Saladin Ahmed - Throne of the Crescent Moon

Adoulla snorted. “Aye, that sounds like the work of Khalifs—locking away knowledge and words without even reading them.”

“Why is this important, Doullie? What is going on?”

Adoulla ignored her questions. “Please, my sweet, tell me that you still have a copy of this scroll.”

Miri’s offended sniff cut through her worried expression.

“Have you ever known me to throw away something of potential value? Name of God, for thirty years I didn’t throw you away!” Weariness overtook her smoky eyes. “Be careful here, Doullie. If the Falcon Prince is involved in this… I know you admire him, but he’s a dangerous madman. And from what my Ears tell me, he is furious right now about the murder of a beggar family who was under his protection—mother, father, and daughter all found with their hearts carved out. Apparently the same fate struck a squad of his men as well.”

Adoulla had nearly forgotten Baheem’s giving him that last bit of interesting and troubling news. But he only half-analyzed it now as he was overcome with thankfulness. Whatever else was wrong in the world, God had seen fit to keep this woman in Adoulla’s life, worrying over him. This funny, strong, bedchamber-skilled woman who loved him. Manjackals and ghuls could not change that fact.

Still, this news increased Adoulla’s sense that Pharaad Az Hammaz might make a useful ally. “Can you put me in touch with him, Miri? It may help me put an end to these murders.”

She squinted in thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Perhaps… perhaps I could. But I’m sorry, Doullie, I won’t. That would require my making more contact with his people, and after he killed this last headsman… No, it’s just too dangerous. The man has lots of right-sounding ideas,” Miri continued, “and I must admit, he is remarkably handsome. I’d wager you didn’t know that I once saw those calves very close up. Did you know? Never you mind where or when.”

She was trying to make Adoulla jealous. To upset him. It was working. He felt—not in a pleasant way—that he was a boy of five and ten again.

“But despite these things,” she went on, “he is, beneath all his pretty words, talking about civil war. Wars are bad for business. And a war inside the gates of the city? Almighty God forbid it. Do you know what happens to whores in a war, Doullie? Of course you do. I’ve got arson and rape on the one hand and a clinking coin purse on the other, Doullie. For me and mine, it’s an easy choice. I’ve got a house full of innocent girls to protect here.”

Adoulla smiled despite his frustration. “Innocent? A funny word, all things considered.”

Miri did not smile back. “Yes, you damned-by-God oaf. Innocent. My new girl Khareese fled her father not three weeks ago. What does she know of war?”

Adoulla sighed. “Well, Pretty Eyes, I know well enough that you won’t be budged when you won’t be budged. But at least tell me what your Ears have heard of these murders.”

Miri shrugged. “Not much. The watchmen marked it up to street folk killing street folk. The family did their alms-seeking outside of Yehyeh’s teahouse, and they were found dead there, along with old Yehyeh himself. They—”

“What? Yehyeh? When did…? Who…?” Words failed him and his stomach sank as he watched Miri’s eyes widen.

She took his hands in hers. “Oh. Oh, Name of God, Doullie, I’m so sorry. I’d forgotten what friends the two of you were.”

Adoulla felt a sob begin to rise within him. He smothered it, and something within him went cold. “Yehyeh… Minstering Angels… Yehyeh.” He spoke absently. “Oh, Miri, don’t you see? Things can’t stay safe forever, no matter who rules. You with your Hundred Ears know that better than most.”

She sighed and nodded. “I know. But maybe they can be bearable for another few years. That’s all I dare ask of God.”

He ran his hand through his beard. “And then what, my sweet?”

“Then I’ll climb warm and sleepy into my grave, God willing.”

She rose and kissed his forehead. Then she went in search of the scroll she had mentioned, leaving Adoulla alone with birdsong, the scent of pear trees, and thoughts of his dead friend.

Dead. May God shelter your soul, you cross-eyed old rascal. He recalled Yehyeh’s words of a few days ago—before Faisal, before the giant ghul, before Zamia, before Mouw Awa. Before he was killed. “May All-Merciful God put old men like us quietly in our graves.”

The teahouse owner had no family that Adoulla knew of. Likely the watchmen had already tossed his body in the charnel commons. Adoulla thought about going to his own grave alone. And then he thought, as he had not allowed himself to while Miri was before him, of the words Axeface had said just an hour ago. Her new man.

When she returned a few minutes later, handing him a scroll-case, he found he couldn’t quite keep his thoughts to himself. “So what’s this I hear about Handsome Mahnsoor spending his time around here? Everyone on the street knows the fool is too cheap to be an honest customer to you.”

She stared at him then, and her face took on the angriest look Adoulla had ever seen her wear. “May God damn you, Doullie,” she said in a near whisper. “May God damn you for daring to be jealous.” Something cruel grew in her eyes. “Do you want to know the truth? Do you? Well, I will tell you. Yes, Mahnsoor has been spending his time with me, Praise be to God. And, praise be to God, last night he asked me to marry him.”

Last night. When I was busy learning about a living-dead killer and his master.

“And what did you say?” Adoulla heard some man somewhere ask with a weak voice like his.

“That is none of your damned-by-God business. Unless you are prepared to compete for my hand?”

Adoulla felt the familiar pain of having no good answers for the person on God’s great earth he cared most about. “Oh, Pretty Eyes. I know you don’t want to hear this, but there are… ways other than a formal marriage before God. We could live—”

“Lake of Flame! Do you think, because of what I do for a living, that I am completely bereft of virtue?” Miri’s eyes tightened. “Well, I’m not. And what is a woman’s greatest chance at showing her virtue? In marriage.”

“I know that you possess a thousand virtues, Miri.” Adoulla meant every word. But Miri just threw up her hennaed hands in exasperation.

“Oh, no. No more of that damned-by-God sugar talk. It’s been many years since I could keep myself warm at night remembering your words while you were nowhere to be found. My niece is dead , Doullie. It is a reminder from Almighty God. I’ve got a good twenty years left in this world if God wills it. Thousands of days, thousands of nights. I’m not going to spend them all alone. I’m not .”

She fell silent, gazing up into the tree branches. When he looked at the line of her broad neck, the sand-brown skin smooth despite her near fifty years, he felt like he would weep.

Adoulla kneaded the flesh of his forehead with his knuckles, trying to somehow rouse the right words. He kept picturing Yehyeh, who had always said that marriage was a fool’s move. Dead . Yehyeh was dead. Perhaps Miri was right. Perhaps there was some message from God to be found in these murders. About priorities. About what was left of his own life.

Adoulla stared at his hands. If he and his friends found this Orshado—this ghul of ghuls—and defeated him, then what? Would God’s great earth be purged of all danger? Would the Traitorous Angel’s servants all just go away? No. When would Adoulla’s work be done? He’d asked himself the question many times, but today he faced the honest answer for perhaps the first time in forty years. His work would end only when he was dead. Or when he ended it.