Saladin Ahmed - Throne of the Crescent Moon

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.