7 - Jafar
B y the time the three of them finished discussing their plans—or debating, because Iago had much to say and Rohan liked none of it—darkness was easing into the sky, and Jafar deemed it safest to spend the night in the storeroom. The desert cold was working its way through the many crevices and gaps in the stonework, but it would have to do.
“But it’s so dusty,” Iago whined.
“Sleep in midair, then,” Rohan said.
“The more I get to know you, the more certain I am that you have no brain,” Iago retorted.
“Enough, both of you,” Jafar cut in. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be lying on a musty blanket in this dusty old storeroom, either.
He sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to track down the scarab halves or the genie. He didn’t want to bring his parents back—Baba was better dead, and Mama…well, Mama had been gone far too long. Jafar didn’t think she’d like the man he’d become.
She hadn’t been here to stop it.
Besides, Jafar didn’t know if a genie could bring someone back to life. Surely even wishes came with limits. They were already limited numerically. Jafar exhaled long and slow. None of that mattered. He didn’t care for the lamp. What mattered was that Rohan did—deeply.
And that is where the problem lies, no?
Jafar turned on his side, his back to the wall. Across the room, in another corner by a row of rickety shelves, Rohan lay facing the other wall, still and unmoving. He wasn’t crying, as Jafar had expected, though Iago’s presence might have had something to do with it. He bit back a sigh.
At first, Jafar hadn’t known why he’d lied to Rohan about the lamp.
Jafar had been only two when his brother was born, and Rohan was so tightly woven into the fabric of his being that there were times when Jafar felt he would cease to exist without him. With Mama dead, Rohan became Jafar’s tail, his twin. When Jafar ate, Rohan ate. When Jafar slept, Rohan slept. When Jafar went outside to play with the other boys, Rohan came with him. When Baba beat Jafar, Rohan winced as though he shared the pain.
The only time they were apart was when Jafar was locked away. Though Rohan would visit him from the other side of the door, he couldn’t see how Jafar coped. Jafar bottled up his hurt, letting it ferment into something darker, biting his tongue as he was beaten again, and again, and again.
As much as Rohan liked to believe he’d built a better relationship with Baba than Jafar did, it was really only because Jafar’s relationship with Baba had been so sour and strained. Men like Baba needed someone to villainize, if only to convince themselves that they had good hearts. It was as if Baba had a bottle of anger that needed depleting every day, and if he hadn’t hated Jafar as much as he did, half of that would have sloshed over to Rohan instead.
So hearing those words from Iago when he’d spoken ominously from the other side of the door, your brother swayed him over , hurt far more than Jafar had originally realized. Did that mean Rohan agreed with Baba’s assessment of Jafar, or was there another reason? Jafar didn’t trust Iago any more than he trusted the rain, but something nagged in the back of his skull, giving him pause, and so he had lied. It was the safest route at the moment.
If all went well, he’d never have to tell Rohan the truth: he wanted that pair of enchanted rubies his mother had spoken of, more realistic than a golden scarab and more attainable than a genie. More capable of getting them what they needed, even if that meant leaving their parents in their graves.
After Mama had ensnared him with the story all those years ago, Jafar had tried to learn all that he could about the rubies—especially the actual history surrounding them. Truth and facts. According to one of the tattered books he’d found in Mama’s room, the earliest known account of the rubies was about a distraught sheikh ousted from his rightful throne.
An old woman gifted the man the rubies, and despite his initial hesitance, he eventually came to a point where he had nothing left to lose. He used the rubies to influence and control, trapping those around him under his spell. He could persuade someone to bring him food, someone to paint their walls in garish hues—or even in the blood of their enemies. Still, controlling another was not an easy task. There was work involved, unlike rubbing a lamp and prattling off a wish. That alone had caught Jafar’s interest. Knowing the rubies required work was yet another reason why Jafar trusted the rubies more than he trusted in a genie.
But as with all things, the rubies had their limits, too, and it was almost a game of cunning and strategy, for the sheikh had to carefully select whom he persuaded in order to make his way back to the top.
The top, in this case, was the kingdom of Maghriz that everyone salivated over today. What Jafar had always loved most about the story was that the sheikh ended up claiming a throne that wasn’t even his own.
And he did it all himself.
If Jafar had those rubies in hand, he would be just as strategic, just as cunning, and everything else would fall into place: appreciation for who he was and his capabilities. And then, to placate Rohan, perhaps he’d utilize the rubies to find the scarab and genie, too.
Regardless, he was free now, and when he finally drifted off to sleep, he did so with a smile on his face.
As the early morning sun brightened the dusty skies, Jafar and Rohan crouched behind a ledge overlooking the lower village. Half of Ghurub sat on a low hill, the rest just beneath it. From here, he could see the last of the smoke rising from the remains of their house. Behind them, the caliph of Ghurub’s mansion stood even more magnificent because of the rise it had been built upon.
“He could be ratting us out in there,” Rohan said, glancing back at the mansion.
The he in question was Iago, and though Jafar wouldn’t admit it, he’d considered it, too.
Fortunately, Iago saved him from having to respond by swooping toward them with a swoosh. He flew like a drunk man walked, and nearly rammed into a date palm on his way. Jafar sighed. Of all the allies he could have had.
Then again, Iago’s ability to fly was starting to prove useful already. Jafar needed a way to keep the caliph distracted for a while, and Iago was making that job easier by scoping out the place for them.
“Well?” Jafar asked, watching a maid enter the mansion through the back doors.
“The caliph is still asleep,” Iago said.
