Chapter 32 #2
The afternoon is quiet. The trill of warblers drifts in from the bushes outside.
Though it's bigger than the kasbah, the institute is designed and decorated with an eye toward simplicity.
Many of the rooms hold no furniture, sometimes no more than a prayer rug, a framed scripture tacked to the wall, and windows that draw the eye outward to the breathtaking views.
The hazy glow of sunlight reaches every nook, illuminates each dust mote.
A mellow infusion of rose petal and musk perfumes the air.
The monkey, to Shay's chagrin, makes an impromptu excursion to the kitchens. It pilfers a handful of berries and a half round of khobz before making its way to the wing that houses the Marabouts’ sleeping quarters.
Here, rather than pallets arranged low to the floor, the beds are raised on wooden frames.
But even these are plainly made, chosen not for luxury or aesthetics.
Their function is practical, making it harder for insects to reach the mattresses, and necessary, given the multitude of open doors and windows and the proximity of the surrounding nature.
The sleeping quarters consist of long areas, containing beds arranged six to a room, an identical box sitting under each bed. While the boxes, carved of beautiful and fragrant thuja wood, are no more locked than the doors, there is no way to tell which holds the hjabat.
Though Shay is reticent to comb through the Marabouts’ personal belongings, the monkey holds no such compunction.
It empties each box, one by one, spilling its contents onto the bed above it.
Among these are functional items like brushes, soap, and tooth sticks, along with spiritual artifacts like remembrance beads, wooden incense chips, and small, pocket-sized books of scripture.
They are three beds into their search, halfway through the first room, when a Marabout clears his throat.
Shay never heard him enter the room.
He sits cross-legged in the middle of the floor, wearing the traditional garments of his vocation: a long robe sewn of mismatched patches from used and discarded clothing, turmeric-yellow slippers, and a white knitted cap.
Seeing him, the monkey drops the stack of letters it is holding and hastens toward the door.
“Wait,” the Marabout calls, firm but commanding. “Come here, monkey. Come, come.”
Shay isn't sure whether it's she or the monkey who decides to obey, but they trot up to the Marabout all the same.
He has leathery skin, bright eyes, and a paltry mustache.
His face lends itself to the illusion of being both young and old at the same time.
Shay assumes he's older. It seems more logical for an old man to appear young than for a young man to appear old.
He stares into the monkey's eyes for a long time, his expression inscrutable.
“Greetings of peace to you,” he says finally. The monkey smacks its lips loudly, which the Marabout seems to accept as an appropriate response. He leans forward, and the monkey leans back to a matching degree. “Please, sit still.”
He leans forward again. This time the monkey tolerates his closeness. As he peers deep into its eyes, fragrant oil wafts from his skin. “Is there someone … Lalla?”
A jolt of shock reverberates through Shay's body, or her mind, or something. He can't know she's there—well, not there there, but observing what's happening there from where she is. And yet, the man is nodding profusely as if agreeing with himself.
“Oh good,” he declares cheerily, covering his mouth with his hand in surprise. “I've been expecting you. Well, I wasn't sure, but I certainly hoped.” He rubs his hands together. “Hold on.”
The Marabout rises and dashes over to the last bed at the end of the room.
He kneels to open the box underneath, shuffles through it momentarily, and returns with the earrings.
They're made of green crystals, two halves of a teardrop-shaped whole, dangling from silver filagree hooks.
He places them into one of the monkey's rather grubby-looking hands, folding its other hand over them.
Still looking into the monkey's eyes, which feels very much like he's looking into Shay's eyes, the Marabout recites in a reverent hush, “Our Lallat are waiting to be restored. The keepers of treasures, the fairest four.”
Shay tries to thank him, but the monkey only chatters its teeth, which ends up sounding vaguely threatening. At that moment, another Marabout enters the room. Beholding the mess on the beds, the newcomer gently scolds and shoos the monkey away.
If the Cerrabi Sea and Umm Chanala Mountains were wonders to behold, the colossal extravagance of the Grand Palace is astounding.
Shay's helper for the third and final day of her mission is a common rat, a creature of higher intelligence than most people perceive. Its strong memory and ability to navigate complex environments make it perfectly suited for the task at hand.
In the stillness of night, they infiltrate the shimmering palace, so tall that its gleaming dome is visible from almost every point in Kiddah.
They enter from the south side, near the stables, and traverse a series of gardens and courtyards en route to Mukhtar Asim's private chambers.
Moonlight adds a layer of opulence to the stucco walls carved with swirling arabesques, the cedarwood ceilings painted in languid florals, and the floors paved with marble and zellij tiles.
There's a fountain built into one wall of the sleeping chamber and a blazing hearth set at the opposite end, an extravagance during such a warm season.
A folding doorway stands half-open, revealing a balcony with a quaint breakfast table, and across the room, the mukhtar's bed is nestled into an alcove.
A dark-stained wooden frame lifts a mattress piled with rich textiles, all ensconced by a sheer canopy suspended from the ceiling.
Mukhtar Asim is a heavy sleeper. Unfortunately, the hjabat is not around the man's wrist, where the Lallat said it would be.
Though the rat proves adept at turning things over and squeezing into tight spaces while making minimal noise or disturbance, their long and thorough room search turns up nothing.
Aside from the discovery that Muktar Asim has a fondness for women's lingerie, a fact Shay could, frankly, have lived without knowing.
It's only when she questions the rat, who has inhabited the walls of the palace along with its small colony since resting season, that she learns two unfamiliar humans were sneaking around a few nights prior.
The rat is, however, unable to describe the intruders beyond the details of their footwear.
Both trespassers allegedly wore midsized boots caked with fine silvery dust the rat described as carried in from a far-off region.