Chapter 6
By midnight I was sequestered on Aden’s newest promenade, an expensively constructed pavilion of alabaster and imported wood
that fronted one of its wealthiest neighborhoods and offered stunning views of the crashing black waters of Sira Bay. With
the moon a bare sickle, lamps and torches had been lit to chase back the night. By now most families had retired, pulling
sleepy children home, but knots of men still ambled this way and that, chatting amicably and occasionally tossing a coin to
the last beggars. A few vendors and buskers were beginning to depart as well, selling remaining portions of grilled fish and
fried sesame pastries for a bargain.
But there was still enough of a crowd for me.
“Take a chance!” I cried, spreading my hands to display the three clay cups overturned on the rattan crate before me. My pot
sat at my knee, an oil lamp burning brightly to show off the glittering coins inside. “Three fils, three chances to win!”
A group of youths wearing well-made clothes and finely embroidered belts had been watching me and nudging one another. They
came over now.
“I shall take that bet,” one boasted, his beard little more than a few hopeful black hairs on his chin.
I did not need to cheat to defeat his hopes and yet I did so anyway because old habits are hard to lose, and I had grown protective of my winnings.
Switching the three clay cups round and round, I tucked a walnut in my little finger, slipping it back and forth as the boy chose wrongly to the disappointed groans of his fellows.
“Do not lose poorly!” I shouted at their retreating backs. “Come, try again!”
“I will play if you would have me.” It was Yusuf. Tinbu’s “client” now looked like an entirely different man from the fretful
merchant I had accosted earlier. No longer dressed in Adeni fashion, he wore the loose robes and draped headcloth of a traveler
from the interior. A foreigner, perhaps one unaccustomed to urban ways and local rogues.
“I would be delighted to have you, sir,” I said magnanimously. “Have a seat. Do you know the rules?”
Yusuf settled himself with a regal air that was almost immediately undone by the quivering in his hands. “I... ah. Refresh
my memory,” he said, handing over three copper fils.
I held out the walnut in my palm and then placed it under one of the cups. “Watch closely when I move them. If you guess correctly
which cup has the nut, my pot goes to you. Incorrectly and your coins stay with me. Understand?”
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
I began swapping the cups around, my hands a blur of movement. I did not bother cheating this round—I was more preoccupied
with ensuring my fingers slid over the clasp of the gold cuff Yusuf wore around his wrist.
Finally, I stopped. “Choose.”
Without any hesitation, Yusuf tapped the leftmost cup—the one that had the walnut hidden underneath—and met my gaze with utter
knowing in his eyes.
Well, didn’t someone have depths? I was about to accuse him of cheating when a shrill female cry broke the air.
“That is her! That is the thief!”
I glanced up in practiced annoyance to see Dalila storming toward me, her wooden staff held before her like a queen’s scepter, two policemen in her wake.
She was as transformed as Yusuf, wearing her finest dress and veiling her face with a length of sheer embroidered cloth held in place by a pearled headband.
Bangles and anklets of fool’s gold and glass painted to resemble precious gems sparkled and chimed from her wrists and slippered feet.
“My boy came home saying he played her little game and lost far more than three fils—she stole his signet ring.” Dalila flapped
a bejeweled hand at my head. “I want her arrested!”
I feigned a look of affronted innocence. “I did no such thing.”
“What’s all this, then?” One of the cops nodded rudely at the cups and kicked over the pot of my winnings. “Some sort of gambling?”
“Search her!” Dalila clutched her jilbab below her chin. With a few artfully escaped tendrils of midnight hair and tears streaking
her lovely kohl-lined eyes, she was the picture of noble suffering, beautiful and tender in a way men always needed to save.
“ Please . That ring has been in my family for generations. It is my only remembrance of my father.”
“Curse your father for raising a liar!” I shouted.
A scandalized silence stole over the policemen. But only for a moment, until with some excitement, they realized they had
a new reason to harass the poor.
“On your feet, wretch!” One grabbed me roughly, and I let slip the gold cuff I had stolen off Yusuf’s wrist.
The cuff clattered to the dusty ground, and Yusuf’s mouth fell open in genuine shock. We had not practiced that part; I find
the occasional surprise in a confidence job makes the reaction of my coconspirators all the more authentic.
He made a choking sound. “Th-that is mine!” Quickly he caught up, glaring at me. “Thief!”
