The Prince of Cats

by D E Olesen

  “What is this? Some kind of petty revenge?”

  “I considered it. I admit that I had a certain desire to see the life drain from your eyes,” Jawad told her. Her breathing grew more intense. “But all I’d end up with would be a corpse,” he smiled. “That is of no use to me.”

  “You can’t touch me. The Black Teeth protect me,” Amal sneered.

  “Once, that would have meant something to me.” He advanced towards her. “But thanks to you, fear has been peeled from my soul, layer by layer. I do not fear them anymore, and they should fear me.”

  She scoffed. “What can you do against them?” She glanced at his left hand. “Look at you! You’re pathetic. A slaver wouldn’t pay three birds for you.”

  Instantly, Jawad crossed the distance between them. His right hand grasped her throat while his left claw pulled the dagger from her belt before she could react. “The Teeth underestimate me. You shouldn’t do the same.”

  “Jawad,” she gasped.

  He loosened his grip. “Be calm, my dear. I truly don’t intend to hurt you. On the contrary, I have plans for you.”

  “What?” she croaked.

  “You’ll continue to grovel before the Teeth. With my help, I predict your rise to be swift through their ranks.”

  “I’m a fence,” she said faintly. “They’ll never respect me.”

  “That’s short-sighted of them. Your particular occupation is all about coin, and what purpose does a gang of thieves have besides that? And don’t worry. I’ll do the dirty work, leaving your path clear. I’ll even seed rumours that the Prince of Cats is responsible.”

  She tried to scoff with the limited air she was allowed to breathe. “He’s just a story. Nobody has ever met him.”

  “That should make him the perfect person to blame, wouldn’t you say?”

  “What’s your endgame?”

  Jawad smiled, finally letting go. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, your betrayal calls for compensation.”

  “What do you want?”

  He took a step back. “The silver coins in that drawer, including those under the false bottom. And the gems hidden in that lamp.” He used her knife to point at each object.

  She sent him a dirty look but complied, opening the drawer. “How did you know?”

  “A month or so after we began working together, I broke into your place and went through everything.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t clean me out then,” she muttered, slamming coins on the table.

  “I was not in a hurry. Might as well let you grow your little hoard in the meantime.”

  She took the lamp, opened it, and let two small emeralds fall out to join the silver. “There.”

  He smiled knowingly. “I’ll let you keep the rest, I suppose. I don’t intend to appear greedy.”

  “You’re a fucking bastard, you know that?”

  The smile vanished from his face. “Count yourself lucky. You cost me days of excruciating pain and threw my plans, years of planning, into disarray.” He stepped closer to her, and although they were the same height, she seemed to shrink while he became a menacing presence. “If I ever have the slightest doubt about your loyalty, I’ll consider death too kind for you. I’ll drip acid into your eyes, flay the skin from your hands, and feed your toes to the dogs.”

  She swallowed. “You got what you wanted.”

  He swept the coins and gems into her satchel, stepping away. “Don’t forget.” He did not consider it necessary to specify further. He threw her knife on the floor and disappeared, leaving her behind to compose herself.

  19. Plough to Blade Turned

  Jawad walked through the medinas, aware that the Black Teeth had spies and watchers on every corner. The fact that none had interrupted his visit to Amal was not proof that he walked unseen among them, but rather of her low position in the hierarchy. She was only loosely affiliated with them, and if she was too weak to protect herself against being robbed by a cripple, they were not going to intervene on her behalf.

  Jawad had a day before the Master and his lapdog, Hashim, would expect to hear full information on how to rob al-Badawi. Both before that moment and afterwards, he assumed that his every step was watched by them. Only greed had ensured his release from their dungeon, and only greed kept him alive. While it was a useful character trait to exploit when it came to dealing with thieves, Jawad knew that he was sailing in treacherous waters. He should take further measures if possible.

  This line of thinking brought him to Ishak’s door once more. “Jawad!” the alchemist exclaimed. “Such a pleasure to see you. It’s been so long. Come in, come in!”