Thanks to Baba’s business, they’d visited the caliph’s mansion several times over the past few years. They knew the layout, the staff, his pet—and most importantly, the caliph’s plans to join a fully packed caravan leaving later that day. Jafar and Rohan needed his and his servant’s seats, and Jafar had devised the perfect way to finagle it.
“And his beloved tiger?” Jafar asked.
“Locked in his cage. He hasn’t been fed yet, it looks like,” Iago replied. “I saw them cutting up chunks of meat.”
Jafar tossed the last of the almond-stuffed dates he’d found in the storeroom into his mouth. “Perfect.”
“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Rohan asked, biting into a slice of oversweet halvah that didn’t qualify as breakfast. “There has to be a better way to go about this.”
“Oh, live a little,” Iago snapped.
Jafar held back a laugh. He rarely spoke his mind to Rohan—his first instinct, typically, was to placate his brother, not tell him exactly what he really felt. Iago had no such qualms; Jafar could get used to this. “We need to get to the House of Wisdom for our genie lamp, don’t we?”
Something dark passed over Rohan’s face, too quick for Jafar to decipher. “Yes.”
Jafar waited a beat for Rohan’s thoughts to catch up to him.
“It’s just that…” Rohan went on, “you know how we had so few chances to do the right thing, because Baba always decided otherwise? He’s gone now. We could start fresh. Do the right and honest thing from here on out.”
“I think he might have inhaled too much of that smoke,” Iago said in the silence. “How do you expect to do that? By begging?”
Iago was right. There wasn’t another way to get on that caravan, or to get to Maghriz short of traversing the sands on their own, but Rohan’s words transported Jafar back to the bazaar from their childhood, filching food not because he wanted to fill his own belly but because he knew it would bring a smile to Mama’s face. Stealing wasn’t right or honest, but when her eyes would glitter with joy, it felt a little like both.
“We haven’t begun our fresh start yet, have we?” Jafar asked.
Rohan’s brow furrowed. “I…suppose not.”
“Exactly. Now, we can’t do this unless we’re all fully committed, so no more doubt, understand? We know the caliph is leaving today. And aside from loitering near the caravan and abducting someone right then and there to take their place, we don’t have any other way of sneaking aboard. I would say taking the caliph’s place is the more ‘right’ thing to do in this instance, as opposed to taking the seat of someone who might not be traveling for leisure.”
Jafar nodded toward the caliph’s mansion. “Here’s the plan. Iago will go in and unlatch the tiger’s cage—”
“Are you kidding me?” Iago asked. “I unlatch that cage and the monster will eat me. Tigers are faster than parrots.”
“He has a point,” Rohan said.
Jafar sighed. Since when did Rohan care what happened to Iago? “Fine. Iago, you’ll have to knock on the front door and blabber—”
“Imitate.” Iago corrected him.
“What?” Jafar asked. He was growing tired of the interruptions.
“I’ll imitate the caliph,” Iago said. “I can fly out of sight and imitate his voice, and the staff will be as confuddled as you need them to be.”
“I need them distracted,” Jafar replied, “not confuddled.”
“Thank you, Iago,” Iago snarked in an exact imitation of Jafar’s voice.
“If that’s how you plan on imitating the caliph, you’re going to fail,” Jafar lied, quickly schooling his features before Iago could see his surprise. He’d heard Iago’s imitations while the bird was perched by Baba’s desk, but he’d never heard it done this well. “No imitating.”
Iago threw up his wings with a snarl.
“While Iago does as I’ve told him to ,” Jafar continued, “I’ll slip in through the side door and let the tiger out.”
“He’s hungry,” Rohan pointed out. “What if he attacks you?”
“It’s a latch. I just need to hook a string in and pull at it from a distance.”
Jafar climbed over the ledge before either of them could question him and gestured for the parrot to follow. “Rohan, stay put. Iago, let’s go.”
“No,” Rohan said, and both Iago and Jafar turned to look at him.
“No?” Jafar asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’m coming with you,” Rohan said.
Jafar hesitated before nodding. This was what he had wanted, no? For Rohan to come out of his shell. For him to soldier on and stand on his own. But Rohan’s desire to be less coddled always appeared with force and confidence, as if it was always there, as if he used his courage as a weapon whenever he saw fit.
The caliph’s house was wide and welcoming, creamy stone bright against the golden dunes. Pops of color painted each of the windows where the curtains swayed in merriment.
“Poor caliph,” Rohan said as they neared the house.
“Poor tiger,” Iago said.
“It’s the caliph’s own fault for having a beast as a pet,” Jafar said. “Tigers belong outside in the wild, not cooped up like a house cat—or parrot. If I were an animal, I’d be a serpent. No point being a feral cat like that if someone can put me on a leash. Plus, I’d be fast and small and deadly.”
“I’d want to be nimble, too. Maybe not deadly, though,” Rohan said.
Jafar cast him a glance. Once, he might have pegged Rohan for a harmless, guileless animal, but now Jafar wondered if Rohan was more cunning than not. “A rat, then.”
Rohan pulled a face, not realizing Jafar was being partially serious. “I like my baths, thank you.”
Jafar laughed as they reached the little grove of date palms near the caliph’s house. He stepped into the shade, toying with the spool of yarn in his pocket that he’d foraged from Baba’s storeroom.
“This is where we part ways,” he told Iago. “Count to twenty and knock on the door.” Then he glanced at Rohan and pursed his lips. He couldn’t stop being an older brother, being a protector. “And you, stay here so you can keep an eye on us both.”
Jafar saw Iago readying to poke fun at Rohan, and Jafar was prepared to feed him to the tiger.
Iago must have seen the look on Jafar’s face, because all he said was “How will I know when to leave?”
“You’ll know,” Jafar said, and before Rohan could protest, he disappeared into the trees.