Chapter 8
God’s will was not moving swiftly.
My business matters wrapped up within the week.
While my duty to the peris was paramount, I did still need to make some money to maintain the Marawati, and I didn’t wish to carry any extra goods—especially those belonging to the few merchants who still trusted me—upon our mystery venture in the great blue deep.
But after all our commodities were exchanged, much-needed coin crossing palms, there was little to do but wait and fret, each day Dalila failed to show weighing our hearts with additional worry.
Majed and Tinbu kept themselves busy, Majed scouring the booksellers’ street for nautical tomes and maps, still determined to wrestle our magical maritime itinerary into a journey that made sense, and Tinbu fixing various broken gutters and splintering bookshelves around the al-Hillis’ home.
On our third day, he and Marjana stumbled across a motherless, malnourished puppy (if there is an animal in need, it will find Tinbu—it is uncanny).
My daughter took it upon herself to nurse the creature back to health, which apparently meant never leaving its side and spending all her time preparing gruel and making new and ever softer beds.
Which was a blessing—for it allowed me the freedom to prepare for our quest in my own way.
Thwack.
The bladed disk struck the ruined trunk of a half-dead tree located in the overgrown scrub behind the al-Hilli compound.
The benefit of their family’s centuries-long residence was evident in the enviable real estate.
The compound was located directly on the river, a location that aided the extensive network of couriers the al-Hillis relied upon to receive new books and artifacts, as well as to transport the various protection spells and devices they were commissioned to manufacture.
Their clients were among the most powerful and oldest families in the region: those who had depended on his relatives since the birth of Baghdad.
As Jamal told me: when people like the emir of Aleppo wanted to know which month had the most auspicious portents with which to attack the Franks, they relied upon the al-Hillis.
And though they were discreet and humble, it was clear theirs was not only a proud family tradition, but a lucrative one—a fact that brought me a good deal of relief.
I had not sent Jamal into the wilds to waste away; he was making a stable life for himself.
However, there were no couriers here now and the overgrown grounds provided an excellent place to practice—even if I had no sparring partner.
In truth, I had been bereft of sparring partners the moment I left the peris’ island; there was simply no one who could match my strength and speed, no one human anyway.
In recent months, I had been getting more accustomed to my new body—I was breaking fewer blades, at least—but I would need months more of daily training to smooth out the inconsistencies between my enhanced capabilities and my fighting instincts.
That morning, however, it all seemed to be flowing, the unnatural speed with which I moved graceful and organic, like a released bow.
I pulled the bladed disk free from the trunk.
It had struck exactly where I had intended; it always did now, a tendency that never ceased to unnerve me.
Granted, in my line of work, I did not entirely object to being a supernaturally blessed warrior (my God, I could have hired myself out as a bodyguard to some sultana and lived comfortably).
But I’d always been a trickster before a fighter, a smuggler before an outright bandit.
It was in my nature to deceive with a smile and flee before a mark realized the truth about me.
Now, however? I felt more like a weapon, a warrior in the mold of Antarah and Bhima. A legend. With a hefty slab of iron scrap, I moved through various fighting stances, adjusting to the weight as though it were a club, a sword, a spear. I whirled, I thrust; I ducked and I leapt.
And when the soft crack of a twig gave away that I was not alone, my blood was so hot that I spun without thinking, brandishing the iron plank like a hammer.
Marjana and her little dog stood before me.
I dropped the slab as though it had scalded me, breathing fast. “Jana! I was not expecting you.”
Her eyes were wide with surprise, but she seemed more awed than afraid. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to surprise you. I just . . .” Her gaze swept my arms, glistening with exertion in the humid air. “I’ve never seen you move like that. I didn’t know anyone could move like that.”
I wiped my brow, kicking the iron slab into a bush before she could investigate its weight. “All a result of practice,” I lied. “Devote yourself to any task for long enough and you shall excel, God willing. Your letters, your loom, a trade.”
If Marjana had already looked doubtful, this explanation didn’t help. “But why?”
“Why what?”
“Why this?” she asked, gesturing to the bladed disk sheathed at my waist and nodding to the maimed tree.
