The Master

The basement under the Broken Tooth contained what could be expected from a storage room in a tavern. Barrels of wine and ale lined the walls. Bags of flour stacked in a corner. Another barrel full of herring and a few other, indeterminable fish. Pickled vegetables of every kind. And in one end of the room, a rack.

On his journey to the favoured establishment of the Black Teeth, Jawad had been knocked out. As he came to, he found himself naked and strapped to the aforementioned torture device. Leather strips kept his ankles in place, his arms along his sides, and his head from moving.

“You’re awake. We can begin.”

The voice belonged to a woman outside his field of vision. Jawad struggled, but the restraints kept him from seeing anything. “You have the advantage of me, I think. Would proper introductions be in order?”

A woman moved to stand by his side as he lay on the rack, bending over to enter his line of sight. “Of course, how rude of me. I am Basmah. I have the distinct pleasure of being your torturer.”

Jawad swallowed. “A pleasure.” He had thought Hashim would be the one breaking his kneecaps, given his propensity for violence and thirst for revenge. He would not voluntarily have relinquished this opportunity, meaning someone higher than Hashim in the hierarchy of the Teeth had taken an interest in Jawad. “Basmah, there may be a mistake here. I am nothing more than a petty thief. I don’t deserve all this attention.”

She smiled. “You’re saying that you didn’t betray my brethren and lure them into an ambush?”

“Exactly! I gave them a tip, but they must have misunderstood or made some error, alerting the guards.” Jawad tried to nod eagerly, managing only to shake the leather strap around his forehead.

She drew out a piece of parchment. “That’s odd. See, the warehouse in question belongs to the merchant al-Badawi. And you were found carrying this, explaining that you are a servant of Dār al-Allawn, bearing his seal and signature.”

Jawad grew pale. “Just a bit of subterfuge. I stole that from one of his servants. It’s useful for letting me move around the city at night.” The last sentence was true and why Jawad had kept it on him; now he cursed himself for having done so.

Basmah nodded, retreating out of his line of sight. “Of course. Jawad, I should explain a rule to you. Every time you lie to me, there are consequences.” He began to protest, but she silenced him by placing a gag in his mouth. “In case it’s not obvious, the consequences are pain.”

The torture began next.

~~~~

An hour later, Jawad lost consciousness. A bucket of water to his face swiftly remedied that. As he came to, confusion overtook his mind momentarily. He stared up into the ceiling and saw only the stonework. Struggling against his restraints reminded him how tightly he was tied up and that every part of him hurt.

Added to this, several heavy stones had been placed on his chest to make him fight for every breath.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Basmah told him. “This is pretty simple. Almost the work of an amateur, you might be tempted to say.” Jawad was not tempted to say anything; he was focusing on keeping still to avoid disturbing his wounds. “I assure you, it is only the beginning. It is important to start slow when torturing someone, so you can escalate as the situation calls for it.”

She moved constantly in and out of his sight while talking; each time, fear shot through him that she was preparing some new instrument of agony.

“I am going to ask you again, Jawad. Did you lure my precious little boys into an ambush?”

She removed the gag to let him answer. “Yes,” he admitted with a hoarse voice, wincing a little from the pain.

She gave a relieved sigh. “The truth. Thank you, Jawad.” She brought a small cup to his lips, and he drank eagerly; his throat was devoid of moisture. “I think we can be friends after all.” He made no reply to that. “It all depends on how you answer my next questions, of course.”

Jawad could not imagine what else she wanted to know. The only reason he had held out for an hour before confessing was because he thought they would kill him immediately after.

“What, my dear Jawad, are you doing in the palace of al-Badawi?”

“I – I live there. For the time being.”

“But what is your purpose?” While she talked, she walked around the rack, letting her fingers run over his skin.

“Meals and a roof over my head.”

“Jawad.” Disappointment filled her voice. “That’s a lie.”

~~~~

It lasted two hours before Basmah ceased her work; she had to revive Jawad more than once in that time span, and he had lost one of his teeth in the back of his mouth and several toe nails.

“What are you doing in the palace of al-Badawi, Jawad?”

The thief gasped for breath, trying to buy time to think. Somewhere in the fog of his thoughts, his mind resisted the idea of telling them about the purple dye. This scum did not deserve such a mark; his mark that he had planned out. His mind sought for any other plausible reason he could give them.

“I’m – I’m looking for the Prince on his behalf.” That was not even a lie.

“Come now, Jawad, that’s merely what you pretend. By all accounts, the Prince is in Gadir. He hasn’t even been in Alcázar for months.”

