Chapter Text
Walking through the dust with the desert caravan a day after he’d left Qishan, Alibaba seriously wondered if he’d made a mistake.
We were swept to another world. If Aladdin got back - I hope he got back! - Morgiana landed outside the city. Aladdin could be anywhere.
He couldn’t wait around for the rest of his life in Qishan. He’d told Aladdin he had something he needed to do in Balbadd. If the young magi had ended up anywhere on earth, that was where he’d look.
A magi. Someone who chooses kings for the Djinn. If that’s true - he might not look for me at all.
No. That was three years of scraping by as a desert rat talking. Aladdin had promised to see the world with him. And his smile had been so bright.
I want to see him again.
And it had nothing to do with a magi’s power. Though that had been incredible, heart-stopping as a storm rolling off the sea, and he wouldn’t mind seeing Aladdin using it again, because the boy had looked so right wrapped in fluttering light.
No. Because Aladdin had believed in him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that.
And he really couldn’t have stayed in Qishan. The slaves he’d freed - some of them had plans to make their own lives, they’d be okay. But a scary number of them thought they wanted to stick with “Lord Alibaba”, and the last thing he needed was to be put in charge of anything. Nope. Time to get while the getting was good. And Master Budel had recommended Parfaz, the leader of this caravan, so he stood half a chance of getting through this trip with his fortune and life intact.
I wish Morgiana had come with me.
Sure, she was still scary, but she was strong. And - they weren’t exactly friends, but they’d survived Amon together. He trusted her.
But Morgiana was bent on going back to the Dark Continent; back to her homeland, Katarg. It’d been Goltas’ dying wish. Alibaba knew all about those. He’d run from one for three years.
I’ll pay back the treasury. Everything Cassim stole. And then - I’ll still have capital left. I can catch a ship to Sindria right in the harbor. Aladdin knows that’s where I’m going to go after Balbadd.
But Balbadd first. Even if it was a longer walk than getting to the coast and taking a ship to Sindria. So he could finally stop dreaming of fire.
Walking. Heh. Aladdin wasn’t even here, and he was still changing Alibaba’s life. He could have joined this caravan as a driver, instead of a traveler. But... he didn’t want to be the person he’d been before Aladdin had smiled at him. Never again.
Besides. Walking’s good for you. And it’s not that hot.
Noon hammered the moving caravan dry as old bones. Oh, they had plenty of water for camels and people, enough that a mouthful when anyone got parched was no big deal. The next oasis was less than a week away. Yet the sun seemed to pound any desire to talk out of the rest of Alibaba’s fellow travelers, making the toughest driver shade his face with a wrapped veil.
I don’t get it, Alibaba thought, helping one of the most cantankerous old ladies in the caravan up into a wagon’s shade whether she liked it or not. It’s not that hot.
Then again, he’d been up against fires hotter than even the desert sun. Maybe he’d feel hot again in a few days, as Amon receded into an awesome, terrifying memory.
Until then, he’d take advantage of it, and just keep walking.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” one of the drivers muttered.
His burlier partner clapped him on the back. “Oh, a sign, sure. A sign the dung you gathered for the fire wasn’t dry yet, that’s all.”
“How can it not be dry in this heat?”
Listening to the bickering, Alibaba edged a bit back from the night fire, and watched flickering flames crackle back to full strength.
Coincidence. A really weird coincidence, but - it just has to be.
All the same, he took his share of the thick stew and retreated from the main fire as fast as decently possible. Because while he might know the way fires and lamps had flickered near him the past three nights was a purely natural coincidence and nothing to do with bad luck, evil omens, or annoyed desert spirits, a lot of his fellow travelers didn’t have so much faith in the universe. He was already collecting odd looks for his lack of sunburn.
Which didn’t make any sense. Even if he hadn’t felt hot he’d still wrapped around a veil to keep out travel dust. Why should he have burned any more than the rest of them?
Darn blond hair. Are all people from Reim supposed to burn?
He couldn’t even say he wasn’t from Reim. His mother had been a palace maid in Balbadd before she’d been a prostitute - but that still meant her family could have come from anywhere. Balbadd thrived on trade, trade meant people moving, and he’d be more surprised if some of his ancestors weren’t from Reim.
