by Victor Poole
"Where's Philas?" one of the women asked.
"Who's in charge now?" another man said.
Ajalia went back up the stairs. Philas was standing a wreck of things that were swirled in a chaotic whirl around Lim's room.
"Are you in charge now?" Ajalia asked.
"Do you like me yet?" Philas asked.
"No," Ajalia said.
"Good," Philas said. "It's good that some things don't change at all."
"I'm not a thing," Ajalia said. "And now you owe me rent."
"What's that?" Philas asked. He pointed at the piece of paper that was still clutched in Ajalia's hand.
"I've got this house," she said.
"Let me see." Philas stretched out his hand, and after hesitating for a moment, Ajalia let him have the paper. Philas read over the paragraph, and then examined the name. "Who is this man?" he asked.
"How about," Ajalia said, "I go and live in another house, by myself, and I go back East when I've finished my own trades."
Philas laughed easily. "I'm not trying to interrogate you," he said, but his eyes were hard.
"Right," Ajalia said. She took back the paper. Philas held on to the edge of the blood-stained paper for just a moment too long, and Ajalia's heart hardened. Philas was, after all, she reflected, just like everyone else. She realized, as she went out of the room and down the stairs, that she had begun to build up in her mind the possibility of a future in which she grew to trust Philas. She had not known that she was beginning to think of him as a man in whom she could potentially share more than a joke.
"Philas is in charge," she told the slaves at the bottom of the steps, and the group broke up into clusters of chattering twos and threes. Ajalia stood in the center of the room, and tried to decide what to do next. She had not expected a revolution in the power dynamic, and she had not expected Philas to be a new iteration of Lim.
Ajalia was numb. She went to the furniture that lay against the wall, and sat down. She ran her hands over the surface of the couch. Philas had woven wire, and thin shivers of wood to create a more solid seating; the couch was made out of two chairs and an old table. The night was growing darker outside the windows, which had curtains but no glass. Someone turned down some of the lamps, and a few of the slaves vanished up the stairs. Philas had not come down yet. Ajalia figured that he was still hunting through Lim's things to find all the stashes of money. She could have gone up and helped him, but somehow she didn't feel like it.
Ajalia thought of the narrow bed in the locked room far away in the tenement, and she almost stood up to go there. Just as she had resolved to do so, the front door to the little house opened, and Lim appeared. He was carrying a heavy basket of food, which he set down on the table near the end of the room. Lim came near to Ajalia.
"Here," Lim said. He gave Ajalia a large sack of money.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Philas told me to give you the rent," Lim said. Ajalia looked at the money.
"Are you still keeping the accounts?" she asked.
"No," Lim said. His nose was swollen and red. His face looked raw and pathetic. Ajalia wanted to feel sorry for him, but could not.
"How much is in this bag?" Ajalia asked. Lim told her. She whistled under her breath. "Go away," she said. She counted over the money, and then went to find Philas.
"What does this mean?" she asked, shaking the bag.
"You wanted rent?" Philas asked.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"You like keeping track of money," Philas said vaguely. "I don't."
"That isn't true," Ajalia said. "You feel sorry for me."
"I don't," Philas said.
"I don't want your pity," Ajalia said. Her eyes felt as though they were on fire. A burning sensation ran up her chest. She wanted to destroy something. "Take it back," she said.
"It's your house," Philas said.
"Don't be silly, you don't have to pay me," she said irritably.
"Take the money," Philas said. "You're the one who got us in here. You know that Lim was going to keep everything."
"Well, I don't want to keep everything," Ajalia said.
"I'm not giving you hardly anything," Philas said. "That is not even half of what we earned from the market stall."
"Well, then I don't want anything at all," Ajalia said.
"Don't be stubborn," Philas said.
"I can be however I like," Ajalia said. Tears were starting up into her eyes. She blinked them away rapidly. Philas pretended not to notice. "And I'm probably going to live somewhere else, anyhow," she added.
"Okay," Philas said.
"And you don't need to make me feel better about it," she said.
