. Contrary to what he would have expected, she did not pair her expensive clothes with any jewellery other than pearl earrings, worth around fifteen silver. In her hands, she held parchment, ink, and a quill; her face was slightly contorted in a frown. It did not diminish her beauty in any way, Jawad noticed.
“Are you a murderer or a soldier?”
Jawad glanced down. His clothing was still soaked in dried blood, and he realised the cause for her apprehension; his appearance suggested he was a threat to her, while his behaviour said the opposite. He admired her nerve in standing still, asking him that question rather than running away. “Neither, my lady,” he informed her, extending his hands to show they were empty. He followed it up with a bow, keeping it measured; unlike the master of the house, he sensed she was not impressed by courtly behaviour.
“What are you then?”
“A thief.”
“Not a good one, it would seem. Have you come to rob my father?”
Her words confirmed his suspicion; she had to be Zaida, the only child of al-Badawi. While Jawad knew the merchant had a daughter, he had not expected this. “My lady, I can truly say that I desire none of his earthly possessions.”
“That even sounds believable,” she admitted, but the cold mask of disdain remained on her face. “What is the explanation for your presence in this condition at this hour?”
“I have performed a task for your father.”
“I imagine I would not want to know the specifics.”
“A thief troubles your father, my lady, and so he has retained my services for a game of cat and mouse.”
“Of course. The Prince. If he is true to his name, that makes you the mouse.”
Jawad could not help but smile. “To be a mouse would not be a bad thing for a man in my profession.”
“Until he becomes prey.”
Jawad nodded at the book and equipment in her arms. “May I ask what you hold, my lady?”
“I cannot prevent you, but that does not entitle you to an answer. As I am not in the habit of conversing with thieves, I will bid you goodnight, Master Mouse.”
Jawad gave another bow, making it as intricate as possible and pairing it with a mocking smile. “Very well, Lady Pearl.”
When Salah returned soon after, he carried a small vial containing a murky liquid. “Your antidote,” he proclaimed, handing it to Jawad, who drank it greedily, trying to show the appropriate amount of eagerness. He pulled a face at the taste; he suspected it was just w
ater mixed with a few drops of lamp oil to make it look unusual.
“Your master does not wish to see me dead, I take it.”
“While the Prince’s escape is unfortunate, the master acknowledges that tonight was a victory. Several of these brigands lie dead, the theft was prevented, and your information was true. He has decided to allow you to continue to serve him,” Salah explained. “He commands that you find this rogue that he may be brought to justice.”
Jawad yawned. “Marvellous. I shall celebrate by sleeping like a rock. The sleep of the innocent.” He winked at Salah.
“I bet that hasn’t been true of you since you left your mother’s womb,” the other remarked.
“The sleep of the wicked will do,” Jawad said smiling; they separated, each to his own chamber.
END OF SPRING
Witness land that springs alive by rain’s soft mention
Water flows the least where given most attention
Barren fields become the place where men will seek gold
Poverty to riches turned make cowards grow bold
Swift they travel hence to see as new supplants old
Thinking never knowing what the future may hold
Few may gaze upon the sun with comprehension
All too soon shall end its bright and brief ascension
First strophe in the poem Time and Season by the renowned poet, al-Tayir
5. Zaida
The next few days were uneventful for Jawad. It was the equinox of spring, days of feast in Alcázar. Only essential work was done; even slaves lazed about during the day, and servants enjoyed festivities in the city at night. Since that put Jawad’s plans on hold, he was tempted to join in, but he decided to keep his head down and stay inside al-Badawi’s mansion for the time being. Hashim would be blaming Jawad for not only the failed theft, but the death of his brethren. The Black Teeth were known for protecting their own, and it would be a long time before any street controlled by them would be safe for Jawad.
Accepting this, the thief explored the palace instead and befriended its inhabitants. With flattery and the gift of a hair ribbon dyed exquisitely blue, he endeared himself to the matron in charge of the kitchens serving the residents of rank. After distracting her attention and helping himself to some spices, he went to the kitchens for the servants and became instantly popular when presenting the spoils to them; never before had their meals had such flavour, and all agreed that this equinox was the best celebration they had experienced yet. The old cook fawned over Jawad in such a manner, feeding him almost by force, the thief could feel his stomach bulging.
The mamluks were harder to gain favour with. When evening came, Jawad made rounds serving tea to those on duty; while they accepted the tea, they did not accept the presence of a thief in their midst. Try as he might, he could not convince them to grant him access to the inner part of the palace; only the master, his daughter, and the most trusted servants such as Salah were allowed.
Jawad spent his nights seeking an alternate point of entry into the harāmlik, but to no avail. It had been built with defence in mind, ensuring that by bolting a couple of doors, the family and any honoured guests would be safe from possible intruders. A single mamluk stationed in front of these few doors barred Jawad from further progress.
He felt a sting of disappointment; meeting al-Badawi’s daughter had been entirely different from what he imagined. The fact that she had been carrying parchment and writing implements, and that she had done so in the early hours of the morning, had surprised him. Curious as a cat in a fishmonger’s stall, Jawad had hoped that by getting into the harāmlik, his curiosity could be satiated. His lack of luck did not dissuade him; he had stolen better kept jewels in the past.