On either side. Abhmad and Sabhmad might not want to hear it, but if his history tutors had been telling the truth, Balbadd’s royalty had a hushed-up habit of straying after people not their lawfully wedded wives or husbands, and then adopting the results. Or at least seeing they got some kind of education. Go back enough generations, and most of the palace servants-
Don’t think about it.
Alibaba faded back into the shadows behind a wagon on the edge of camp, leaning against a handy rock with a sigh of relief. He’d grabbed his portion of stew fast, meaning he hadn’t gotten more than half a bowl, but he had a few apples to go with it. Besides, he wasn’t all that hungry. He might not feel the heat like the rest of the caravan, but it seemed to suck a lot of the appetite out of him anyway.
It was weird, though. Usually if it was hot enough to kill hunger, it left people tired to the bone. Like the rest of the caravan was tired.
I’m not tired.
Not as tired as he should be. More like he’d just spent the morning walking, instead of all the blazing day and well after sunset.
The stars are beautiful out here.
The Straw Thief’s Way spread a brilliant belt of stars leading south, all the way to Balbadd and beyond. With a map of wells and the stars, he could always find the way home.
Of course, if he mentioned the Straw Thief’s Way to the people he was traveling with, at least half of them would look at him as if he’d lost his mind. To the northern Oasis Cities, that was the Dragon’s Tail, flung into the stars by their ancient hero who’d defeated the Great Dragon.
In Imuchakk, it’s the Birds’ Path, Alibaba thought, sweeping his gaze across that arc of starry blue. Heliohapt, the Pool of Cow’s Milk. Reim, the Rock’s Nursing. In Partevia, the Silver River.
His tutors had made sure he knew them all. Because you couldn’t trade with people if you didn’t know them - and if what you knew still went wrong, a merchant had to be able to get back. For his family, and his people.
I wonder what it is in Sindria?
...I wonder what it is in Katarg. I never got the chance to ask Morgiana.
If I see her again, I will.
Well, that was the stew. And he was still restless, energy prickling through his veins to warm him against the desert night. How was he going to sleep?
Well, I could-
For a moment he froze up in one taut no. Swordplay was part of the life he’d left behind and forgotten. Sure, bandits were bad enough that anyone who carried a blade had better know how to use it, but-
I know Balbadd’s royal sword style. Jamil might not be the only guy out there who can see it.
Meaning if anyone caught him practicing - well, explaining would be tricky.
But I want to find Aladdin.
And if Amon was right, and Aladdin was a Magi who chose kings - what were the odds that he’d be up to his flying carpet in trouble?
Pretty good, Alibaba thought wryly. Stretched, scrubbed out his bowl with a little sand, and went to find one of the night guards. Explaining away sword practice would be tricky. Explaining why he’d sneaked away from a caravan at night? Even odds they’d stab him to death for working with bandits first, and ask questions later.
One cranky guard with a scimitar later, Alibaba was walking out beyond the firelight, behind and between a few of the rubble piles. If he got into trouble out here, he’d have no one to rely on but himself....
I made it past slimes and fire and deathtraps. I think I can handle any bandits long enough to scream.
Far enough away. He breathed out, one long sigh of all the worries and fears of the day.
Clear your mind, young prince, Barkakk’s voice rumbled in memory. And begin....
It wasn’t anything so clear in intent as an incantation. Just a rough brush of a waking mind over rusty self-discipline, fumbling to attune itself to the soul of steel.
Hmm.
Amon rested within his new Vessel, reluctantly satisfied with the magoi he’d gained this day. His King might not have nearly the innate power he would have preferred, but the blazing desert heat made up for it. A little.
Magi, why did you choose this brat?
Though at least the youngster was trying to bring his knife into the flow of his energies. It was a start.
Hmph. Just trying won’t keep him alive against the Abnormalities of the world.
Still. He was young. As Aladdin was young, in body if not in soul. Perhaps the magi had wanted not a King in the full flush of his power, but a boy who could grow with him?
It... could be an advantage, if used properly, Amon thought grudgingly. Aladdin has a magi’s power, but not Solomon’s wisdom to use it. Yet. And Alibaba was wary enough to survive my dungeon. Aladdin could use that caution.