"I won't," Philas said. Ajalia looked him over. She pursed her lips.
"Fine," she said. "I'll stay for now, but you have to handle the money. And I'm not keeping any more than this," she added, taking a scoop of money out of the bag. "And I'm not pleased," she said.
"Did Lim bring food?' Philas asked.
"It's downstairs," Ajalia said.
"Do you want any of this?" Philas said, gesturing at the chaotic contents of the room. Ajalia's eyes passed rapidly over the things. There were rich robes, a collection of fine cosmetics, and a plethora of expensive trinkets.
"You handle it," Ajalia said. Normally she would have been willing enough to trawl through the piles of belongings, to dredge out the things that she would be able to use or sell, but this time the clothes, and lotions, and fine things felt dirty to her. The thought of touching them all made her feel ashamed and alone.
"I suppose I should let Yelin trawl through things," Philas mused.
"Please don't," Ajalia said.
"I was only joking," Philas said.
"Well, it wasn't funny," Ajalia said.
"Are you going to fall in love with me now that I'm shiny and new?" Philas asked. He made puppy eyes at Ajalia. She giggled.
"I will consent to think about kissing you sometime in the future," she said.
"That is not enough," Philas said. "I need more."
"I shall begin a rumor," Ajalia said, "that you are saving your money to make a bid for me."
"Much better," Philas said. He stepped towards Ajalia and cupped her face in his hand.
"I still don't like you," Ajalia said. Philas put his face against hers. His cheeks were warm. "I'm probably never going to like you, at all," Ajalia added.
"How about I like you enough for both of us," Philas said.
"That sounds like a terrible idea," she told him. He nuzzled her neck, and a strange flush crept over her collarbone. "Anyway, you would be tired of my terrible attitude," she said.
"I'm not tired of your attitude," he said. "I think it's a wonderful attitude."
"Then you ought to be tired of my terrible attitude," she murmured. He kissed her, and she snuggled her hands into the fabric over his chest. "This doesn't count as liking you," she warned.
"Mm," he said, and kissed her again.
"And I don't like kissing," she said. He nodded, and kissed her chin. The sound of footsteps came up the stairs, and Ajalia disentangled herself. Philas started to count over the money he had left, and Ajalia leaned against the wall near the door. The boy slave popped his head into the room.
"Are you being mushy?" the boy asked.
"Smack the child," Philas told Ajalia, without looking up. The boy darted back into the hall, and stayed in the shadows.
"That man came back," the boy told Ajalia.
"What man?" she asked.
"Were you kissing?" the boy demanded of Ajalia.
"I don't kiss people," Ajalia said truthfully.
"Then he was kissing you," the boy said with satisfaction. "She's never going to marry you," the boy told Philas, who made a lunging motion. The boy scattered down the stairs. "He wants to see you at the door," the boy shouted up to Ajalia.
"Little weasel," Philas said.
"He's not an idiot," Ajalia observed. She stood up, and P
hilas dropped his counting to wrap her up in his arms. "I have someone to see," she said.
"Yes, yes, you're very busy," he said.
"This is not going to be a regular thing," she said.
"Why do you think I'm making the moment last?" he asked. She laughed, and he pressed his face against her hair. "Goodbye forever," he said, and let her go. A curious wrenching motion turned over inside Ajalia. She felt quite alone in the world, and she felt suddenly like wrapping herself around Philas and never letting go. She studied his face. He was counting his coins, and his eyes were bent down towards his hands. His hair was falling over his forehead in a shock of thick brown.
"Someone's at the door," he said, without looking up.
"You are devious," Ajalia said.
"I deny everything," Philas murmured.
"I still don't like you," she said as she turned away. "And I don't trust you, either."
"Well, if you trusted me, you wouldn't be you," Philas said.
