Chapter 10 #4
It looked less like a library and more like the crowded den of a master of the occult sciences.
Hundreds, nay thousands , of books and scrolls filled four walls of groaning shelves.
Where the shelves were not holding books, they displayed bizarre objects and artifacts I could scarcely make sense of: ceramic bowls with lines of foreign script encircling monstrous figures, wax-stoppered brass bottles that appeared as though they’d been dragged from the bed of an ancient lake, scarab amulets of lapis lazuli, hanging lines of knotted strings, and dried animal skulls painted with silver and given eerie glass eyes.
Neatly labeled rows cataloged amulets of winged demons with snake phalluses and clawed hands, dog-faced dragons and fanged fish people wielding spears.
A life-size stone relief of an ibis-headed man wearing a loincloth anchored the western corner of the room, a reed pen in one hand and some sort of looped cross wand in the other.
There were coins stamped with the names of djinn kings sharing space with masks and idols in all sizes and shapes and materials.
Carnelian beasts with bull heads and hooved feet, sandstone fish women, and marble cocks—and yes!
Those kinds of cocks.
—What’s that you’re muttering, Jamal?
— Oh? I don’t need to dwell on the details? What, is this not an “integral part of the historical record” or whatever such nonsense
you like to natter about? You’re blushing? How do you think I felt being stared at by the glass eyes of a dozen long-dead creatures and surrounded by stone
penises all day? We’ll get back to things, yes?
Now, listen... I’m not an easy woman to shock. I’m a sinner very much relying on the “Most Merciful” aspect of my Lord.
I’m a former pirate —do you know some of the things I’ve seen in my career? I’m aware, as well, how common the small magics are in everyday life.
A pendant with a wolf’s claw and a bedtime rhyme to keep djinn away. Auspicious letters and numbers set in squares to bring
good fortune. Dream interpretations and love knots. I’ve not gone near any of it since Asif’s death. (Well, no, that’s a lie...
Like most desperate new parents, I was not able to resist the siren call of the spells and talismans people swear will help
your baby sleep. All failed. Fussy babies answer to no authority.)
However, this ... my eyes grew wider as I ventured deeper into the library. I had never seen anything like this collection in my life.
And the books! Not just a few texts of magic— hundreds .
What seemed like the entire body of work by Abu Ma‘shar, Ibn Hayyan, Maslama al-Majriti, and Ibn Wahshiyya.
Of the little I could decipher, there were manuscripts of protection spells and spirit summoning.
Faded astrological charts of such complexity that I—a sailor who has been able to read the stars since I was a child—could only blink at them in bafflement.
Treatises on lunar conjunctions, celestial navigation, and planetary indicators were stacked alongside intricate magical squares with letters and numbers in a dazzling variety of languages and foreign scripts.
Maps had been tacked to a wall, marked with pinned scraps of parchment and ribbons indicating routes.
In one corner, a solid mahogany cabinet held columns of fired ceramic tablets covered in a scrawl of minuscule, wedge-like characters.
No wonder Salima had dismissed the prospect of hiring a scholar to look through these materials; at this point I could hardly
blame her for wanting to keep her family’s eccentricities discreet. Who were the al-Hillis? This place didn’t have the feel of a library meant for mere scholarly curiosities.
It felt like the base of operations for people who saw these objects as tools. I could only assume the Frank knew nothing
of this collection, else he would have murdered anyone standing in his way of obtaining all its treasures. I gripped the hilt
of my blessed iron blade, glaring at every suspicious book, idol, coin, and weird bowl in the library.
“As a word of warning to any possible spirits creeping about... I am not interested in you,” I told the otherwise silent
room. “You leave me in peace, and I shall do the same.”
Whether my words were received by invisible djinn or my own nerves, I could not tell. But since this library was the only
clue I had, I muttered a prayer for protection, took a deep breath, and settled into unraveling the mystery behind the girl
whose father I had killed.
If there was a mercy, it was that the library was neat. The desk was crowded with papers, but they were organized, and indeed,
one of the few things I could recognize was placed there: an almanac still open to a discussion on the date of the upcoming
eclipse. Little surprise: to someone like Dunya, such an ominous celestial event was probably a more exciting prospect than
her own wedding.
But nothing I could read seemed to have anything to do with the Moon of Saba.
And as the day grew longer, it became clear how hopelessly out of my depth I was.