~~~~
When the festivities had ended, Salah sought out Jawad again. “I’m told you haven’t left the palace in days,” he growled. “You haven’t been allowed to stay here simply to grow fat eating the master’s food.”
“Good Salah, these days, time is not a horse, but a snail,” Jawad explained.
Salah scowled. “I think rather the time has come for my fist in your face.”
“I sometimes forget that eloquence is not your greatest attribute. I mean that we are in no rush. We have a full moon these days, and thieves are averse to working under such conditions.”
“So you think the Prince won’t strike again for a while?”
“Especially not with his latest losses. I propose we make the most of this reprieve and make general preparations,” Jawad suggested.
“How so?”
“Your master’s possessions are guarded according to how a merchant thinks,” Jawad began to elaborate.
“They’re guarded according to how I see fit,” Salah remarked with force.
“Of course, and to the best of your ability, no doubt,” Jawad replied with his hands raised in a disarming gesture. “But you are an honourable man trying to anticipate the thinking of dishonourable men. Having never attempted to rob a ship, a warehouse, a caravan, or even a house, how can you be expected to know all the ways this can be undertaken?”
“You’re saying,” Salah said with a frown, “that I need to think like a thief.”
“Even better. You have a thief by your side. Let me inspect your master’s holdings. I can find every weakness or flaw that the Prince and his cohorts might exploit.”
“Sure, right after I hire some rats to guard the pantry,” Salah snorted.
“Salah, Salah, I thought we were past all this distrust after the other night. You disembowelled a man for my sake. Surely that means we are compatriots for life.” Jawad sent him his most winning smile.
“I did it because his back was turned to my blade,” Salah stated dryly. “That I also saved your worthless skin was entirely incidental.”
“Let me suggest this to your master,” Jawad asked. “Let the effendi decide.”
Salah frowned in contemplation. “I’ll talk to him alone. The less he has to deal with you, the better.”
“Salah –” Jawad’s objections were in vain; the warrior had already left to enter the harāmlik where Jawad could not follow.
While chagrined, the thief considered if this confirmed what the servants gossiped; that the master was increasingly disinclined to leave his sanctum in the inner palace or grant access to anyone but those most trusted. If this was true, the road to al-Badawi inevitably led through Salah. Or, Jawad considered, the merchant’s daughter.
Soon after, Salah returned. Al-Badawi had approved Jawad’s proposal under the condition that he was to be accompanied by Salah at all times. Jawad saw no reason why this would be an issue, and he smiled at the thought of his new errand.
~~~~
It took the pair many days to complete this task. Al-Badawi’s holdings were numerous and spread across Alcázar. Piers were reserved for his ships along with a few other, select merchant houses. By the eastern gates, he had caravanserais to receive goods transported over land. Warehouses lay by both of the docks and scattered throughout the city. There was a steady stream of slaves and hojon carrying metals, fabrics, animals, and above all expensive dyes between all these locations and to the smaller merchants, vendors, and craftsmen, who needed the materials.
Since Salah was known as al-Badawi’s right hand, none hindered their work. Armed with ink and parchment, Jawad went hunting. He examined locks and demonstrated more than once their weaknesses, writing down his recommendation that they be replaced with bolted doors instead where feasible. In one place, a rugged outer wall allowed for easy scaling up to a small window; Jawad noted down that bars would have to be inserted. He corrected the patrol patterns, pointing out how a regular schedule was easy to predict and thus avoid; seemingly erratic paths that changed every other day would make it impossible for thieves to know when then the coast would be clear.
In the warehouses, he changed the placement of the goods; the least valuable crates and barrels were to be moved near the doors, while those of great
est value furthest in. Anything that meant the criminals would need more time to escape with their plunder meant more time for the guards to show up.
After nearly a week of this, Jawad was on the verge of despair. It felt far too much like honest work for him, spending the entire day labouring that another man might become richer. Even worse, he was not even being paid. Jawad had become a thief to do dishonest work and be handsomely rewarded for it. Inspecting storages and talking all day with clerks left a sour taste in his mouth, and he found himself praying to Elat to be delivered from boredom.
His prayer was heard on the last day of his inspections; entering yet another of al-Badawi’s operations, Jawad saw that someone else from the merchant’s household was already present. Surrounded by scribes, the lady Zaida oversaw the comparison of ledgers containing long columns of numbers. She was dressed more sensibly than the night when he had first seen her, about a week ago. Her clothes were for working and travelling, though still made by an expert tailor that complimented her figure; the craftsmanship alone would have cost at least ten silver. As the last time, she wore no jewellery but a pair of pearl earrings.
“I’ll go find our man to talk to,” Salah told Jawad and disappeared deeper into the complex.
Promising Elat a fat share from his next mark, the thief approached Zaida. “Lady Pearl,” he greeted her. The other night, she had seemed like a jinni, appearing in the dark from nowhere while dressed in magnificent, not to mention expensive clothing. In the daylight, dressed sensibly, he could see that although attractive, she was flesh and blood like him.
The servants looked bewildered as he spoke; the breach in routine and the nerve of this stranger to address the master’s daughter shook them. As for Zaida, she only spared him a brief glance. “I suppose it is no surprise to find mice, considering grain is stored here.”