He still would have preferred a proper King. But whoever had closed the Road between the worlds had cast young Aladdin into who knew what danger. And if what Amon read of Alibaba Saluja’s dreams and rukh were accurate, while the soul who now held his contract might be weak in magoi, he cared about Aladdin as fiercely as any mortal friend could.
It will be difficult, reaching through his dreams enough to prod him into searching for our young magi. Amon sighed. And it will take time.
Well. Even the longest journey had to start with the first step. It was time to begin instructing his King.
“Sacred servant of austerity and decorum....”
Alibaba blinked his eyes open, and clamped his lips shut, eyeing the knife he’d raised in one last salute to the foe. The back of his neck was prickling, the night seemed eerily quiet, and for a moment steel hadn’t looked right at all. What the heck was that?
No answer. Thankfully. He really didn’t feel like dealing with another person right now. Not when he’d just remembered an ancient frown, as a long-nailed being out of legends peered down at him.
The Djinn of austerity and decorum. Alibaba frowned, lowering steel. I wonder what that means. Fire, sure, we could see that all over the dungeon. Austerity and decorum? He pictured ant-things, slimes, the pair of them running like scared rabbits from rolling boulders.
...Maybe you could get a pass on austerity, Amon. Decorum, not so much.
Odd. For a moment he thought he’d almost felt something bristle in irritation.
Must be more tired than I thought. I should head back to the caravan-
The light of the stars glimmered oddly on steel.
That can’t be right. Alibaba frowned. I cleaned off my blade, I know I did.
And the touch of his fingers found nothing but clean steel, even if there seemed to be a patterned darkness under the starlight.
I need better light. Alibaba glanced around, just in case the desert night had erupted in enemies while he was distracted. And then I need some sleep.
Sleep... might not be coming so easily, tonight.
This isn’t possible.
The eight-pointed star-in-circle design on his knife was unmistakable in the sputtering torchlight. And oddly unreal. Alibaba could see it, dark as if someone had incised the Seal into the metal itself. Which would have been horrible, you didn’t carve into a blade meant to be used, ever, every bit of engraving weakened the steel-
Yet to his fingers, steel was smooth and unmarked. As if the dark angles and curves were somehow inside the steel, not on it.
It doesn’t have the runes Aladdin’s flute had, Alibaba thought, squinting at the curve of the circle to be sure. But - it’s the same. How? It wasn’t like this before we-
Oh no. Oh, no.
The stories say, people who conquer dungeons find treasure, and Magic Tools... and even sometimes a Djinn’s Metal Vessel.
But he’d seen Amon, tied to... well, it’d kind of looked like an oil-pot, maybe? And he hadn’t touched it. At all.
After all, he might have told Aladdin he had a Sinbad-dream, but there was no way he was anything like Sinbad. He’d come after the dungeon to get the treasure. To pay back Balbadd’s treasury. To prove he wasn’t the desert rat, the unclean worm, everyone in noble’s slippers said he was.
That’s all I wanted. Enough gold to wipe the slate clean... and just the proof I could do it.
Not that he would have minded, oh, an ever-flowing vessel of wine or something. Outfit a tavern, get some busty serving girls and a good cook - it’d be a living right there. A small magic. A useful one. Something that wasn’t-
Well. Scary. Even scarier in the flickering torchlight near the camp boundary....
Amon is a fire Djinn.
It was crazy. Utterly, totally crazy.
Glancing about to make sure no one was watching, Alibaba lifted his knife to the torch.
Dark lines glowed dim gold. There was the oddest, faintest sense of pulling-
Flames blew out, like a gust of storm wind.
“Hey! Who did-?”
Alibaba dove under a wagon full of snoring travelers, heart beating like a rabbit’s. Sheathed his knife with trembling hands, determined not to shiver against a wheel and draw attention.
They were right. All those suspicious glances, all the whispers about unquiet spirits - they were right.
It’s me. It’s what I brought with me.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Tapping impatient fingernails together, Amon waited for his King to fall asleep. And waited. And waited.
What in the worlds is keeping the boy?