“It’s the truth,” Jawad protested.

“But not the one I want. Why is a petty thief like you living in Dār al-Allawn, Jawad?”

The House of Colour. The truth became obvious to him. They already knew about the purple dye. This question was to see if he had broken; they would know if he told the truth thanks to Amal, who had told them all about it. Of course she had. Fucking Amal. “I’m planning a mark against him,” Jawad admitted, accepting defeat.

Basmah smiled. “Tell me more.”

“He has a shipment of dye arriving in the next few days. Purple. Worth a kingdom.”

“You think you can steal it?”

“I know all the measures taken by al-Badawi to protect his properties. I was the one who suggested them.” Every word stung Jawad’s tongue, partly from physical pain, partly from throwing it all in the arms of Black Teeth. “I was only waiting for the cargo to arrive. Then I would break in with a crew and steal the lot.”

“Brilliant.” She lifted the cup to his lips again, and he drank eagerly; water had never tasted so sweet to him before. “You are too humble, Jawad. No petty thief would have such lofty ambitions. Unlike me, I have no ambitions to speak of. I simply do as my master tells me.”

“Dogs have worth too.”

Anger flashed across her face; she suddenly had a knife in her hand, and she moved it across his collarbone slowly, drawing blood. She followed up with her finger, pushing it against the broken skin and into his new wound. “I shouldn’t lose my temper,” she admitted regretfully, licking the blood on her finger. “Where was I? Ah, yes. My master. He would like to carry out your plan.”

“I bet.”

“I need you to be a good little thief and tell me everything necessary to complete the mark.”

This was it. The only reason he was still alive. And if he told them everything, that reason would be gone. But until then, he possessed knowledge they wanted. If it were not for the excruciating pain he had just endured, Jawad would have smiled. “I need to know the name of the ship first.”

“Why?” She let the bloody blade of her knife tap against his nose as an implied threat.

“Each of al-Badawi’s ships has its cargo taken to a specific warehouse,” Jawad claimed with laboured breathing. The stones on his chest made him sound and feel perpetually out of breath. “As soon as I know the ship, I’ll know the location.”

“How were you planning to find out?”

“The harbourmaster records the arrival of each ship and everything it carries. I was going to break into his offices in a few days’ time and check his records.”

Basmah scrutinised his face. “Wait here,” she told him, as if he had any choice, and disappeared.

~~~~

When Basmah returned, she was not alone. A short, overweight man dressed in garish clothing accompanied her. Despite those characteristics, it was obvious that none would dare to ridicule him. Everything about him exuded danger from the cold look in his eyes to how Basmah acted like a whipped hound every time he made a sudden movement.

“You must be Jawad,” he spoke. “I am the Master of this place.” Jawad could tell he was not talking about the tavern. “I’ve been told what you said to Basmah.” She purred like a kitten at the sound of her name. “There is one problem. It will be days before this vaunted ship arrives and we can confirm if you’re telling the truth.”

“I swear –”

The man raised a finger to silence Jawad. “Nothing personal, but we might as well put the waiting time to good use. After all, you did get several of my boys killed, and I need to show the rest of them that you’re getting your due punishment. Basmah, my darling pet, continue your work. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Yes, master.”

The gag went back into Jawad’s mouth.

~~~~

Jawad knew he could stop all of this by admitting his deceit. The torture would end the moment he told the truth. It also meant that his usefulness would come to an end. His life would not be safe until that ship anchored in Alcázar and its goods were unloaded. He had to endure. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Basmah approach him once more with a knife made so hot, the metal glowed red.

~~~~

He was allowed to sleep through the night. As Basmah explained in the morning, it was a common mistake among novice torturers to be overly zealous in their duties and kill their victims. Even advancing too swiftly was problematic. Starting too strong meant there was no way to escalate the pain. As important as it was to put the victim through agonising pain, you always had to have the threat available that you could put them through even worse.

“Fascinating,” Jawad mumbled, chewing the meagre breakfast he was allowed.

“Isn’t it? You should swallow now.” She put the bloody rag that served as his gag back into his mouth and moved to stand by his side with a curious-looking thin hammer. She struck down on his chest in a swift, precise moment. The sound of exactly one rib cracking could be heard.

