Saladin Ahmed - Throne of the Crescent Moon

“I fear I know already what your response will be, Doctor, but I would suggest that our next move should be to inform the Khalif’s men of this threat.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “If you know my response, boy, then there’s no need for me to say that the Khalif’s attentions on these matters would be more of a hindrance than a help.”

Zamia was sure she wore the same cynical look as the Doctor. She made a noise in her throat. “Even the Badawi know that the Khalif’s men are wicked, dervish! The dogs of Dhamsawaat care little for what has happened to the Banu Laith Badawi.”

“ ‘Dogs of Dhamsawaat’,” the Doctor repeated. “What is that, some savage scorn-name for city men? You do realize that I am a Dog of Dhamsawaat, do you not, girl? Yet you are ready enough to accept my help!”

Zamia kept herself from growling at the old man. “ Your help, Doctor? Was it not I that saved you from that foul creature last night?”

“She has a point, Doctor,” the dervish chimed in, apparently giving up on his suggestion regarding the authorities. For only the second time, Zamia saw that hard-but-pretty, fine-featured face register amusement. Again she thought bitterly that, not long ago, had she met this man, her thoughts might have gone quickly to courtship. To the pride with which her father would have entertained the notion of such a match, and the grudging admiration the band would have had for his battle skill. But now such thoughts were useless. The band—the band’s memory—demanded the avenging lioness. The marriage-minded girl dishonored them.

The Doctor muttered about disrespectful children and ran a hand over the endless folds of his kaftan. Then he stood and began to pace. “Now. As I said last night, this business with the bloody knife is the purview of the alkhemists. My alkhemist friends are not home now, but we will call on them at first light. Then I will want you to meet another youngster who has lost kin to these same monsters. The two of you are the only ones to witness this threat, and it will help me to hear you speak again, side-by-side.”

Zamia could not contain her anger. “More talking!? We waste a day, old—Doctor! Surely there are others in this city with these skills.”

The old man shrugged. “A handful. But they all charge very dearly indeed. And they aren’t the types to take kindly to savage children who come barging into their shops telling them what they must do, as I’ve no doubt you would do.”

Zamia growled.

The old man only smiled. “Besides, not one of them is as good at what they do as Litaz is. Whatever time we lose in waiting we will more than gain back due to her aptitude. Now do try to settle yourself. We’ve much to do tomorrow. And as soon as we have a quarry we will begin the hunt.”

The Doctor’s smile turned hard. “You think me a lazy old oaf. And when I look at you I see an impertinent savage of a girl. But in the Name of God, our meeting in battle together brings the Heavenly Chapters to my mind: ‘O believer! Look to the accident that is no accident!’ We were meant by God to fight this bloody cruelty together, Zamia Banu Laith Badawi. And so we shall.”

The glint in the ghul hunter’s eyes gave Zamia the first real hope she’d felt in days. It was a vicious, bitter sort of hope, but it was all she had. Nadir Banu Laith Badawi’s band would be avenged.

For an hour or so Zamia lay half-dozing on a divan just inside the front door. It felt good, despite the dark thoughts that crept in at the edges of her ease. Then the Doctor announced that it was time to eat.

Zamia did not understand city people. A shriveled old woman who lived next door to the Doctor brought over plates of food. Though she looked nothing like him, Zamia assumed that she was his sister or his mother—why else would she live so close, and why would she feed him thus? But the woman did not stay to eat with them—and the Doctor gave her a coin before she left! It was as rude and shameless as anything Zamia had seen, but then, she had heard that city men paid coins for lovemaking as well.

The Doctor loaded his plate with thick slices of meat stuffed with a rich green dressing. “Pale wine and pistachio lamb! Thanks to All-Providing God that not everything He sends my way is a maddening trial!” The old man filled his cup, guzzled it down, refilled it. “Eat, girl!” he bellowed, bits of pistachio flying from his mouth as he gestured to the plates before him. “We’ll be on the move again soon enough, I fear. You’ll wish then that you had eaten!” He took another long gulp of pale wine.

Zamia tried to tell herself that she was not hungry—that she had no room in her for anything but revenge, though she knew it for a lie. The smells set her stomach growling as if the hungry, thirsty lioness within her were speaking up. With no further prompting from the Doctor, she sloshed back half her wine and began to stuff herself with mouthfuls of lamb. After a few bites, though, her stomach began to clench.

“This city food is too rich,” she said, then drained her cup with a second and third gulp.

The dervish smiled a mesmerizing smile. “I couldn’t agree more, Zamia Banu Laith Badawi. You will notice that I am eating only fruit and bread-and-beans. The diet of the pious.”

She found herself speaking. “You may call me simply Zamia, Raseed.” Where did that come from!? This cursed wine is too strong! The dervish mumbled something embarrassed-sounding and locked his eyes on his plate. He is older than me, yet he seems so young .

“Well,” the old man bellowed, tipsily breaking the tension, “such bird food is suitable enough, perhaps, for little holy men’s mouths. But not for a man of my…” he paused, hefting up his big belly with both hands, “a man of my… significance.” The ghul hunter turned to Zamia, a note of solicitude entering his voice. “I have spent long decades as a servant of God, you know. I’ve traveled roads this presumptuous boy has never even heard of. Forty years’ worth of days at war with the Traitorous Angel. Is it so wrong that I should wish to spend my nights like this?”

The old man took another big swallow of wine and turned back to Raseed with a troublemaker’s smile. “You’re as bad, sometimes, as those Humble Students you respect so much! Perhaps you should join their stupid little sect! Scandalized by ale and dancing and such!” He poked a reproving finger at Raseed. “Remember what the Chapters say: ‘God speaks through these Chapters, not through the mouths of priests. His scriptures are not written upon papyrus, parchment or vellum. They are marked in men’s memories, stamped on men’s hearts, engraved in men’s souls.’ Yet your Order and the Humble Students act as if the Chapters were written on their lips.”

He took another drink. “Before their glory faded from Abassen, the ghul hunters’ ways were unbending in some things. But at least they never claimed to be holy men. God is the Most Beneficent Host, boy! When you’ve forgotten that, you’ve forgotten why we fight!” His tirade over, the ghul hunter threw his hands up in exaggerated exasperation.

For a while then there were only the sounds of eating and the old man’s heavy breath. When the meal was done they sat there silently. Then the Doctor’s too-loud voice shattered the silence.

“Speaking of fighting,” he said as if ten minutes had not passed, “I have been wondering something, Zamia. If, God willing, we find this damned-by-God servant of the Traitorous Angel and we defeat him, what will you do then?” Zamia felt the pleasant haze of the wine burn away in an instant. Why does he bring this up now? It sounded to her as if the ghul hunter already knew what her answer would be, and disapproved of it.