A whisper through the rukh surrounding him, and he was finally able to reach outward. Carefully, gently, no matter how much he might want to scowl and throw black visions of corrupted magic at his King to teach him to listen. A Djinn knew the threats that lurked for Kings and Magi far, far better than any untried youth.
“They’ll kill me. They’ll kill me if they figure it out. Tie me up, toss me out into the desert, make sure I don’t even have a flask of water on me....”
Words wreathed in black-fluttering images. Dying fires, pointing fingers; empty, hateful eyes, as hard hands grabbed and pulled, tearing fragile flesh apart.
A nightmare? Why would his King be having a nightmare of ordinary humans turning on one who commanded all the power of a Djinn-
Dying fires.
Curse it. If he was ever to regain his full power, he needed more magoi than he could easily draw from his King. Drinking in magoi from his element was only natural; as Paimon would draw sustenance from the winds, Vinea from the sea, or Baal from striking lightning.
No one sees the wind. Fire... is a bit more visible.
Hmm. There were limits on how much any Djinn could avoid drawing in power, especially so soon after transferring to a new Vessel. Hopefully now that the boy had recognized the problem, Alibaba would be more careful not to draw attention to himself. At least until he’d mastered more of the power at his command.
And he must master it soon. We will find Aladdin.
Will set, Amon prepared to draw on memories of swords and fire.
Worst. Night. Ever, Alibaba thought blearily, rousing with the rest of the caravan in the chill dark before dawn. People were shivering now; they’d be baking soon enough. Feels like all the dungeon monsters decided to run through my head.
Which meant it actually wasn’t the worst night ever, because he’d rather face Amon’s dungeon a dozen times than that one horrible evening in Balbadd-
Time to get moving, Alibaba told himself firmly. With the rest of the caravan. Who I’ve got to convince not to kill me. Without letting on that maybe there’s a reason they really should look at me cross-eyed. Which is going to be hard to do if Amon is sucking up the heat before it hits me, people notice a cool breeze in the middle of the desert-
Waaaait a minute.
It was preposterous. It was crazy. It’d make the rest of the caravan think he was crazy.
On the other hand, it was the kind of crazy everybody would be glad to have working for them. Especially the lady’s harassed son and her fuming daughter-in-law, who’d had to put up with being criticized for everything from how she spiced the stew to how she folded a veil.
Picking up his bedroll, Alibaba headed for the most cantankerous old lady in the caravan. “Good morning, Grandmother.”
“Hmph!” A stick jabbed roughly his way. “And what’s good about it?”
“I was listening to your tales of this route yesterday.” Alibaba gave her a respectful bow. “It’s been years since I traveled this way; I’d be honored if you’d tell me more.”
Repacking part of his wagon yet again, the old lady’s son stared. Serving overnight bread and some corned meat to her small brood, his wife blinked, looked at him askance, and shook her head.
Yep. They think I’m crazy.
With his best merchant manners, Alibaba swept her another bow. “A trade, Grandmother? Your tales, for a bit of help on the road?”
“Well!” Gray hair seemed to bristle under her hood, as she straightened an old back. “At least some youngsters know what they don’t know.”
Alibaba held out an arm for her to grab, and grinned.
There was a fluttering bounce to the boy’s rukh this night. As if he’d won a great battle, or outwitted a horde of monsters out to devour camels and caravan alike.
Yet I felt no call. Amon frowned within steel, reaching out to brush the tumbling images of a dreaming mind sorting through the day. What have you been up to?
“The road’s clear, so long as you don’t bring wine this way. Well, except for the bandits. And the tavern-keepers in the next two towns; someone said they were bandits once, and if you see those scars, you can’t think anything else-!”
“The rate on silver? Which coin? Partevia’s silvers are still a bit dull; Reim’s sound, but no more than that. Sindria silver - ah, now that’s always true. So long as you’re sure it’s theirs, and not some of the counterfeits from the coast towns....”
“Balbadd coin? That’s not so easy to find these days. Tch, you’re too young to remember King Rashid, but his sons must have some strange ideas. Must come with trading with that odd Empire out of the East....”
A multitude of voices. Mostly that grouchy Grandmother Simi young Alibaba had dealt with the other day, but there were no few others. The grandmother’s family, three or four of the drivers, even a few of the hired guards.
