Saladin Ahmed - Throne of the Crescent Moon

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 that 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.”