~~~~

Throughout the second day, Jawad retreated into his memories to escape the pain. Others might have chosen some pleasant moment from the past to dull the present; Jawad had no happy memories strong enough to do so. Instead, he sought refuge in the one that otherwise haunted him. Over and over, he relived the moments, one by one. The marketplace. Being a child again. Reaching for the coin purse. Being pushed out of the way. Seeing Hakim lying lifeless on the street. His blood flowing onto the cobbled stones. The first lighting of the rage that had ever since burned inside him, enslaving him.

Another rib cracked.

~~~~

At some point, Jawad could no longer keep track of time. There was no difference between night and day in the basement, only what Basmah told him. Food and sleep happened irregularly; he was always awakened from the latter in some harsh manner, making him feel like he had barely rested. The only power he could exert over time was by counting his torture sessions, and eventually that failed him as well.

Somewhere between the seventh and the tenth, Jawad was graced by the presence of both Basmah and the man holding her leash. “I am almost inclined to believe you are telling me the truth, Jawad,” the Master spoke. The thief only responded with ragged breathing. “Tonight, we’ll send someone to the harbourmaster’s office. If the promised ship has arrived, we’ll know, and you can tell us what else we need to know.” He smiled magnanimously.

“Happy to help,” Jawad whispered hoarsely.

“There is one thing that still bothers me about all this, Jawad,” his captor said. “I am told you’re a jewel thief. What is a jewel thief doing infiltrating the house of a dye merchant?”

That was a good question, and one Jawad preferred not to answer. But at this point, he would grasp at anything for a short reprieve from the torture. “A mark.”

“Of course,” the short man said. “I’d expect nothing else. But I can’t imagine you woke up one day and decided to join the exciting business of dyed fabric.” He approached Jawad, staring down at his face. “What’s the mark?”

Jawad hesitated. “The Heart of the Sands.”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that, Jawad.”

“It’s a ruby. The size of your palm.”

The Master smiled, petting Basmah on the head. “See, that makes sense. A gem like that would make you wealthy for life, wouldn’t it, Jawad? I bet you salivated when you first heard of it. And this ruby is in the possession of al-Badawi?”

“It is. Family heirloom.”

“I admit to being confused. If that’s your aim, why all this trouble going after some jars of colour? Did you get a tad too greedy, dear boy?”

“I have searched everywhere,” Jawad explained. “It’s impossible to find one ruby inside a palace. But if al-Badawi was facing ruin…”

“He would dig out the jewel that he might sell it and save his house.” His captor nodded a few times. “Not a bad plan. The extra gold from stealing the snail juice doesn’t hurt either.” He smiled with his cold eyes. “Well, well, Jawad, aren’t you a treasure trove. One good mark after another. I’ll have to get eyes inside al-Badawi’s palace. Basmah,” he added, directed at his servant.

“Yes, master?”

“Keep him alive for now. No need to do anything else.”

“Yes, master.” Disappointment was evident in her voice.

~~~~

Jawad had been fed five pieces of bread and given water to drink three times when the Master of the Black Teeth returned. As usual, Basmah was by his side. “I bring joyous news,” he spoke, entering Jawad’s line of sight. “Yesterday, the good ship Labdah’s Pearl made anchor in Alcázar. Aboard were thirty-six jars of the finest purple dye.”

“That’s not one of al-Badawi’s ships,” Jawad said with a weary voice.

The short man smiled. “Very true. Forgive me the deception. It is a sad fact that distrust thrives in our line of work.” It had been easy to see through. While some gems were traded freely in Labdah, pearls came mostly from Surru, their rival. No captain from Labdah would name his ship in that manner. “The name of the ship is the Emerald Voyager.”

“That sounds right,” Jawad claimed. In fact, he was completely ignorant of al-Badawi’s ships and their names. But he doubted the cold-eyed man would bother with the same trick twice.

“This is the part where you explain where that snail slime has gone. How many guards, patrols, and the like protecting it would also be welcome information.”

Jawad felt a sliver of relief. The ship had arrived. Its cargo was locked away somewhere in the city. He had leverage. “Here’s the thing.”

“I would suggest you be quick about it,” the Master continued, glancing at Basmah as a silent threat. She smiled in anticipation, stroking her knife affectionately.

“Friend, I haven’t the faintest clue.”

Those cold eyes became narrow slits. “Explain.”

“My whole plan was to know the name of the ship in advance. I’d inform the workers who were to unload it, and they’d track the cargo for me, so I’d know its location and what warehouse to break into.” Jawad gave a ragged laughter that turned into a cough. “It’s impossible to find them now. The jars will be unmarked, looking no different than if they have olives in them. There’s dozens of locations they could be in,” he continued after catching his breath. “Only al-Badawi and a few trusted servants will know where they are.” His mouth was completely dry and in pain having spoken so many words, but it was worth it.