"Are you trying to say that you like me?" Ajalia asked. Philas didn't say anything. The coins made quiet clinking noises. Ajalia fought the smile that was trying to smear over her face, and ran down the stairs. Her heart was skipping around inside of her. Her head was spinning. She couldn't beat away the happiness that was trying to bubble out of her heart. She went through the main room to the door. The basket of food was gone, and the room was nearly empty. A couple of slaves were in a corner, eating and whispering with their heads together. Lim was nowhere to be seen.
The front door was open, and Ajalia went to it. Chad was hanging around in the street outside. He was kicking at a piece of the street, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. He looked up quickly when Ajalia's shadow filled up the doorway. He stared at her for a moment.
"She's gone," he blurted out. Ajalia waited for more. "She wasn't as mad about it as I thought she'd be," he added, and Ajalia realized that Chad was talking about his mother. "She took her things, and said she was going to move down to the market district. She thinks she can get a job there." He waited for Ajalia to say something. She stared at him and leaned against the doorframe. "She's out of the house," Chad said. He wobbled back and forth on his feet. "You said to come find you."
"Go to Gevad in the morning, early," Ajalia said. "Pick up the list he gives you. Tell him, a man like him robbed my father before I was sold, and I hold a grudge. And bring me my knife." She went back into the house.
"Okay," Chad called, as the door shut on his anxious face.
Ajalia ignored the slaves in the corner, who were staring avidly at her, and had clearly been listening to her conversation. She realized that they had heard what she'd said about her father. She had lied so often about her past that she was not too worried about them knowing that what she'd said was true. She thought briefly about telling them another lie about her family, but smiled at them instead.
"I've been kissing Philas," she told them cheerfully, and they guffawed. "He's saving up to make master an offer on me." She headed back up the stairs, and the slaves hooted after her, calling her a liar.
She poked her head into the room that had been Lim's. Philas was still there. He was sitting on the bed, and his chin was propped in one hand. He was lost in thought. He hadn't looked up; she thought that he hadn't heard her.
She looked at him. He was staring at a piece of the floor, where a violet silk fabric was making a colorful swirl against the white stone. Ajalia could just see the rim of his eyes. His eyes were brown, almost black, but they had deep wells of honey-colored lights around the pupils. Ajalia had not thought deeply before about whether Philas was handsome, but she realized now that he was, quite.
She went into the room and began to pick up the things. Philas watched her for a moment, and then stood up to help. The door to the hall was open still. Ajalia wanted to say something, but somehow the silence was friendly. It was a safe sort of silence, and it wrapped them both up with the comfort of each other.
Ajalia began to wonder if she had interpreted his kisses wrongly; she began to think that it had been a joke. She did not want it to be a joke, but she did not consider herself as a particularly desirable woman. She was too prickly, she told herself, and she had no desire to be less prickly. In fact, she reflected, there was a lot of room for even more prickliness in her outlook.
She was too caught up in her mental workings to notice that Philas was near her. When he reached for the same piece of fabric that she had her hand on, and his fingers brushed against her hand, they both blushed.
"I didn't do that," Philas said.
"Yes you did,' Ajalia countered.
"Well, not on purpose," Philas snapped. Ajalia studied his face. He had a hunted expression in his eyes; the old Philas was in there, still. He looked away from her, and scrambled to get the things off the floor. "I don't know why Lim packs like this," he muttered. "Complete waste of space."
"It packs up pretty small," Ajalia offered. Philas glanced at her, and then looked away. He muttered something under his breath that she could not hear. Ajalia stood up. She watched Philas put the clothes and little bottles on the bed in a messy heap. When he had done, he stood up for a little, and looked with wild eyes at the open closet. He looked like a man who wants everything to be clean but cannot think of where to start. His breath was shallow, and his skin was flushed.
Ajalia picked up his hand. "What's the matter?" she asked.
Philas jumped when she touched him. "Nothing," he said, pulling his hand away. "Anyway, this is a mess."
"What are you going to do with his belongings?" Ajalia asked. Philas shrugged. "Are you going to stay in here?" she asked.
"Need a drink," Philas muttered.
Ajalia had the presence of mind to shut the door before she went to Philas and wrapped her arms around his neck. "No, you don't," she said.