A number of books were in Arabic, yes, but the language was so esoteric and specialized that they might as well have been recorded in the same cuneiform as the stone tablets.
By dusk, I was openly despairing of ever finding anything that had to do with legendary pearls, “large” islands, or lovesick lunar aspects and had resorted to pulling back the carpets and peering between floorboards when a chance glance revealed a piece of parchment that had fallen in the narrow crack between the desk and a side table.
My heart in my throat, I carefully plucked it free. The scrap was barely larger than my palm and badly scorched. I carried
the paper to the window and tilted it to the light. It contained mostly tiny drawings: what appeared to be part of a constellation
along one burned edge and bizarre sketches of a stick figure man with antlers, a crude boat, and a half-dozen cruciforms.
Here and there were a few words in a language I could not identify, but written neatly in Arabic was a single fragment:
“...veil of waters and guarded by white snakes, he sleeps beneath a ceiling of stone hands, forever separated from the
celestial abode.”
The passage Salima had related returned to my mind. Something about a hidden veil of water as well, yes? And she had mentioned
rock carvings... I quickly grabbed a stylus and an inkpot from Dunya’s desk, adding what I remembered.
Then I stared at the piece of parchment, my brief flush of hope dying out. I had a burned scrap of paper with outlandish drawings
and fairy-tale words. Falco had access to magic that had killed a man while he dwelled in an entirely different land.
I had nothing.
***
It was dark by the time I left Salima’s house with the parchment and several pieces of jewelry hidden beneath my dress (listen, old habits die hard; no one was using them, but in retrospect, such female finery was clearly undesired).
Usman the Grim sent me off with two additional purses courtesy of Salima, but the blackmailing noblewoman herself did not appear.
I suppose it was unseemly to bid safe travels to the dishonorable bandit whose life you had threatened to destroy.
Dalila materialized at my side barely a block away. “I was beginning to fear I would need to rescue you. It would have lost
you another percentage of your cut.” She frowned when my only response was a grumble. “You look angry and thoughtful. That
is not typically a good combination.”
“I am murderous and despondent.” I handed over one of the purses. “Take this in case we need to split up.”
The purse vanished into her garments. “Your meeting must have been somewhat successful if it resulted in more money.”
“The money does little to make up for the additional threats and useless information that accompanied it.”
Dalila gave me a sharp look. “What threats?”
In the past, I wouldn’t have told her everything. But I was weary of secrets and could not see a path out of the maze I had
gotten myself trapped in. And so I spoke more freely than usual, relating the entirety of my confrontation with Salima as
well as the disturbing search of Dunya’s quarters.
Dalila’s expression grew more lethal as I spoke. “I did try to warn you. The moment she mentioned being Asif’s mother, she
knew she had you. The old Amina al-Sirafi would never have—”
“Yes, yes. I know, all right? I am aware I fucked up.” I caught sight of the sea as we turned a corner, and suddenly wanted
nothing more than to flee toward it. To thrust myself into the vast watery expanse I had always relied on to save me. I was
a good sailor. The Marawati was a fast ship. Was there a chance I could beat Salima’s messengers? Slip past the guards she said were watching my house...
And what if you fail? Images of armed men bursting into my home swam before my eyes. My mother being seized, Marjana screaming for me as she searched
for a place to hide... I let out a choked sound, swaying on my feet.
“ Amina? ” Dalila grabbed my elbow. “What is it?”
“Salima said she has people watching my home,” I whispered. “Letters ready to go out to all my old enemies. She blames me
for Asif. Told me that if she loses Dunya as well, she’ll make sure my family pays the price.” Dalila’s dark eyes turned positively
murderous at that, and I seized her hand before she could vanish to do something rash. “ No . She said it was already too late. That if I killed her, I’d only be condemning them faster.”
Dalila swore but stayed put. “Then what do we do?”
Her choice of words didn’t miss me. I stared at my most inscrutable of companions, her wild hair blowing in the dusty wind.
“This isn’t the job you signed up for. If the Frank—”
“I signed up for the million-dinar reward, and the Frank has already tried to track me down.” Her voice was firm. “So where
do we go next, nakhudha?”
Nothing in Dalila’s expression allowed for disagreement. I sighed and fingered the small piece of parchment with its obscure
figures and broken constellations, clues I could not dream of piecing together. There was only one answer.
“Mogadishu,” I said softly, returning my gaze to the gleaming sea. “I need Majed.”