The Shortest Day

The afternoon was still young, and Jawad saw no reason to return to al-Badawi’s house just to twiddle his spear. Given the grand procession of people that had left the palace this morning, it was obvious where entertainment was to be found for the day. Whistling, Jawad set a course towards the Kabir’s palace.

A friendly cart driver let Jawad spare his feet, and two hours later, he found himself before the residence of Alcázar’s ruler. It was a place said to contain fabulous wealth, and Jawad could tell that it dwarfed al-Badawi’s palace in size. Every thief in Alcázar dreamed of emptying its treasures. Jawad had no such plans at present, but today was a unique opportunity to get a glance inside, and he had no intentions of wasting it.

Getting past the outer gates was an easy affair. There was a multitude of servants moving in and out for the ring ceremony, and Jawad simply joined their columns; the guards were not paying much attention except to keep an eye out for potential beggars.

Once inside the courtyard, Jawad let his eyes gaze in every direction. It was completely walled off, limiting access to the grounds. Only the stables were placed here; the remainder of the complex lay behind the gate to the palace itself or the smaller orchard doors. He was trying to ascertain the guards’ line of sight when a voice faintly familiar called out to him. “Jawad!”

The thief turned around, incredulity slowly building up inside of him. “Sidi,” he replied respectfully while wondering how Faisal al-Musharaf had such an uncanny ability to spot him.

“It is Jawad, is it not?” The young nobleman dismounted elegantly from his magnificent stallion that looked worthy to be the steed of a jinni.

Jawad bowed slightly. “Yes, sidi. I am honoured you remember.” He was actually annoyed, but it would not do to admit that. He noticed in passing that Faisal was wearing a silver necklace set with emeralds, good craftsmanship and worth some eighty birds easily.

“You are seeking your master, no doubt? Most excellent, I should like to pay my respects. Will you walk with me?”

Jawad admired how sincerely Faisal made the command sound like a request as if Jawad had any choice. “Of course, sidi.” They walked up the stairs to enter the palace. Above the entrance were carved the words of the poet. Those to whom is given wealth and bountiful land, know that swiftly gained is swiftly lost by fate’s hand. Jawad glanced at the guards; in the presence of an heir to one of the Hundred Houses, they did not even question whether to let him pass.

“Salah spoke to me about you, briefly, and I wanted to ask more,” Faisal explained.

Shit. “I am at your disposal, sidi.”

“He told me that your services to Dār al-Allawn were temporary in nature.”

“That is true. I do not expect to find myself employed by them tomorrow.”

“I did not realise it was so soon!” Faisal exclaimed.

Every time his companion spoke, Jawad tried to glance around and take as much in without making it obvious. “It is, sidi,” he replied in absentminded fashion. Vaults rose above him stretching towards the sky. Pillars thicker than the head of an ox lined the halls, and the walls were covered in decorations. Each step Jawad took impressed upon him that more wealth was found in this place than he ever imagined could exist.

“Would you consider working for Dār al-Imāra now that your contract is at an end?”

“What?” Jawad blurted out.

Faisal laughed. “There is much you could teach the men we train about protecting against intruders. I have already discussed it with my father, who agreed it was an excellent idea.”

“I am flattered, sidi,” Jawad said, mostly to buy time. Faisal might as well have sapped him in the head. The fact that anyone would earnestly offer him a respectable position and pay him coin for his knowledge on how to obtain coin in disrespectable ways – it felt almost perverse.

“You would be paid eight silver a day, and you could have accommodations at our house if you wish.”

Thoughts spun around Jawad’s head. With such earnings, he could buy his own copper ring soon enough and be a genuine citizen of Alcázar, free to go where he pleased. The Black Teeth would never know to look for him at Dār al-Imāra, and a simple disguise would take him far. He would have the life that all hojon of Almudaina dreamt of, but only few ever attained.

It also meant that he would live in the household of Faisal, husband of Zaida, and be made aware of this every day. “Your offer is very kind, sidi, and it pains me to decline that kindness.” Jawad was a little surprised to realise he meant this. Having known it so rarely through all his life, Jawad appreciated kindness more than any other virtue.

Faisal simply smiled in acceptance. “As you wish. Should you change your mind, seek me out.”

“You are most kind, sidi,” Jawad told him, meaning every word.

