Throne of the Crescent Moon

by Saladin Ahmed

  She turned to Yaseer and forced herself back into tranquility. The encounter with the Humble Students had been an hour ago. And there was work to be done in the present. Best to get this over with.

  She made her tone businesslike but gracious as she spoke. “I am pleased the messenger got my note to you. And that you were able to fulfill such an unusual request so quickly.”

  Yaseer was listening to her but was not-so-subtly watching Raseed, craning his neck to get a better look at the dervish. The spell-seller’s smooth features crinkled in troubled scrutiny, then returned to Litaz with a warm, and she was fairly certain, unfeigned, smile.

  “Hm. I’m glad to see you are still in one delicious piece, O-Eyes-of-Starlight! Your message made me think you were in mortal danger. ‘Emergency,’ ‘Most crucial,’ ‘Our city threatened’—these sorts of words filled your little letter. You had me up all damned-by-God night, O Breath-of-Roses! And it was remarkably expensive scribing this spell—powdered emeralds, those damned-by-God ink mushrooms that only the Banu Kassim Badawi-trained camels can sniff out! Such things are far from trifles, even to one with as much coin as the eternally heartbroken spell-seller before you. ‘What could be so crucial about some dusty old scroll in thrice-ciphered hidden script that she would need my cipher-spells so damned-by-God quickly?’ I asked myself. ‘And why should I do this, when I know I won’t even be able to bring myself to charge her what I ought to?’ For love?”

  The wounded lover was a half-serious role that Yaseer had always played around her. She couldn’t help but smile. For a sweetly painful moment, she thought about what life with such a robust man would be like. She was glad that Dawoud had not come. He would be furiously jealous right now. As she thought of her husband, Litaz’s smile faded, and the weariness returned.

  “But you have never been a woman to scream ‘ghul’ when no monster is about,” Yaseer continued, “‘There must be something to it,’ I said to myself, ‘if she is in such a lather over this.’ You have always been a woman of sense, save for your refusal to marry me.”

  She thought of that years-ago time, just after the one trip home she and Dawoud had ever taken. Of finding the cologned letter with Yaseer’s scandalous proposal to her—her, a woman already betrothed. She had barely kept Dawoud from killing the man. “I was already married when you asked me, Yaseer.”

  Again the plump man waved away something invisible and unimportant. The long-bearded owner of the inn directed his servants in setting out an array of plates, and he bowed obsequiously to Yaseer the whole while. When the host withdrew, Yaseer shook himself as if waking up from a bad dream.

  “Oh, my dear, forgive me. Breakfast is served. Will you join me?”

  Spread before the spell-seller was a breakfast that would have made Adoulla whimper in joy. Medallions of clove-and-mint mutton, poached pigeon eggs, honey-fried colocasia roots, fine grain date porridge, hundredflake teacakes, dark and light teas, and two-fruit nectar. Litaz was not the eater Adoulla was, but the fight earlier had made her ravenous, and the dozen layered aromas made her stomach rumble. But she would not share a full meal with Yaseer. Too many invisible snares.

  She measured the proper response as if she were in her workshop, filling a notched bottle. “I am afraid I have little time, my friend. I am in a great hurry.” She bobbed her head deferentially, and the rings in her twistlocks clinked lightly. “But I will take a teacake, if you do not mind?” She could not be utterly rude if she was doing business with the man. She sat at the white wood table, plucked up a hundredflake cake, and nibbled at it. It was delicious, and she had to resist devouring it as ravenously as her body told her to. “Thank you.”

  Yaseer shrugged his fleshy shoulders, the green silk of his shirt rippling. He smiled naughtily and gestured toward the corner of the room where Raseed now stood. His tone was conspiratorial. “So. A dervish, is it? And young enough to be your baby boy. Is it true what they say? That they shave everywhere?” Again the olive oil smile. “No, no, don’t answer, don’t deny. I’m just happy to see that you do have some scandal left in you, my dear. I am so very glad to know that you are enjoying life despite your muck-and-hovel, care-for-the-poor lifestyle. A lithe little baby boy of the Order, forked sword and all! Name of God! It’s so decadent I’m almost inclined not to be jealous. Ahh, but I can see I’m embarrassing you. How are you, anyway?”

