Chapter 11 #3
For a short while, she had simply sat in sullen silence as Naima and Aicha had done most of the talking.
Lala Ilham had occasionally interjected as the girls had spoken.
Soon, though, Naima had brought up a small bowl of olive oil and zaatar, and the fresh bread had practically thrown any and all reservations Samira had over the balcony ledge.
Who could deny fresh khobz dipped in savoury sauce?
Especially when they had begun fasting to preserve rations.
“That’s haram!” Aicha shot out between mouthfuls.
“So is stealing, but you have no issue with taking my daggers without permission.”
As promised, the occupants of Ilham’s party in her courtyard had slowly begun to leave, though the noise and music continued. Aicha wondered if the young children Ilham homed, and trained, got any sleep during nights like this. Perhaps they were used to it.
“Actually, that was something we wished to discuss with you both,” Ilham said softly, as Naima lifted the golden munjid and poured water onto her hands, rinsing off the remnants of oil and spices from her fingers into the washpot on the table.
“I had initially planned to visit you in the morning, when you were both freshly rested.”
Samira straightened, all previous comfort evaporating. Her suspicion was instantaneous, and Aicha wondered if that being her default was what had kept her sister alive all these years.
When she turned to Naima, she noted that her friend wasn’t looking directly at her or Samira, as if she were afraid to look Aicha in the eye. Instead, she busied herself with helping them all wash their hands, and Aicha’s eyes narrowed. Naima had never cowered from her before.
“What is it?” Aicha asked, her tone did not belie caution.
“I know you both to be the best smugglers in the citadel, perhaps even along the entire coast of Maghreb,” Lala Ilham began.
“Samira is the best smuggler,” Aicha corrected, though Ilham didn’t acknowledge it.
“I have only ever wanted what was best and safest for my girls. Regardless of the outcome of this siege, this place will no longer be safe for them.”
“Get to your point, Ilham,” Samira said, though not unkindly.
“I want you to smuggle us out of the citadel. Before the siege.”
Samira’s brows had risen to her hairline by the time Ilham stopped speaking, and the silence permeated the air as the older woman allowed said silence to linger.
Aicha noted the annoyance that had settled into the centre of Samira’s shoulder blades, and the iron grip around her forearms as they remained folded.
The silence lasted for barely a minute before Aicha began laughing. “You’re jesting.”
“I would never jest about something like this,” Ilham pressed, and Aicha could swear that she looked almost apologetic.
“We know this is a heavy request…” Naima began, her voice gentle, as was her disposition, but evidently even Samira felt no desire to soften towards it.
“A heavy request? Duarte has beaten Baba to within an inch of his life! He wants my family hanged, and you want us to smuggle you and your girls out of the citadel!”
“Your timing is exceptionally ridiculous,” Aicha chided, though her voice wasn’t filled with the irritation and frustration that Samira’s contained.
Instead, she was bemused; their wanting to escape wasn’t a surprise to her, but the fact that Ilham had lingered in the citadel until this hour was what drove her to confusion.
As well as the fact that Naima hadn’t come to her specifically, and much sooner.
Though she supposed, considering the anxious and earnest stature of her longest friend, that this was just as sudden to her as it was to the sisters.
Naima’s hands had been wringing together continuously since placing the washbowl away, and her eyes only occasionally focused on Aicha’s, indicating her slight shame in the abruptness of their request.
“The payment will be significant,” Ilham said, her voice not wavering in confidence since Samira’s outburst.
“The payment is not the problem here.” Aicha pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, pushing down on the irritation that had begun to simmer.
“You have at least twenty young women and girls under your tutelage, twenty-two when counting the both of you. Smuggling out all of you, when we are on the brink of battle, is an impossible task.”
“It is because of those young girls that I wish to escape.”
Ilham’s words had the intended effect. Aicha’s body eased, and something inside her fractured at the prospect of those little girls getting hurt. There was a moment shared between the two, a flicker of something beyond just comfort in Ilham’s eyes.