They both fell quiet as they reached the audience hall. It was crowded with spectators, but Faisal walked through confidently, cutting a path that Jawad could follow. Pushing forward, the thief took in the sight in every direction. He gazed upwards as the roof domed above him. Countless stars had been decorated upon the vaulted ceiling, and by some trick of the light, they seemed to shine. Ahead of him on the sarīr sat the Kabir, the ruler of Alcázar. His clothing was made from silk, his seat from velvet, and a sapphire the size of a man’s fist was placed upon his brow. In addition, countless riches lay scattered before his feet. Chests bursting with gold and silver, statues carved from finest marble by the greatest artisans, bolts of silk, flasks of incense, swords made from Nordsteel, and more.

Jawad thought his eyes would fall out. He had never seen such wealth gathered in one place. “I see the Ten have already given their gifts,” Faisal remarked casually. It took Jawad a moment to comprehend his words. All the riches before his eyes were tribute paid by the merchant houses of Alcázar. First the members of the Council of Ten, wearers of golden rings; their offering had to be proportionate to their status.

There was a steady stream of men walking up the middle to bow before the Kabir, carrying more modest gifts; they were the leaders of the Hundred Houses, bestowed with silver rings. One at a time, they proclaimed their loyalty, handed over their gifts to the slaves waiting, and walked backwards to join the throng of onlookers. “There’s your master,” Faisal continued. Evidently, al-Badawi had already presented his tribute, proving his worth as a subject and as a merchant, which allowed him to keep his silver ring for another year. “Master al-Badawi,” Faisal spoke as they approached, bowing his head.

“Master Faisal,” the merchant replied with a nod. He noticed Jawad and clenched his jaw, but did not remark upon it.

“Lady Zaida,” Faisal continued. She smiled at him, which made Jawad turn his head away to look at the tribute before the Kabir’s feet. Soon, he had forgotten his surroundings.

“You’re salivating,” Salah muttered to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Jawad wanted to argue that such was certainly not the case, but he found himself standing with open mouth and quickly closed it. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s all in place for tonight,” Jawad told him.

“This is hardly the place to discuss it,” Salah growled. “But well done,” he added as an afterthought.

“Since you are here, Master Faisal, perhaps you can escort my daughter home. I have business I must attend to while I am here, which would only be tiresome for her.” Jawad thought he saw Zaida clench her jaw, eerily reminding him of her father.

“It would be my honour and delight,” Faisal replied. “My father must soon be ready to leave, and the lady may ride in his carriage.”

“Excellent,” al-Badawi declared. “Master Faisal,” he spoke in farewell. “Salah,” he added in command, turning around and leaving. Salah followed, and forced by the iron grip that the warrior had on him, so did Jawad.

“Why in Haktar’s name are you bringing the thief?” asked al-Badawi as he stalked through the corridors.

“Do you think it wiser to leave him alone to roam free in this place, effendim? Besides, you told me to keep him close as soon as he returned.”

The merchant gave no reply to this and merely increased his pace with Salah and Jawad in tow. Soon, they entered a room richly furnished. Its interior made it clear that it was the study of an official, and the decorations meant someone of high rank. Jawad’s eyes were on a vase, worth maybe twenty-five silver to the right buyer, when Salah clamped down on his shoulder again.

“Here comes the hāgib,” the warrior mumbled into Jawad’s ear. “Not a fucking word out of you.”

Jawad’s eyes widened a little. Like the title of Kabir, Jawad knew that the office of the hāgib existed, but the thief had never imagined to stand in the same room as him. He was the highest ranking official in the city, and his position took its name from his duty, acting as a veil between the ruler and his citizens to deal with the more tedious affairs of rulership. Even alhajin such as Jawad understood the power wielded by the hāgib.

The man who entered seemed anything but impressive; his face was blushing red with sweat on his brow, and Jawad doubted it was because he had been running. He did not seem like he did much running in general. His clothes were naturally expensive, but Jawad was starting to become inured to that. He wore neither a gold, silver, or copper ring; his position required no such trinket.

Despite his physicality, the hāgib carried himself with a confidence entirely devoid of affectation. He nodded to his visitors curtly. “Master al-Badawi,” he said shortly. “You requested a meeting.”

“Sidi,” al-Badawi replied. “I have been warned that tonight, one of my warehouses will be plundered, and the culprits are brigands in the employ of Dār al-Gund.”

The hāgib sent him a scrutinising look. “You come to me with more than rumours and allegations, I trust?”