  Jawad did as offered, stepping inside. “I have payment for you.” He poured out the silver and gems taken from Amal onto a table along with most of the coin that Dār al-Gund had given him. “For your help with this?” Jawad raised his left hand to prod Ishak’s memory.

  “Of course! I remember as if it were yesterday.”

  “It was.”

  “That’s why I remember it so well, you kitten claw,” Ishak said irritated. “Let me have another look.” He extended his own hands, taking Jawad’s injured fingers and carefully touching them. “Too early to tell. But let’s do what we can.” He unwrapped the cloth, applied new balm to the hand, and gave it a fresh bandage.

  “Thanks,” Jawad muttered. “Is it enough to pay you for the – other remedies I asked you to prepare?” He nodded at the money on the table.

  “It will suffice.”

  “Is it done?”

  “It is. “Ishak lowered his voice. “What do you need such elixirs for? They are most unpleasant to swallow. I would not wish such a fate on my worst enemy. I mean, she nagged me to death, but that’s what a mother-in-law is supposed to do.”

  “If I told you that the poisons are for the Black Teeth, would it calm you?”

  Ishak considered this. “I guess that counts as exterminating vermin.”

  “The poisons are for the Black Teeth.”

  “That calms me.” Ishak dug out a small bundle containing flacons and pouches with powder. “Don’t get this on your skin.” He pointed to one of the flacons. “As for this, two hours and it’ll take effect as requested.” He gestured towards a pouch.

  “Excellent work.” Jawad hesitated for a moment. He enjoyed professional contact with many people, buying and selling as dictated by his trade. It was a straightforward relationship with mutual benefit. Friendship was a murky affair, obscuring what was expected and what could be expected in turn. For a practical thief, there was an obvious advantage in having the acquaintance of a skilled alchemist; for Jawad, it was strange to discover that he wished the old man well and would be discontent should that not be the case. “Ishak, take care of yourself.”

  “If I can get more salamander hair for my brew, I’ll be right as rain.”