He was in fear of his life yesterday. Amon scowled. What could have changed?
“Hah!” Simi again, cackling. “You give as good as you get, boy! Arguing with you is like a cool breeze off the sea!”
Amon blinked, and touched that memory again, sinking into it. Sand against shod feet, shifting to red pebbles and back as they walked. A thin veil wrapped over the face to blend in with the rest as the sun beat down. An old hand on a young arm; gripping a bit too hard at times, but cool as if they were already in oasis shade, and eager for a good word-battle with a young man who’d smile and top her “how outrageous!” with yet another tale he’d heard of even more barbarous foreign lands.
Amon groaned. “Lord Ugo, if I didn’t know you were to blame for this, I’d suspect Sheba’s sense of humor.”
With good reason. The boy had ignored every lesson Amon had tried to impart in fire magic and noble bearing, and instead acted as - as a walking snowpack to an overheated old gossip. The indignity. The lack of pride. The embarrassment-
And yet, no nightmares, Amon sourly admitted. The boy must think he’s made himself safe.
The most annoying part of this was, he probably had. A mortal of her advanced years had a hard enough time dealing with heat and cold. The pride of walking on her own two feet would keep her from noticing the desert wasn’t as hot as it should be. The rest of the caravan would steer clear of a grumpy old woman who wanted to talk someone’s ear off, and be thanking Solomon that one fool boy was insane enough to throw himself into the lioness’ jaws. And....
Amon frowned harder, and carefully brushed through rukh still agitated by the day’s talk. There had been something else. Something important, that had nothing to do with magic or fighting at all. Something measured in coin weights. Alloys. Whose currency was trusted, what routes it came by-
Alibaba’s mind spread a map of the world, shimmering with silks and treasure. Yet it wasn’t just the hunger for riches Amon had thought.
King Rashid... my father... is dead, whispered through Alibaba’s dreams. There should be new coins issued, with the seal of the 23rd King of Balbadd.
Why aren’t people seeing new Balbadd coins?
To Amon’s King, it was a warning; dire as the first crumbling sand that unveiled a desert hyacinth.
Amon hmphed. This wasn’t magic, or ruling a country. But if his King thought this was a danger, he would be a foolish Djinn to ignore it.
Why, Amon wondered, is a missing coin so dangerous?
Oasis in one piece, done, Alibaba thought happily, settling his bedroll a bit easier on his shoulders as the caravan trundled past the frowning city guards. Whew.
For a day or so there he hadn’t been sure it would work. Other travelers in the caravan still looked at him askance; though now it was from doubts about his sanity, not about whether or not he’d drawn otherworldly attention. And his nightmares just kept coming, alternating between fighting an endless variety of monsters with fire and steel, and being put on the spot by his old palace tutors to explain every last detail of how trade let Balbadd survive between larger empires, what could go wrong with it, and why little details like new-reign coins mattered.
Of the two, he preferred the monsters. Trying to remember all the ins and outs of exchange rates, detecting false coins, and how prices and lives went crazy when a kingdom made their coins worth less - it was exhausting.
Better remember it all, though. Before I hit whatever’s wrong in Balbadd. Alibaba sighed, and dodged the local urchins’ attempts to toss glittery beaded necklaces over his head with a grin. Eager little brats. He’d have to find something to buy off them later. They could use a good meal, but there was no way his pride as a slum kid would let him fall for that one-
“What do you mean, the next pass is closed?” Parfaz thundered.
Uh-oh.
“Landslide.” Alibaba grimaced, sharing yet another breakfast with Grandmother Simi’s family. Her very much extended family; apparently Grandmother had been called for because one of her daughters in this town was having a difficult confinement, and the family needed both her calm hands and extra help in the dyeworks.
“Could take a month to clear it. Longer, if the local bandits keep harassing folks,” her son Lan agreed. “That’s no problem for us, here’s where we stay. But you....”
“I’m going to Balbadd,” Alibaba nodded. “I guess I’ll have to cut down to the coast.” Which would cost him time going overland, but he’d cut total time by a week or more on shipboard. If all went well, it’d take a few days less to get there.
“Expensive trip,” Grandmother Simi hmphed.
