The Longest Night

Midnight was some hours away when they arrived at al-Badawi’s estate. “Been a long time since I wore so much metal,” Salah complained, stretching his arms and making his armour rattle. “May Haktar shit on me if I haven’t grown soft, but I can’t wait to take it off.”

With some trepidation, Jawad managed to dismount the stallion while the stable boy looked on in amusement. “Go ahead. I’ll collect a tray with tea and bring it to your room? You can make yourself comfortable meanwhile.”

“Sounds good.” Salah stretched his neck as well. “I’ll tell the mamluks to let you into the harāmlik. But Jawad,” he added, catching the thief’s eyes, “all the guards know you are not to leave the estate tonight. Don’t try.”

“Salah,” he smiled, “I have tea and an appointment with Alcázar’s foremost conversationalist ahead of me. There is no place I would rather be.”

“I always get this creeping sensation down my spine whenever you seem too happy,” Salah muttered as they reached the doors of the palace.

“How is it even possible for someone to be too happy?” Jawad mused.

“Fuck you, you know full well my concern is justified.”

“See? Delightful conversation guaranteed.”

They split up, and Jawad headed for the servant kitchen. The tea was undoubtedly better if he had gone to the kitchen that served the harāmlik, but it always required a lot of coaxing and work to get anything there; the matron knew her worth and that at the end of the day, Jawad was alhajin. Not so with the old cook who ensured the common folk at the estate were fed.

“Jida,” he called out affectionately.

“Only one person with the nerve to call me that,” the cook scowled, but she grinned soon after, revealing a few missing teeth. “Jawad, dear boy, have you eaten?”

“Not since this morning, jida,” he told her. Immediately, a bowl of stew and a spoon materialised on the table. “Jida,” he chided her, “I have important business that will be delayed if I am to sit here and eat.”

“And how will you manage all this business if you drop dead from starvation?” she scolded him in return. “Sit, boy, sit!” He had no choice but to comply. “What a fuss today,” she continued. “People in and out all day. The mamluks came in shortly after sunset, all rowdy and shouting for food.”

“And did you meekly serve them their meal?”

“Hah! I twisted a few ears and told them to get their dirty boots out of my kitchen!” Her words made Jawad grin. Anything that put a dent in the mamluks’ dignity sat well with him. “And what have you been up to? No good, hm?”

“Always, jida,” he laughed. “I was at the Kabir’s palace.”

“Of course you were,” she scoffed. “And I’m his mother.”

“There was gold and silver like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe it.”

“Wealth and riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

“Boy, I dream of cabbages, leeks, carrots, figs, and warm weather to keep my joints from aching.”

“One day, jida, I will sit on a sarīr surrounded by treasures.”

“Hah, and I’ll have someone to help me in this kitchen who isn’t lazy and all thumbs.”

“Do you have tea brewing? I’m supposed to bring a tray.”

“Fine, leave me,” she grumbled. “You can pour yourself.”

“Jida, thank you for feeding me,” Jawad said quietly.