  Finally, Yaseer had to stop for breath. Litaz refused to be drawn in to the banter, and she jumped into the brief silence with the most polite directness she could muster. “As I said, Yaseer, I am in a hurry. I am sorry. I am doing just fine, though, praise be to God. Speaking of enjoying life, you seem to be doing quite well for yourself. That brooch alone could feed a family for a year. Who have you been working for?”

  The soft man’s eyes crinkled again, this time in a mild taunt. “Oh, pretty one, you know that I can’t tell you that. Let’s just say that those rare individuals like you and I—we who know certain secrets and crafts—are in great demand these days.” He sipped a leisurely spoonful of porridge before continuing. He was clearly not concerned with Litaz’s hurry. “Talk of rebellion and chaos has men and women of means preparing for all contingencies. Such preparations are very good for business, praise be to God.”

  The diplomatic thing then would have been to be quiet. But Litaz found she couldn’t help herself. “And it is all still just trade to you, Yaseer? These gifts that have been given to us by God? A way to make coin, with no thought to those who cannot pay?”

  Yaseer smiled without a trace of guilt. “Not all those with knowledge disdain it so much as I sometimes think you do, O Lips-of-Lavender, giving your skills and your time away to flea-ridden idiots who don’t appreciate it anyway, who throw stones at people like you and I. If I’m going to be praised sycophantically when my skill succeeds and called ‘charlatan’ or ‘witch’ when it fails, I’ll at least have some coin in the bargain, thank you very much. Should I bother telling you yet again that there are much handsomer places in the world for you than in that filthy alley with that gnarled husband of yours? Places where your unmatched skills and your more-vital-than-its-years body would receive all the appreciation they deserve?”

  As in years past, Yaseer was so ridiculously earnest that some part of her did want him. Still, it was not too difficult to assume her most off-putting smirk and get back to business. “No, Yaseer, you should not bother. But do be careful, will you? There are dangerous days coming, and there is more than talk on the horizon.” She took a deep breath. “Now…”

  Yaseer bowed his head slightly. “I thank you for your concern, O Voice-of-Birdsong. As to your commission, I have the scroll right here.” The shiny man attempted a reprimanding glare. “As I said, it kept me up all damned-by-God night. You will pay steeply for that rush and for my lost sleep. Now, increasing the cost of the scroll is the obscurity of the words that—”

  Litaz grit her teeth. She did not have time for this.

  “What’s the bottom line, Yaseer?”

  There was nothing soft or oily about Yaseer now. He looked around for unwished observers and, finding none, produced a small piece of paper and a stick of charcoal. He jotted down a number and slid the paper to Litaz. “This is the total cost. It is not negotiable, since your note commanded that I start work right away, and stated that you would pay ‘any price.’” The spell-seller melodramatically drew from beneath the table a thin, foot-long, ebonwood cylinder. The dark scroll case was etched with gold and jade.

  “That’s a fortune!” She quickly ran tallies in her head. Things had changed so much since she’d left the Republic. Years ago, her husband had teased her for being a rich Blue River girl who knew not the value of money. And it had in fact taken years for Lady Litaz a-Likami of the High Line of Illuminated Pashas to become simply Litaz Daughter-of-Likami. Now it was she—with her numbers-and-measures way of seeing the world—who managed the money matters of their shop and household. She thanked all-Merciful God that she was good enough at it t
hat Dawoud didn’t know how close in circumstances they’d grown to the poor folk they ministered to.

  She was ready to pay Yaseer’s price if she had to. Still, haggling was always worth trying. She put on a courtly smile and toyed with her twistlocks. “You speak of the appreciation I deserve—but does this price reflect it, my dear?”

  Yaseer shook his shiny head sadly. “I am sorry, Eyes-of-Starlight, but we both know that appreciation only goes one way between us. Since you think me a contemptible mercenary, I’ll be getting no kisses any time soon, I know. Therefore I am forced to treat you as a simple customer, I’m afraid.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “And am I paying extra for the scroll case?”