“Not as expensive as staying in town a month with caravans stacking up and everyone scrambling for paid work,” Alibaba reflected. “Can’t anyone get a messenger pigeon through?”
Lan swallowed sour wine. “The local bandit chief flies eagles.”
Ouch. That settled that.
Only not quite. “You know,” Alibaba reflected, “it’s not your problem yet. But it will be. You need to trade north and south of here for your cloth to get the best price. If it can only move one way - cuts your market in half. Other merchants will catch on pretty quick, drop their offers, unless....”
Erk. By some trick of timing his words had fallen into a lull of silence, and now what felt like a couple dozen skeptical eyes were staring at him.
“Thank you for the meal,” Alibaba said awkwardly, rising to bow. “I think I need some morning air to clear my head.”
“Odd young man,” Lan’s wife muttered, as he made his escape up the ladder to the roof.
“Oh, he’s not all bad,” Grandmother Simi grumbled. “He’s right, you know. We will have a problem. So put your heads together and do something about it!”
The heat of the day wasn’t yet radiating off the rooftop, but already the laundry hung up on racks was beginning to steam. Alibaba took a breath of the moister air, and wondered if the heat would finally start getting to him in town.
What if it doesn’t?
Well, he’d worked out how close he could get to flames without a flicker. He’d just have to be careful.
I’m going to have to be more than careful. Alibaba leaned on the dusty brick wall around the roof, looking over the city. If I’m going to go on board a ship, I’ll have to get most of the gold out of my clothes and hidden in something else. There’s no way I’m going down with it if the ship wrecks. I’m going to be in enough trouble just as a lone passenger with no... cargo....
Well, why not have a cargo? Grandmother Simi’s dyeworks couldn’t be the only shop who needed trade to get moving; south if they could, but if they could even get it to the coast they’d pick up more profit. He had cash and more to spare; he’d been careful to exchange some treasure for a fair amount of silver for traveling, and one or two worn gold coins in the right place wouldn’t draw too many eyes. He’d always dreamed of being a merchant. Why not start here, instead of Sindria, where he could afford to make a few mistakes?
Pick out enough for, oh, one camel-load or so. Things that - well, maybe they’re not expensive, they’re just different. Show up with those at the docks, I look like an overeager young merchant trying my luck in Balbadd, instead of a suspicious kid who shouldn’t be able to afford a ship at all.
That... might just work. Maybe.
So what can I find here that might be worth trying to trade?
Looking out over alleys of goldsmiths and dyers and who knew what, Alibaba blew out a laughing breath, and rubbed his hands together.
This was going to be fun.
The picture jasper isn’t light, but I haven’t seen that intense a blue next to reds anywhere else, Alibaba thought, walking through some of the narrower alleys near the marketplace. Could be worth bringing a box-load just to see how the jewelers react. The shisha cloth with those little mirrors... again, not that light. And not cheap. But it’s different. Worth a shot. So. He scratched the back of his head, wondering when the little scuffling noises along the roofs and behind piles of rubble would make their move. Need at least one more item to make a good show. And I think I’ve just about got a line on where to get it.
Yep, there was a little scritch of movement, a shadow just about to-
“Hi there,” Alibaba smiled.
The little urchin holding the knife looked totally nonplussed.
“You’re holding that wrong, you know,” Alibaba went on. “The way you’re gripping it, if you try to cut me, you’ll cut up your fingers, too. And that makes robbing people a lot harder. If you live through the fever from getting all this dirt in your fingers.” He nodded toward the nearest roof. “And what’s going to happen to the little ones following you if you’re out of your head with a fever for days, huh? Won’t be good, especially with that crowd of toughs two streets south just itching to take more turf.” He shrugged. “Why start up a mess like that, when we could make a deal instead?”
That had an interested rustling around him. But the dark-eyed leader wasn’t convinced. “Nobody makes a deal with us.”
“That’ll make things tricky, for you and your gang,” Alibaba said plainly. “Did you hear about the pass being closed? Maybe it’ll be clear in a month. Maybe it won’t. Until it is, a lot of caravan guards are going to be stacking up here. I’m a driver; I know those guys. On the road they’re sober, they’re mostly okay. In town they get drunk. And when they get drunk, they get mean. And there’ll be a lot of them.” He gave the kid - maybe ten, maybe just a hungry twelve - an obvious measuring look. “Life around here is going to get a lot harder. But if you had a deal with people who wanted to trade with you....”