  Jawad sent him a resigned smile and stepped outside into the sunshine.

  ~~~~

  Stepping onto the streets, Jawad took a deep breath. Tomorrow night, he would have declared war upon the Black Teeth. The time until then would be the last hours that he might walk freely in these medinas that he considered home. He had always known it would come to this; his ambitions and the Black Teeth occupied the same space and could not exist together. Still, it was strange to fathom that the day was fast approaching. It would have been better if he was not entangled with al-Badawi’s business at the same time, but it could not be helped. Exhaling slowly, Jawad decided to make use of his freedom to move about while it lasted.

  His steps led him to the medina that came closest to being his home; while his nights had been confined to Almudaina like all hojon, this neighbourhood was where he had spent most of his days. He bought some food from the vendors at the square, honey melons and dates, and proceeded towards the madrasa. From inside, he heard the children recite the poets, and the memory made him smile wistfully. There was a time when he, Kateb, and Hakim had sat among those rows. Jawad still remembered the
entirety of ‘Time and Season’ thanks to old Hasief and his effective strategy of trading food for poem recitals.

  Jawad waited until the lesson had finished before he entered the madrasa. “Effendi,” he called out.

  The blind teacher turned towards the sound. “Jawad. You bring more than dust, I smell.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Sweet the scent of honey is to bee and bear bold,” he quoted.

  “Little wonder men will kill to eat and drink gold,” Jawad added.

  Hasief smiled. “I did not waste all those plums and eggs you always clamoured for, I see.”

  “Never, effendi. My dying breath will be spent reciting your lessons.”

  “Come. Let us sit, eat, and speak.” The old man led Jawad deeper into the madrasa and gestured for Jawad to take a seat by an old table. His fingers fumbled for a bit until they found a knife that he used to cut one of the melons into pieces. They ate for a little while in silence. “What is on your mind, boy?”

  Jawad smiled. “I simply desired your company, effendi. It may be a long while before I can visit you again.”

  “You can spare your smiles,” Hasief told him, turning his blind eyes in Jawad’s direction. “They won’t distract me. What’s troubling you?”

  Jawad spent a moment seeking the right words. “Imagine my enemy is within my grasp. But to crush him will hurt those around me. What is the right thing to do?”

  “Live in peace and grow your fields with blade to plough turned,” Hasief told him. “Reap the war and feel the yoke that comes with strength spurned.”

  “You’re not telling me to become a farmer, I take it.”

  Hasief chuckled. “No. There is a cost to everything, Jawad. Is the price of action steeper than that of inaction?”

  Jawad thought of Zaida and took a deep breath. “Not for me.”

  “There is your answer.”

  “Thank you, effendi. Forgive me for entering your house with such heavy mood. It was not my intention,” Jawad apologised.

  Hasief waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Nothing to forgive. What is a home but a place where you can unburden yourself? And it was always my aim to make this madrasa a home for you boys.”

  “You are a star upon the heavens of Alcázar, effendi.”

  The old man gave another chuckle. “Always so swift to charm people, Jawad, you haven’t changed. I remember your little brother, always walking behind you with admiration in his eyes. Tell me, how is Kateb?”

  “He is well, effendi. I received a letter from him last year. His apprenticeship is going well. His master is kind to him, and he could not have found a trade more suited for him than being a scribe.”

  “That gladdens my old heart. He was the best student I ever had. He took to the letters like a calf to its mother’s milk. He earned his name fully well.”

  “He did.” Jawad smiled, letting the memories envelop him.

  “What of your other brother? Hakim?”

  The smile vanished, and Jawad was glad the old man could not see him. “Effendi, Hakim died. Many years ago.”

  A pained expression came over Hasief’s face. “Of course. I know that. So he did. Such awful business. The gods can be cruel.”

  “No more cruel than men.”

  “I am getting old, Jawad. For every year, the fog on my memory grows stronger. On some days, it feels as if the words of the poems are all that I recall.” He smiled faintly. “Soon, Hasief will be gone, and only the poets will occupy this shell we call the mortal body.”

  “If kindness is a light in the dark, effendi, you have been a lightning bolt in the night.”

  Hasief grinned. “Kateb had the better memory, but if any of you could have become a poet, it would have been you, Jawad.”

  The thief exhaled. “Another path in another life, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps.” The old teacher yawned.

  “It is getting late, effendi. I will take my leave.”

  “As you wish,” Hasief mumbled with sleep invading his words. “Always a pleasure to have you visit, Jawad.”

  “Always a pleasure to visit, effendi.”

  “Bring your brothers around some time. I’d like to see them again.”

  Jawad stiffened before masking his reaction. “I shall, effendi. Farewell.”

  ~~~~

  The sun was setting as Jawad left the madrasa. His feet were sore, but nothing worse than to be expected; his new boots had done their duty well. Walking through the streets, Jawad occupied his mind with wondering how many spies were following him. He had noticed two. Hopefully, they would not get in each other’s way; that would just be awkward. He guessed that one belonged to al-Badawi and the other to the Black Teeth. He was surprised there was not a third spy from Dār al-Gund, but it showed that these northerners were novices in the games of deceit common in Alcázar.

  A patrol of city guards approached him on the street, and Jawad suppressed the urge to duck into the nearest alley. He had lost the papers declaring him to be employed by Dār al-Allawn, guaranteeing his right to be inside the city walls after nightfall. Instead, he grabbed the edge of his cloak to wrap the fabric around his hand, giving the impression that he was cold while actually hiding the burned cross on his wrist.

  The guards passed him without a second glance, busy exchanging sordid tales. In his clean clothes, wearing Salah’s expensive cloak and boots, Jawad looked like any respectable citizen of Alcázar rather than alhajin of Almudaina, and the guards saw no reason to hassle him. The virtue of wealth at work once again.