  He smiled back. “My work cannot be carried around folded up in one’s pocket—not even your paradisiacal pocket, my dear.”

  Enough of this bantering, Litaz thought. She was tired and she was worried about her husband and her friends. And, she admitted to herself, the longer she sat there the more she felt jealous of Yaseer’s wealth. This sort of high-living—this and more—had been her inheritance once. And she’d thrown it away to follow her heart and to learn arts that she’d never have been allowed to pursue had she remained a respectable Lady of the Court of Three Pashas. She’d never truly regretted her life choices. But she did sometimes find herself wishing that God, From Whom all Fortunes Flow, had not forced her to make such choices in the first place.

  But He did, whatever your wishes, she told herself. Now focus! “Very well,” she said to Yaseer. “I do hope, though, that I can trust you to be discreet about this transaction?”

  “Hmmm. Yes. Discretion. Why are you suddenly interested in thrice-ciphered hidden script, anyway? It’s as obscure as it gets, cipher-spell-wise. What dusty old thing are you deciphering with this spell, anyway? No, no, I know you won’t answer. Well, discretion is a commodity like anything else. But that is a commodity that I will grant you in honor of my appreciation for you. Now, the fees please.” Again Yaseer had to stop for breath.

  Litaz reached into the folds of her embroidered robe and withdrew from a secret bosom pocket a parcel of coins, tied up in a piece of lavender cloth. “There are a few extra dinar in there. Keep them, my friend.”

  She could admit to herself, if to no one else, that she enjoyed the look on Yaseer’s face as he nuzzled the bag with his lips. “Gold was never drawn from a sweeter mine, my dear. I thank you, I thank you, I thank you.”

  And, at last, after a few more polite gestures and words, Litaz was finally able to say goodbye and God’s peace to the spell-seller and make her way toward the inn’s exit. It seemed that her fate was growing kinder. With the spell in hand, she and her friends could stop stumbling about in the dark. She hoped.

  Litaz allowed herself to feel a small sense of victory. It was a lot of coin to part with—a good part of the little she and Dawoud had—but then, she’d known Yaseer’s help would not be cheap.

  With a glance, she collected Raseed from his anxious guard duty at the gilded doorway. He reclaimed his precious blade, and they stepped from the inn into the courtyard. She said nothing to the boy until they reached the street.

  “Well, dear,” she said when they’d left the courtyard, “despite our earlier troubles I think we can tell the old men that we—”

  “Halt!” The word was shouted at them by a handsome young watchleader with an ugly look in his eyes. Beside him stood the gray-haired Humble Student whom they’d encountered earlier. Behind him were four other watchmen. The two big Students were nowhere to be seen—probably still sleeping on the street, Litaz guessed—but every man had a weapon in his hand.

  “Do you think that God sleeps while you wicked folk live your unrepentant lives?” the gray-haired man asked. If a man could kill with his eyes, she and Raseed would be dead right now. “As I told you, outlander witch, you will be chastised! And, praise God, his merciful fury demands that your punishment reflect the enormity of your sins.”

  The watchleader cut annoyed eyes at the man, but his look for Litaz was even less friendly. “You will come with us, woman. And you, too, dervish.”

  This man is no zealot, Litaz guessed at a glance. The Students found some greedy, demand-a-dinar thug of a watchleader. The analyzer-of-things in her went to work: What can be done here?

  “Sirrahs, I most humbly beg—” she began, just as she heard Raseed beside her say something about his authority and the Traditions of the Order.

  “Shut up, both of you!” the Student shouted. “No more words!”

  The watchleader sighed. “Oh damn you all, by God!” he said, taking in the Humble Student as well. He pointed at Litaz, however. “Just come with us. Now. And we’ll take your weapons.”

  “What is this?” She hadn’t realized that Yaseer was in the courtyard archway behind her until she heard his voice, quiet and forceful and with none of the play that had been in it moments before.

  “What concern, Sirrah, is this of yours?” the watchleader asked. The barest hint of fear entered his voice, fueled no doubt by the obviousness of Yaseer’s privileged position.