“As I am forewarned, I plan a trap to catch the thieves in the act. This will serve as irrefutable proof,” al-Badawi explained. “Dār al-Gund will have lost all rights to any presence in Alcázar.”

“You wish for the exalted Kabir’s troops to spring this trap?”

“You are swift to understanding, sidi. Having the exalted Kabir’s soldiers will not only make the trap an iron fist, they will also be firsthand witnesses to all that transpires.”

The hāgib kept his gaze on al-Badawi much like a butcher choosing the next lamb for slaughter. “Your tribute this year was not impressive, Master al-Badawi,” he remarked coolly.

The merchant swallowed. “I have been plagued by these criminals for years now! As they steal from me, so my tribute diminishes. In effect, they have been stealing from the exalted Kabir.”

His counterpart broke his stare away, and there was a barely audible sigh of relief from al-Badawi. “There is some truth to that. The exalted Kabir will be pleased to assist a loyal subject in upholding the law. Do I recall correctly that you are in the process of selling a large quantity of purple dye to the exalted Kabir and his household?”

Al-Badawi nodded eagerly. “I am, sidi. It is what these lawless marauders seek to steal from me.”

“The exalted Kabir expects you to remember today’s favour when you are to receive your payment. As you will remember it for next year’s tribute, I am sure.”

Al-Badawi paled slightly. “Of course, sidi.”

The hāgib smiled. “Most excellent. The exalted Kabir will send an amir with a contingent of soldiers to your home immediately. They are yours to command for the night.”

“My deepest gratitude to the exalted Kabir,” al-Badawi said subserviently, bowing deeply. A nod from the hāgib dismissed them, and they walked backwards out of the chamber. Once outside, the merchant turned swiftly. “Home,” he briefly commanded Salah, walking away at a brisk pace.

Soon after, al-Badawi was seated in his carriage with his company of mamluks mounted and ready. Salah, standing by his horse, did not join them. “Ride on without me,” he told the soldiers, who grunted and took off, leaving Jawad to stare curiously at Salah.

“What’s going on?”

Salah nodded at his feet. “You’ve been all over town today. You can’t walk home. Get on the horse.”

Jawad stared up at the beast, which suddenly seemed as foreboding and dangerous as any jinni. “I can’t ride,” he professed. Ever since his childhood, Jawad had avoided horses.

“I’m not telling you to charge into battle,” Salah grumbled. “Just sit on its back. It has a saddle, for Haktar’s sake, nothing to it.”

Hesitantly and without his usual self-assured movements, Jawad put one foot in the stirrup. His left hand was useless, and his right hand struggled to find somewhere to grasp onto. Without warning, he felt himself being pushed up in the air as Salah lost patience. The small thief almost fell all the way over the saddle, and only his foot caught in the stirrup saved him. He bumped into the saddle, crushing his jewels. A small whimper of pain escaped him.

“You’ll get used to it,” Salah declared, taking hold of the reins and leading them out of the courtyard.

The afternoon was gone, and the sun was setting as they travelled through the streets; the shortest day of the year was coming to an end. Despite night falling, Jawad feared neither thieves nor guards; Salah’s presence was a guarantee against both. As for the horse, it trotted along at a leisurely pace, letting him spare his feet. Even so, Jawad found it difficult to see the appeal. It was just inconvenient, having to find somewhere out of sight to leave your horse tied up all night while committing burglary.

“I saw you entered with Master Faisal,” Salah spoke. “Was that a mere coincidence?”

“As it turns out, it was. We simply arrived at the same time.”

“Is that so. I thought the two of you might have spoken.”

It dawned on Jawad where Salah was going with this. “He offered me a position, yes.”

“What did you say?”

“I would need time to think. Until my business with Master al-Badawi is concluded, I cannot consider the future.”

“You’re a fool,” Salah told him, staring ahead as he walked next to the horse. “If tonight goes ill, the master will blame you.”

“I am aware.”

“If you had gone with him, Dār al-Imāra could have protected you.” Salah glanced up at him.

“I will see tonight through. We’ve come this far.” Jawad sent him a faint smile. “Tomorrow, one way or the other, my business with Dār al-Allawn is concluded, and I can consider what lies ahead.”

“As you wish,” Salah muttered.

“Will you oversee tonight’s event at the serai?”

“I have been ordered to remain at home, keeping an eye on you until news arrives.”

Interesting. “If so, shall we take tea together? We might as well make the evening pleasant as we wait to hear the good news.”

Salah shrugged. “Why not.”