"Yes, I do," he said. He wouldn't meet her eyes. His body was tense and rigid. He had stopped breathing. She studied him. His eyes were blinking back wetness that threatened to spill over.
Ajalia removed her arms, and went to the door. She didn't open it, but she stood next to it, and folded her arms. Philas looked at her knees.
"Where'd you go?" he whispered hoarsely.
"You don't want me anymore," Ajalia said. She was not hurt; her voice was matter-of-fact.
"Do," Philas croaked.
"Don't," Ajalia corrected.
"You don't know that," he said irritably.
"I'm going to clean up this mess," Ajalia said firmly.
"Fine," he said. "Go ahead."
"You go away," she said.
"Don't have to go away," he remarked. He sat down on the bed again, his palms pressed into the shallow mattress of stuffed coarse fabric. "Can stay right here."
"Why don't you go drink more of that stuff I found you?" Ajalia asked. She wanted to snap, to berate him, to put sharp barbs into her voice, but she kept her words neutral and friendly.
"Don't need it," Philas grunted. Ajalia went to him and took away all of the money he had. He put a hand on her wrist, but did not try to stop her. "Can't be in charge now," he said, his voice like gravel. "Failure. Lost everything."
Ajalia looked at Philas, and then at the room. She decided that Philas would keep, for now, and began to fold the robes away into neat piles, which she stacked on one side of the closet. The room was lighted by a single lamp that cast its rays all around the room from the top of a fussy dresser that had been in the room when they'd moved in.
Ajalia folded up the last robe, and lay it atop the others. She looked over the remaining heap of things, and began to sort them into piles of similar items. A few scarves and head wraps were tumbled in among the bottles and boxes, and she pulled them out.
"Shouldn't have kissed you," Philas said thickly. His voice was gushing regret in reams. "Made a mistake. Hurt you."
Ajalia had two little stone boxes, one in each hand, and she dropped them and put her hands on either side of his neck. He looked up, startled, and before he c
ould protest she had buried him in a kiss. She did not kiss him for very long, but his large hands had wrapped themselves around her waist, and he pulled her close. He did not let go of her, but held onto her as though she were a life raft.
"Not a mistake," Philas said into her neck. "Very nice."
"You talk funny when you're drunk," Ajalia said.
"Not drunk," Philas said. "Sad."
"Drunk," Ajalia said.
"No," Philas said. Ajalia got off of Philas's lap, and sorted Lim's cosmetics.
"Where did you come from?" she asked, as she picked up a tangle of bottles and carried them to the closet.
"What do you mean?" Philas asked, but he knew what she meant. She didn't say anything, and after a moment, he began to sort the leather pouches that had rolled against his legs. "My home is close," he said. "Just over the water. My father trades with the Slavithe by sea. I met Slavithe sailors when I was a boy."
"Who were you?" she asked. "What were you?"
She expected him to say that he had been a merchant's son, or the son of an artisan. She had learned to think of him as a sort of jack of all trades.
"I was crown prince," he said. "Still am, probably."
"No," Ajalia said. She felt angry. "Who are you really?"
Philas laughed. "I really am," he said, and his voice was clear and full of the light of revealing his true self. "I know everyone says things like that, but I really was a prince. And I was stolen by pirates. The whole story."
"You said before that you were sold to pirates," Ajalia said. "You said you ran away to be a cabin boy, and then you were sold to pirates."
"I lied," Philas said with a shrug. "I wanted to be a cabin boy, and I bribed my tutor, and he covered for me when the ship went out, and then two days later, after they'd found me but before they'd turned back, we were boarded by pirates, and the pirates took me."
Ajalia stared at Philas. Philas looked straight at Ajalia, his eyes free of deceit. The revelation seemed to have pulled him out of his funk; he was sitting up again, and his eyes were no longer hooded with darkness.
"I ended up in the west, and the pirates sold me to a slave trader there. After a long time, I ended up in the East with master. Then I met you."