  “My concerns are those which I declare mine, man.” The spell-seller fumbled for something in his silken belt pouch. When he brandished it—a four-finger ring set with a purple stone that shone with engraved lines representing the sands, seas, and cities of the Crescent Moon Kingdoms—Litaz heard herself gasp out loud. The Khalific seal!? So that is who he’s been working for! She’d known only that he’d been living in the Palace Quarter.

  The Humble Student barely seemed to notice. “Watch yourself! You have wealth and some token of state, man, but Almighty God, who—”

  The watchleader turned to the gray-haired man. “Be quiet, damn you by God! I know the Khalif’s Seal when I see it, and as I think on it, this man’s face is familiar to me from the Palace Quarter. Still.…” He weighed something on the scales of thought. “Forgive me, Your Eminence, but you have not announced yourself aloud in the Defender of Virtue’s name. Because…” Doubt became certainty as the man’s eyes locked on Yaseer’s. “Because, perhaps, you—ah, forgive me—perhaps Your Eminence is engaged in that which the other ministers would question, eh? Again, I humbly beg His Eminence’s forgiveness.”

  “You presume much,” Yaseer said in a cold voice.

  The watchleader bowed low, and there was genuine apology—the sort fueled by fear—in his voice. His men looked terrified. And even the Student seemed to doubt himself. But Litaz could sense Yaseer’s nervousness as well. This was no dim-witted watchman they were dealing with. The man was a watchleader in the Round City and would know as well as Yaseer that news of the misuse of the seal could bring great trouble.

  “A thousand apologies to Your Eminence,” the man said at last. “But tonight is the Feast of Providence and my thoughts are on feeding my family. It would take the merest of gestures—the merest of pittances—to destroy my presumption.”

  Money. Without a second thought, Litaz dug out a handful of dirham and offered them to the man—far more than she could afford, but she could not think now of next year’s expenses.

  The man looked as if he wished to spit on her, but he took the coins just the same. “Leave,” he said, clearly feeling daring. “Leave now. Take your filthy poisons back to the Scholars’ Quarter. If I see you in this neighborhood again, I won’t be responsible for what my men do.” The man spared a long, despising look for Raseed, then turned and walked off, his men trotting down the block after him.

  The gray-haired Humble Student lingered long enough to give a last glare. “This is not over for you, Soo witch. Or for you, false dervish. You two will be easy enough to find.” Raseed winced at the word false, but Litaz just stared at the Student until the watchleader shouted at him to follow, and he stalked off.

  Then she turned to Yaseer. “Thank you,” she said, feeling, against her every wish, her heart half in her throat. “Thank you, Yaseer! I could kiss you!”

  “But you won’t.” The spell-seller’s
soft face was not jovial or playful now. His eyes were as hard as Litaz had ever seen them. “You owe me a great debt. A great debt.” He shot a poisonous look at Raseed and turned and walked away coldly.

  Some part of Litaz started to reach out to Yaseer, to stop him from going. But it was only a part of her. What the whole of her wanted was to see Dawoud. It was long past time to go home.

  Chapter 16

  AS THE SUN WAS JUST BEGINNING TO SET, Raseed followed Litaz into the Soo couple’s home. He was pleased to see that Dawoud Son–of-Wajeed, the Doctor, and Zamia Banu Laith Badawi were all there in the greeting room, safe.

  “We would have been here sooner,” Litaz said upon entering, “but we ran into some…complications with a group of the Humble Students.”

  “What?” the ghul hunter and the magus shouted at the same time.

  “Complications? What are you talking about?” Dawoud asked.

  Zamia said nothing, Raseed noted. But she looked healthier than she had even the night before. “Praise God.” He whispered the words without meaning to, and Zamia looked at him quizzically. He lowered his eyes in shame.

  “I had to put a couple of them in their place, but that is not what is important right now. This is,” the alkhemist said. She placed the ornate scroll case on a low tea table. Then she collapsed onto a cushion. “Name of God! It will feel good to rest tonight.”

  Raseed had to speak up. “And you have earned rest, Auntie. But I cannot allow myself to rest now. If this scroll will help us learn more of the fiend Orshado’s plans, I must—with apologies—I must have that information as quickly as possible.”