“It was nothing,” she mumbled with her back turned towards him, peeling onions.

~~~~

Balancing a tray with his injured hand underneath it, Jawad walked past the mamluks to enter the harāmlik, enjoying the dirty looks they sent his way. He continued straight towards Salah’s room; while he had only been able to sneak around the inner palace once, many days ago, he remembered all of it.

“Enter,” Salah bade him after he knocked. Jawad did so and found the warrior in soft clothing; his armour hung upon its rack, and his sword belt lay draped over a chair. A small table was cleared, where Jawad put his tray down. “Expecting company?” Salah asked, raising one eyebrow. Besides the pitcher of tea, Jawad had brought four cups.

“As the poets say, a man only has too many cups if he has too many friends.”

“You’re the strangest fucking thief I’ve ever met,” Salah muttered, but his tone was good-natured, and he accepted the cup that Jawad poured him. “Health,” he toasted as they sat down.

“Health,” Jawad replied, bringing his cup to his lips. “Do you know the hour?”

“Not exactly, but I’d wager about two hours until midnight. Nervous?”

Jawad shook his head. He was feeling a great deal of things, but anxiety was not among them. “Just wondering. Tonight is an auspicious night.”

“Indeed. A triumph for our master. You have done well, Jawad. If all goes as it should, I will see to it that you leave this place rewarded.”

“I appreciate the thought.”

Salah emptied his cup. “Have you thought about where you will go? To Dār al-Imāra?”

Jawad pondered the question. In truth, he had barely thought beyond this night. With the enemies he had managed to accrue, perhaps a change of surroundings would be good for his wellbeing. “I have considered leaving Alcázar. See new lands.”

“The Seven Realms? You’ll freeze the meat off your bones, skinny boy like you.”

Jawad laughed a little. “Doubtful. Besides, there are many cities around the Inner Sea. Why should Alcázar be the only one to enjoy my presence?”

“If you think you will be fine out there, in foreign cities,” Salah considered, scratching his beard.

“If not, I’m sure Alcázar will be here when I return.”

“The thought of you running around a strange city makes me a little worried for you,” Salah admitted. “Then again, the thought of you running around Alcázar makes me a little worried for Alcázar.”

Jawad’s laughter came again, more heartily. “Never fear, Salah. No matter the storm, a thief like me always floats to the top.”

“Sounds like rats.”

“I suppose. Growing up in Almudaina, you learn to both fear and respect rats. They are your competition when it comes to scrounging for food and finding the best shelter, but they can also teach you much about survival. And if you’re hungry enough…”

Salah stared around his room, looking anywhere but Jawad. “I never considered life in Almudaina, or the life of the hojon. It must be harsh.”

Jawad decided to change the topic. “Do you see much of your family, Salah?”

“On occasion. I spend the equinox with my sisters usually, and I enjoy visiting my brother’s shop. His children adore me,” he added with a fond smile.

“Have you ever thought about having your own?”

Salah gave him a surprised look upon hearing the direct question. “I haven’t. Women are of no interest to me in that fashion. Why, does our thief think about settling down?”

“Hardly. It was merely on my mind, living as part of a household. It is quite different from how I have lived before.”

“It is not too late to seek out Dār al-Imāra. You may live with them as I do here, and perhaps under a friendlier roof.”

He could, but Jawad knew that come tomorrow, it was time to put distance between himself and Zaida, not the opposite. Reminded of her, he spoke again. “I have a favour to ask, Salah.”

“If it’s within my means.”

“Lady Zaida has been good to me while I was here. I should like to take tea with her as well tonight, seeing as it will be my last chance to show her my appreciation.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in that if she will grant you a visit,” Salah said while nodding. Jawad got up, picked up his tray with some difficulty, and the two men left the room.

“Something you should know,” Jawad said as they walked down the hallway. “Has any new servants been hired in the last couple of days? Any new slaves?”

“I can’t say, I’m not the steward. Why do you ask?”

“There’s a good chance they are a hired killer working for Dār al-Gund.” Jawad was being a little coy with the truth, but it was best not to overburden Salah with too much knowledge.

Salah stopped in his tracks. “What? How come you’ve not said anything?”

“I didn’t want to warn Dār al-Gund and scare them off. You should investigate any new arrivals to the palace. See if one of their corner teeth has been painted partly black, making it look broken. That is the mark of the murderers that Dār al-Gund uses.” That took care of the blade that the Black Teeth were holding against his throat.

“Haktar and horseshit,” Salah cursed. They had arrived outside Zaida’s chambers, and he knocked on the door. “Right, you stay here until I come back. I need to deal with this.”

“While you’re at it, you should send a patrol around the neighbourhood. I am quite sure that Dār al-Gund also has spies watching every side of the house.” And that should open up some room for him to manoeuvre unrestricted.