The Master struck Basmah across the face; the heavy rings on his fingers made impact, sending her to the floor. “You let him lie to me! Worthless whore!” He turned back towards Jawad while she whimpered at his feet. “You will die,” he impressed upon the thief, “but only after suffering every form of torture known to men.”

“You could do that,” Jawad told him, “but all you’ll have for your troubles is a corpse. If you want the dye, if you want the ruby, you need me alive.”

“I have a hundred thieves at my bidding,” the Master sneered. “All of them better than you.”

“It’ll be a few days at most before the dye is sold. It’ll be beyond your reach forever,” Jawad claimed. “Only someone trusted by al-Badawi can infiltrate his palace in time and determine the location.”

“You.” Two conflicting emotions raged on the short man’s face. Jawad could not tell if vengeance or greed would win, but he was betting his life on the latter.

Jawad gave a misshapen smile. “Me.”

“Get up.” The words were spoken to Basmah, who complied. Her cheek burned red. “Punish him.”

“Yes, master.” He left, and Basmah took his place to stare down at Jawad’s face. “You made me look bad in my master’s eyes,” she said, biting her own lip until blood appeared. “I am going to enjoy this even more than usual.”

Jawad stared back at her. “Get to it.”

“Maybe this is for the best.” She smiled. “I thought you were broken already. This way, it’s a lot more fun.”

“You talk too much.”

She moved one hand to squeeze him between his thighs. “Most men are afraid of being hurt the same way.” That included Jawad. “But one thing I’ve learned about thieves.” She let go, using the same hand to caress the fingers on his left hand. “They fear losing their hands more than anything.”

Panic threatened to flood Jawad’s mind. A thief without dexterous fingers was no thief at all. He bit one of the wounds in his mouth, using the pain to steel his emotions. “You’re still talking.”

She leaned down to whisper into his ear. “I hope you continue to misbehave.” He could feel her breath against his skin. “Then the master will let me punish you again. I’d like to play with your other bits, too.” She straightened up; in her hand, she gripped her small hammer. He clenched his jaw in anticipation. It fell and with a sickening sound struck one of his fingers. She continued, striking him five times in total.

~~~~

At some point, Jawad became aware that Basmah had left him alone. She had restrained herself to only ruining his left hand.

Ever since he could remember, losing his fingers or hand had been his greatest fear. He had made himself ambidextrous to some extent in preparation, but most of his skills as a thief required both hands. Al-Badawi, the Prince of Cats, everything that he had endured chasing his dreams and nightmares; with a few quick strokes of the hammer, all of it seemed for naught as his future as a thief was taken away from him.

When the Master of the Black Teeth returned, Basmah was not by his side. Hashim, known as the most brutal cutthroat in the gang, was with him instead. “Release him.”

Hashim undid the straps and pushed Jawad off the rack. He fell to the ground, too weak and surprised to react, resulting in his forehead slamming against the stone floor.

He felt his hair being grabbed, and his head was lifted up while the Master leaned down to address him in a quiet voice. “You belong to me now. You’ll go to al-Badawi’s house and find out what I want to know. You’ll come back here and tell me. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Often, I find that people think they can run or hide from me. This saddens me for two reasons. First, it gives me a great deal of trouble that puts me in a bad mood. Second, it never works out for them, and I am forced to inflict a gruesome death upon them. Still with me?”

“Yes.”

“I have eyes and ears at every gate, on every pier. You try to flee the city, you will be found out.” He placed one foot against Jawad’s groin, pressing down. “Am I clear?”

Jawad made a whimpering sound. “Yes.”

“You try to hide from me – well, you tried that once already. You know what happened.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He grabbed hold of the thief’s face with both hands, forcing Jawad to stare at him. “As I am a generous man, I grant you not one, but two nights. Then you’ll be back and tell my dear boy Hashim everything he needs to know.” Jawad kept quiet. “If you don’t, you better be dead, or I’ll make you wish you were.” The portly man turned his cold eyes on Hashim. “Throw this scum out on the street where he belongs.”

With a joyful smile, Hashim slung Jawad over his shoulder like a bag of flour. Shortly after, he was flung outside in front of the Broken Tooth, landing naked in the dust. A dirty tunic, more rag than clothing, was thrown on top of him accompanied by laughter. In the sky, the sun baked down upon him mercilessly. Jawad got to his feet, put on the tunic, and staggered away.