“We want to get out before sunrise, beyond the docks. A boat will be waiting for us, we’ve made an agreement for safe passage on a ship.”
Duarte controlled the docks, his people evacuated in droves every day, with civilians loading to return to their homeland.
It made sense, to Aicha, why she would organise to board a ship further out.
Except that only made the task even harder.
She doubted any of Ilham’s girls could swim, or if so with a tenuous ability.
Samira turned to glare at her, as if sensing that her resolve was shifting.
Aicha decided against meeting her eyes, and instead remained focused on Ilham, hoping she would somehow voice a solution that would not be as dangerous as the one they currently faced.
It was Naima who disturbed Aicha’s thoughts.
She stepped into her line of sight, eyes pleading as she reached forward to grasp her friend’s hand in both of her own.
“Please, Aicha. We need to escape.”
“No, you will not evoke guilt in my sister and risk her life,” snapped Samira, separating their hands, and standing, moving in front of Aicha. Her posture was protective, aggressive in a way that only years of defending your younger sibling could cause.
“We are all resting on a knife’s edge, but the siege is what is most important. We are days away from the Sultan reclaiming the citadel—getting caught smuggling shawafas out will only get us killed.”
Aicha stood, and above Samira’s head she could make out the flash of defiance in Ilham’s eyes.
The green of them darkened, revealing the shadows she was usually so careful to conceal.
A coldness trickled down Aicha’s spine, the dark forces that Ilham convened with were in the room right in that moment, imposing on them in a way that Ilham would not, to gain the outcome she wished for.
When she spoke, her voice was hard, steeled with a resolve that no longer attempted to appeal to sympathies.
It was rough in the way that her baba had used in interrogations.
“Duarte is aware of Naima’s friendship with your sister. Have you realised this? If we stay, my girls and myself are dead—”
“That is not true!” Samira shot back.
“Yes it is. If Duarte is successful, he will execute us for the mere possibility that we were supporters of your family. If the Sultan succeeds, you know what will be done to women like us. My youth was filled with fear and fleeing, and I built the Gardens myself, ensuring there was a safe haven for others gifted in the way I am. I will not resign my girls to death. They deserve a life free of fear just like anyone else.”
Aicha watched Samira bristle, fists clenching at her sides. She understood her sister well enough to know that she was preparing her riposte carefully, trying to work out how to make her refusal to help appear as anything but callous. But Ilham was right. They would be killed either way.
For Aicha and her family, there was at least one outcome that would not just ensure survival, but a prosperous life—and that was what soothed her when she felt lost. When hope seemed to vanish and the hangings in the square felt endless, the invasive thought that she would be next if they didn’t take action whispered in her ear.
The belief that they were running towards something better, safer, always rekindled the fire within her chest. She couldn’t take that away from Naima.
“All right. I will help you escape the citadel.”
Samira whirled around, eyes wide and blazing with the same rage that Aicha had inherited from their mother. Strands of hair fell into her eyes. “Aicha!”
Her outburst implied a feeling of betrayal, and Aicha could understand why, but she was certain that Samira would eventually come to understand.
She looked at her sister for a few moments, begging her to see reason, but Samira only looked away from her and shook her head.
Aicha turned back to the two women before her, moving around her sister to walk towards them.
“But you must do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you. There can be no questioning or room for debate.”
Ilham nodded. “You have my word.”
“Give me the day to plan a route, and speak to our spotters.” She would need to return home and look over all the maps of the citadel. Ones that marked the walls, and the surrounding shorelines.
“I’ll need to know which guards have been assigned routes. I also require a list of the King’s men that frequent the Gardens.”
“Anything you need, we can provide,” Naima said eagerly, moving towards her friend.
Aicha nodded. “Where will the ship be anchored?”
“To the south, by those old coves,” Ilham responded.
The coves were rough and jagged, they overflowed with water when the tide came in. But Aicha was familiar with them; they were far enough to not be spotted when her father took them out to train, and close enough that by foot it would not take long.
“The tides may work in our favour, but you will have to do exactly as I say or you will drown.”