Louder whispers. Just a trace of uncertainty in the leader’s eyes. “Trade? We’re not merchants. We don’t have anything to trade.”
“You do right now,” Alibaba shrugged. “I’ve got a business proposal. You back down, I back down. You tell me where there’s a place to eat that doesn’t try to poison travelers, and maybe answer a few questions, and all of us get a bite to eat.”
Oh yeah. He definitely had the attention of all the others. He could catch glimpses of them peeking out of the shadows.
The knife lowered, just a little. “There might be a lot of us.”
“Even better.” Alibaba grinned. “I might have a lot of questions.”
I think they’re going to think I’m nuts. Alibaba watched the knife lower, and let himself breathe again. Guess I’m going to have to get used to that.
The kebabs turned out to be pretty good, though.
Might check into what spices they use. Wouldn’t mind cooking with a few on the road, Alibaba thought, gnawing on the last bits of his own as he watched yet another wary-eyed waif slip out of the alleys for a bite. The stall owner was watching them, and frowning a little, but he hadn’t done anything. Which implied that Boutros’ gang knew better than to harass someone willing to sell them decent food rather than half-rotted meat. They might pinch a stick when the guy’s back was turned, but nothing worse.
Boutros was turning his own cleaned stick in his hands, as if he wanted to stab somebody but couldn’t figure out who. “Why.”
“When I was your age, I was hungry too,” Alibaba said bluntly. “I got lucky, I worked hard, I got a job I turned out to be good at. Now I’ve got a little money to try trading on my own. And your gang has something I think there might be a market for. Might,” he stressed. “I’d be taking a risk on this. But if it worked out, and it starts trading on the coast - you’ve got something a lot less risky than robbing.”
Dark eyes squinted at him, old and skeptical beyond their years. “Don’t tell me you think you’ll sell flower garlands.”
“Do I look like I was born yesterday? They’d wither before I ever got on the road,” Alibaba hmphed. “I’m talking about the beads in with the flowers. The shiny blue ones.”
Boutros drew back a little, like he was finally taking the mad blond stranger seriously. “Ayse.”
One of the older girls ghosted near, stick already licked clean. Reached under her cloak, and pulled out a garland that must have been left from yesterday, given how it was wilted.
Alibaba accepted it, pushing aside limp white petals to reveal that glimmering flash of blue-green. Around the size of a noble’s fingernail, tapering from thick base to rounded-thin in just about that shape. He’d seen beetle wings a little like this before, even seen them pierced and used as beads. But these were as brilliant as a peacock’s shimmering tail, and someone had taken the extra step of carefully gluing them onto shaped wood.
“You should call them Desert Tears, or something,” Alibaba reflected. “Make them romantic. Half the work of trade is telling a good story.” He glanced at Boutros. “I think I could sell these. They’re light, they’re different, and people down by the coast will want to put them next to a lot more things than flowers. So... who makes these, and how do we make sure your gang gets a cut?”
Long, long day.
A full new pack over his shoulders, Alibaba kept his head up as he retraced his steps back to the dyeworks. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but there were more problems than Boutros’ gang on the streets. The best way not to get attacked was to look like you weren’t prey-
Wow. That is... a lot of people around the gate.
A relatively friendly crowd, at least; some he knew from the caravan, some he didn’t. “Master Parfaz,” Alibaba asked politely, once he got close enough. “What’s going on?”
The caravan master looked him up and down, and shook his head. “The Simi dyeworks made me an offer,” he said dryly. “They weren’t the only ones. Seems some people would rather take the chance of sending goods to the harbor than wait for the pass to be cleared.”
“That’s... good?” Alibaba said, surprised. I guess Grandmother Simi decided it was a good idea after all.
“The beasts need a day to rest,” Parfaz said bluntly. “After that, we’re heading out. Be here if you’re coming.”
“Yes, Master Parfaz,” Alibaba bowed respectfully.
“Hmph.” The caravan master raked him with another look. “What have you got in there?”
Alibaba grinned.
Sea and Balbadd, here I come!