Some foul curse was undoubtedly on Salah’s lips, but the door opened to reveal Zaida’s servant behind it. “Stay here,” he impressed on Jawad and strode away.

“Would you enquire with your mistress whether she would deign to share tea with me tonight?” Jawad asked of Zaida’s servant. The young woman nodded mutely and disappeared. Moments later, she returned and gestured for Jawad to step inside.

The parlour looked as it had done on his previous visits, whereas Jawad did not; for one, he was not bleeding all over the rug. Zaida appeared from one of the adjoining chambers. Ink stains on her fingertips revealed what she had been doing before Jawad interrupted her. Her appearance was otherwise flawless, and knowing what the ink on her hands represented, Jawad could not conceive of it as a fault either.

“Master Jawad?”

He blinked, realising he had been adrift in his thought. He placed the tray on the small table between two sofas; once Zaida was seated on one, he took the other. “Thanks, I’ll do it,” he told the servant girl and poured tea into a new cup for Zaida.

“I have already had my evening brew, but I suppose there is always room for a second,” Zaida smiled as she accepted her cup. “Thank you, Juana, you may retire.” The girl did so.

“To your health, sayidaty.”

“And yours.” She took a sip. “I did not expect this visit.”

He kept his eyes on her as she drank. “Understandable. I was discourteous to you, sayidaty, and I apologise. You have been nothing but gracious towards me.”

“You are too harsh on yourself, Master Jawad. If anyone should apologise, it must be me. You have been through such hardships, I can scarcely imagine half of them. That I should cast any judgement upon you…” She bit her lip. “I am ashamed of myself.”

“Sayidaty, please do not be.” Silence took hold of the room. “But do accept my sincere congratulations upon your engagement,” Jawad finally said. “Faisal al-Musharaf is a man of many virtues.”

“Thank you.” She bowed her head. “You speak as if you know him well.”

“I have met him upon occasion, such as today, in fact.”

“At the Kabir’s palace.” She nodded. “Did he have a proposal for you?”

He smiled a bit, looking at her. “Sayidaty, how did you know?”

“Oh.” She blushed slightly. “I knew that Salah had spoken to him of you, so I merely did the same.”

He could not help but grin. “What a fortunate man I am, to have such virtuous tongues wagging on my behalf!”

“Master Jawad, please,” she reproached him. “Some decorum, I must insist.” Her smile spoke against her words before her voice grew serious. “How did you reply to the proposal?”

“I requested some time to consider it. It was unexpected, to say the least.”

“It seems a good idea to me,” she claimed, sounding almost casual in her appraisal. “Your skills would be put to use, and you would be paid and treated well.”

“You are entirely right.”

“If I am to be mistress of Dār al-Imāra, it would also allow us the opportunity to continue our conversations.”

And therein lay the splinter. “All of which are part of my considerations, I assure you.”

“You have not touched your tea.”

With a smile, he raised his cup to his lips, watching her do the same. He waited until she had finished drinking, glancing at the water clock in her parlour. Less than an hour until midnight. “Sayidaty, the evening is passing. There is something I should wish to tell you.”

She turned her dark eyes on him, and he felt spellbound for a moment. “Yes?”

He took a deep breath. “You told me of your mother once. Forgive me for mentioning this topic, as I know it must pain you. I only do so that I may tell you now what I should have said then.”

“What is it?”

“I had two brothers once. Hakim, older than me, and Kateb, younger.” She did not interrupt, but simply looked at him as he spoke, and he had to glance away to avoid her gaze. “Hakim died when we were children, and it was my fault. I have always blamed others, I do even now, but when I am alone with my thoughts, they whisper the truth to me. My brother’s blood is on my hands.”

“Jawad.” Her voice made him look at her, and he did not know how he felt seeing the pity in her eyes. “How old were you?”

“I do not know my own age even now, but I suspect I was four or five. Maybe six.”

“Jawad, I do not know what happened, but if you were a child, you are not responsible for what happened to your brother.”

“That is why I am telling you this, Zaida. You are not a thief. You did not steal your mother’s life.” She looked as if he had slapped her across the face. “You blame yourself, same as I do. This guilt is a lock upon you, weighing you down. I hope one day you find the key that will set you free.”

She simply stared at him, and he was empty of words.

Salah came through the door. “Jawad,” he spoke, gaining the latter’s attention. He nodded in the direction of the hallway.

“Of course.” Jawad looked at Zaida. “Thank you for your company, sayidaty. I shall take no more of your time tonight.”

“The pleasure has, as always, been entirely mine, Master Jawad. I hope it will continue to be an occurrence in my life.”

He rose to bow before her and collect the tray. His left hand gave him some trouble, prompting Salah to step forward. “Do you need –”

“No,” Jawad said firmly. “I have it.” He got the tray onto his claw-like hand and followed Salah, leaving behind the one jewel he could never steal.