“Why do you need to practice fighting so often? I rarely saw the other sailors on the Marawati doing so. A few would occasionally spar, but not most.” Her expression grew more pointed. “So why do you?”
Unable to read the intent behind her question, I paused. Was it the innocent curiosity of a child or the adolescent piecing together the parts of her mother she had never before interrogated?
“It keeps my body strong,” I said smoothly, hearing the confidence—the do not question me tone in my voice. “And it gives me peace of mind to know that I can defend my family and crew if need be.”
The do not question me tone did not work.
“And have you?” she demanded. This was the Marjana who accused me of running off, not the babe who cuddled in my arms. “Needed to defend us?”
This time I didn’t lie. “Yes.”
Marjana seemed to consider that, breaking away from my stare to scratch the puppy’s ears.
But any hope that she’d dropped the subject was brief.
“You have a lot of weapons, Mama. I used to go look at your old things in the storage room when I was younger. Grandma caught me playing with one of the daggers once and threatened to beat me if I ever touched them again.”
I was taken aback. “She never told me.”
“She said it would be better for you if we didn’t talk about the past. So I didn’t.”
If that didn’t summarize the attitude in my family home, I didn’t know what did.
I hesitated, struck by the image of a younger Marjana picking up the leopard-headed dagger that had belonged to her grandfather and great-grandfather.
Her mother. One that had tasted more blood than anyone in our home could imagine.
And as though Marjana could read my very thoughts, she suddenly asked, “Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Ah, I thought I heard chatting!” The very welcome voice of Jamal al-Hilli carried from the path leading back to the house and I held my tongue—and that terrible answer—for the few tense moments it took for the scholar to join us.
He was carrying a saddlebag stuffed with scrolls and well-wrapped parcels, and I had rarely seen a more wonderful sight in my life as he surveyed the riverbank.
“I do not suppose my messenger has arrived?”
I resisted the urge to kiss him. “I’ve not seen any boats.”
“Well, it is a pleasant enough day to wait.” He tilted his face to the sun, blissfully unaware of the brewing mother-daughter confrontation, then glanced down at Marjana with a smile. “How is Kabikaj?”
My daughter’s questioning stare lingered on me another moment, but then she seemed content to abandon her interrogation, preferring the subject of her dog. “Good!” She knelt to cuddle the little creature, burying her face in the top of his soft ears as the puppy eagerly licked her hands.
“I spotted Tinbu setting aside some scraps when I left,” Jamal continued. A hint of exasperation crossed his face. “Along with half my breakfast.”
The dog let out a tiny whine and Marjana straightened up with a warrior’s focus. “I should feed him. Mama, do you mind . . .”
“Not at all!” I said with an overly bright smile. “You can even give him my portion. And I’ve dried lamb in my bag. He might like it.” It would also take Marjana additional time to go through our supplies, time in which she would hopefully forget her inquiries into my murderous past.
“Oh, he would love that!” Marjana cradled the dog to her chest as though it were an invalid. “Come on, Kabikaj!”
They set off for the house and I exhaled in relief. “Praise God.”
Jamal gave me an inquisitive look. “Are you all right, nakhudha? You appear stressed.”
“I have not been right for eleven years, little scribe. It is the very state of parenthood.” With another sigh, I sat down in the shade and leaned against the tree trunk I’d eviscerated. “And on that, I must beg a favor from you.”
Jamal squatted beside me. “Anything. I owe you my life.”
“You owe me nothing,” I assured. “Though I’m still going to ask that favor.”
“Name it.”
I glanced back, making sure my daughter had gone.
“I dare not take Marjana further south and yet do not have the time to return her home. Can I leave her in Baghdad under your care? I will return for her afterwards. And if I don’t return, I will leave a letter for my mother and enough money that either you can take Marjana back or my family can retrieve her. ”
Jamal made a warding motion with his hands. “Do not speak like that. You will return, God willing. But yes, of course, I will watch over her. Though I will admit . . .” He blushed. “I was hoping you would take me with you.”
His interest didn’t surprise me—in fact, I was awaiting it. But I shook my head. “Not this time, my friend. I don’t think retrieving any of the Transgressions will be easy or safe, but there is something about this spindle that has me even more unsettled.”