  Jawad reached the house of al-Badawi without incident. Despite his weariness and the ache in his feet, he took the time to walk the entire length of the orchards and gardens that surrounded the palace itself. One way or the other, his time was coming to an end; after tomorrow night, he would have no further purpose in this place. Of all the luxuries to be found here, he would miss these lush surroundings the most. In comparison, Alcázar outside was a desert, dry and dusty. It bred hardy people, no doubt, but with the scent of flowers reaching him, seeing countless fruits blossoming, Jawad would trade all his skills away for a garden such as this, where he might live the rest of his days. Al-Badawi was a fool, the thief considered, to have been born into this yet choosing to spend his life in his study, scribbling numbers day in and day out in order to scribble bigger numbers the next year.

  When his head was tired of ruminations and his stomach full of stolen fruit, Jawad went inside to the small chamber that had become his home for the last months. He removed his cloak and boots, sending Salah a kind thought. Tomorrow would be a day of days for the thief, but the thought did not affect him; as soon as he lay down, he fell into a dreamless sleep until morning.

  20. Taverns of Alcázar

  The following day, Jawad stumbled out of his room to find all of al-Badawi’s house in a state of frenzied activity. He watched yawning as servants swarmed like hornets, moving frantically about the place.

  “What’s on fire, and how valuable is it?” he asked a slave rushing past him.

  “Today is the ring ceremony,” the man yelled over his shoulder.

  Jawad had forgotten, being preoccupied with his own affairs and because he did not expect al-Badawi’s visit to the Kabir to have any impact on said affairs. If it kept the merchant busy, all the better. Jawad had his own visits to make.

  Stepping outside, the open space between the palace and the gate was bustling with people. There was a closed carriage with four white horses harnessed to it, and a driver in expensive garb stood ready. Ten mamluks in full armour were present as well, riding black horses. Salah was in front, armed and armoured like his men and mounted on his own steed. He sent Jawad a nod.

  The thief arrived just in time to see al-Badawi himself appear; his daughter was by his arm. Both wore silks of exquisite quality that together must have cost hundreds of silver pieces. The merchant wore rings with heavy gemstones on one hand, the silver ring of his house on the other, and heavy necklaces as well, much the same as
when Jawad had first met him. He noticed with amusement that al-Badawi must have sought to impress Jawad all those months ago, wearing all the tokens of his wealth just as he did now before his audience with the Kabir.

  Zaida wore only her pearl earrings, no doubt to her father’s consternation. Jawad thought she had made the right choice; any form of jewellery would only distract from her natural beauty rather than enhance it. She did not seem to notice him as she and al-Badawi walked to the carriage and entered. The door closed, and they were beyond his sight; moments after, the cortege set into motion. Jawad watched as they passed the gate and beyond, moving north and west towards the Kabir’s palace. Once they were gone, he set out on his own.

  ~~~~

  Alcázar had two harbours due to its peculiar location. The western docks were the largest in size, being the connection to Herbergja in the north and the Seven Realms of Adalmearc. Scores of ships arrived or departed each day to that destination alone. This meant that thousands of sailors could be found in this district, having both money and time on their hands. Most of the hojon of Almudaina worked on these docks, appearing in the morning and departing before sunset. The result was an abundance of seedy taverns, gambling establishments, brothels, and anything else that might pass as entertainment. There was a constant flow of coin, making it Jawad’s favourite part of the city. If he was ever a little short on silver, opportunity was rife at the docks.

  He did not feel at home the way he did in the southern medinas, but he considered that to be the spice that made the district more interesting; there was always the possibility of something unexpected happening, for better or worse. Of course, given his recent encounter with the Black Teeth, any sense of security he might have felt in the medinas of southern Alcázar had proven deceptive.

  To accommodate the thirst of countless sailors, every house with an open room and a barrel of ale functioned as a public house. This meant such establishments were more numerous than fleas on a dirty dog, and the drinks being served usually tasted like filthy bathwater.