“You were right.” They were scarcely out in the hallway before Salah spoke in an excited manner. “A slave bought to help the gardener. Clever, as it gave him access to plenty of sharp tools. He had the black tooth, just as you described.”

“Good.” Jawad’s focus slowly returned to the present. “Where is he now?”

“Locked up under guard. We’ll sell him to the galleys.”

“What about the spies watching the house?”

“The mamluks are patrolling. The few we have.” Sudden concern appeared on Salah’s face. “We have barely any guards inside the palace or outside.”

“Then it is good you discovered their cutthroat in time,” Jawad reassured him. “I have another favour to ask.”

“For a thief, you do a lot of begging,” Salah growled. “What is it?”

“I should like to have tea with al-Badawi tonight as well.”

“Jawad, it’s close to midnight. I’m quite sure he’s had his fill if he’s even awake.” As to prove a point, Salah yawned.

“It’s less about the tea and more about my last chance to speak to him.”

Salah frowned. “Very well. If he’s still awake. Let’s go.”

They moved through the marbled hallways of the harāmlik. Jawad wondered how long it took to live in such surroundings before you became inured to their beauty. Even now with so many feelings and thoughts coursing through him, he could not help but notice it.

A lamp burned in al-Badawi’s private study. “I’ll be out here in the parlour,” Salah told Jawad. “Leave the door open. Also, I’m sorry, but I have to search you.” Salah’s hands deftly combed Jawad and his clothing; if he had been hiding the smallest weapon, Salah would have found it. “Go ahead.” The warrior adjusted his sword belt, yawned again, and sat down on the sofa outside the office.

Jawad crossed the threshold. The merchant barely looked up from his books. “Do not disturb me.”

“I bring you tea, effendi.”

Hearing his voice, al-Badawi raised his eyes. “What are you doing here? Where is Salah?”

“He is outside, keeping watch.”

“Go join him then. I wish to be alone.”

Jawad put the tray down on a drawer. “Effendi, may we speak?”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“The future. Tonight is a fateful night, and tomorrow will look entirely different.” Jawad looked at the water clock in the study; it was just past midnight.

Al-Badawi put down the quill in his hands. “Go on, amuse me.”

“I have suffered a great deal, effendi, to make tonight happen.” He raised his left hand. It was impossible to tell how much dexterity he would ever regain. “More than you could know.”

The merchant scoffed. “You think I care? I don’t even remember your name, thief. You are no more than a slave to me. You’re even less, since a slave has value. You’re alhajin, you’re offal thrown onto the street that did not have the good sense to remain there and die.”

Jawad glanced out of the room at Salah. “Is that all you see for me in my future, effendi? That I am to die?”

“It is the fate of all men to die,” al-Badawi replied prosaically. “Some of us achieve great things until then. Others, like you, serve no purpose but to be the lowest that the greatest may be compared to you.”

“That is how you see us? The hojon. Merely steppingstones upon your path.”

“Merely the truth,” he all but sneered. “You have wasted enough of my time. Be gone.”

“If something goes wrong tonight, Salah thinks you will order him to kill me,” Jawad said softly, standing by the door.

Across the room, al-Badawi heard him. “Your time has come in any case. You know too much about my business. You think I would let you leave this house?” Scorn was evident upon him. “Salah!” he called. “Remove this pestilence.”

“You think Salah would kill me, simply because you ordered him to?”

“Yes,” al-Badawi replied with conviction. “Salah is loyal to a fault. Salah!” he called again.

“It’s good I put sleeping powder in his tea, in that case,” Jawad remarked. He looked out at the sleeping Salah on the sofa; with his good hand, he slowly closed the door to the study.

“What is this? Guards!” al-Badawi yelled, leaping to his feet. His chair fell to the floor behind him.

“Effendi, it is no use. I put it in everyone’s tea.”

The merchant stared at him with utter disdain. “Fine. Nobody will stand in your way. Leave, you villainous scum, and never dare to return!”

Jawad returned his gaze, straightening his back. “Not yet, effendi. I have set many plans in motion, suffered many pains, and seen many people hurt that you and I may have this conversation, alone and undisturbed.”

“You seek to rob me? You wish to take all that I have built?” al-Badawi raged. “Vultures and carrion worms! While my enemies surround me, you slither into my presence to exploit the moment!”

Jawad marvelled. The merchant did not seem to understand the danger surrounding him. Quite possibly he had never been physically threatened before in his life, and he simply did not recognise what was happening. “Enemies, effendi? Pray tell, who do you think has done all this to you?”

“Mongrels and curs,” he sneered. “The pale fiends of Dār al-Gund, aided by rabble like you and the accursed Prince! You were in their employ the whole time, you vermin! This is the work of all these abominable criminals, aided by you! Do not dare deny it!”

Jawad stared at him with a curious expression. “Effendi, have you not yet guessed?” With a mocking smile, he gave a slight bow. “I am the Prince of Cats.”