“Liar! All of you are! Trying to take advantage of a poor old woman with your spurious charges and aye— do not touch me !” I tried to pull free of the soldier’s hands, falling against his body in a swift effort to assess if he carried anything at his waist besides a baton and dagger.
No. Excellent. “Let me explain! By God, what is this world coming to when such dogs manhandle grandmothers on the street! I bet none of you are even local! A fine thing, for our foreign overlords to import men to harass honest Adenis! Is this what we pay taxes to support?”
I have not, in the entirety of my life, ever paid taxes. Or customs fees. Or fines of any sort (I do pay my zakat and give
sadaqah, of course, for the Divine Authority is the only one I respect). But the words I was ranting were chosen with enough
precision that truly honest Adenis were starting to stop and watch the confrontation.
The cops seemed to notice.
“Enough,” one hissed. “All of you are coming to the police prefect. He can sort out your... by the Most High, what is in
this bag ?” He brought the saddlebag that had been underneath my crate near his face and then gagged, thrusting it toward his fellow.
“It smells worse than an unwashed stable.”
The second one danced away. “I don’t want it!”
I lunged for the saddlebag. “Give that back!”
The first officer slapped me, and I stumbled, as a frail old woman might.
“Probably more stolen trinkets,” he said dismissively. “Or just garbage. She sounds like a madwoman.”
“She looks like a giant.” His companion squeezed my bicep. “By God, woman. What do you eat to be built like some sort of warhorse?”
“Your father’s—”
This time they hit me hard enough that I shut up.
We were led directly to the prison warehouse. The three of us made for a sorry lot: me getting prodded unnecessarily and cursing
them all, Dalila fretfully weeping, and Yusuf looking like he regretted agreeing to this scheme in the first place.
Only one man stood guard outside the prison now, frowning as we approached. “What have you got here?”
“A thief and her victims.”
“Alleged thief!” I corrected as I was shoved inside. Cushions lined one wall, and a low floor desk sat in the center of the
office, crowded with papers, weights, and a large set of brass scales, the red-gold metal gleaming in the dim light. I took
a moment to scan the room, judging what items could be used as weapons. An open doorway led into the yawning dark corridor
of the cellblock—though I could see nothing in its lightless gloom. Save for two bored young men playing backgammon on the
floor under the glow of an oil lamp, the room was empty, the officials having gone home.
Five men—unless there were additional guards in the prison itself. Not the greatest odds. I glanced at Yusuf out of the corner
of my eye, wondering if he was good in a fight. He was the color of chalk and visibly trembling. Probably not.
One of the soldiers playing backgammon, his face marked by pox scars, glanced up. “What’s all this?”
The soldier holding my bag pushed me to my knees. “Found a vagrant stealing from civilians down by the sea pavilion.”
“I stole nothing, you impotent mule. Where are your witnesses?” I insisted. “I have such a right!”
“My cuff plainly fell out of your sleeve,” Yusuf pointed out.
“Then perhaps it should not have been there!”
“God curse you.” Dalila ran her hands down her face, fluttering her eyelashes, and three of the four soldiers took the opportunity
to gaze upon her too long. “If you have induced my son to wickedness, I will see you charged. I will see you punished.”
“Search her,” the pox-marked officer said wearily.
They immediately set to doing so, patting me all over in a manner that was most inappropriate. When the poking and prodding
was over, three sets of onyx earrings, the signet ring, four ivory bangles, a silver hair ornament, an embroidered bridle,
and a bone penknife with tiny carnelians lay on the desk.
There was a moment of disbelieving silence.
I raised my hands, taking a more conciliatory tone. “I swear I can explain.”
“No doubt you can.” The cop pulled over a wooden writing board and pot of ink. “It’s enough to hold her until the wali comes
in tomorrow. The witnesses will need to make statements but... what is that smell ?”
“Me,” I said urgently. “I try not to bathe more than once a month. It keeps the bodily humors balanced.”
“It’s this bag,” the officer still holding the saddlebag said, ignoring my excuse. “The vagrant was carrying it on her person.”
He tossed the saddlebag to the floor, and the jarring motion sent up a thick, grassy waft of foul air. The man with the pox
marks recoiled in disgust, but his companion stilled. There was a flash of suspicion—intrigue—in his expression, gone the
next moment when he glanced up at the officers who’d brought us in.
“We shall take it from here, boys,” he said smoothly, ignoring the confused look from his partner. “You can return to patrol.”
He waited until the others had left before shooting me a cool, mocking grin. “Open it.”