# True20 Al-Qadim: Zakharan Nights (updated 6/21/06)



## The Shadow (Sep 19, 2005)

Hello everybody.  This is a three-player True20 campaign played weekly online in the universe of Al-Qadim... but with some twists.   To wit:

* Zakhara's polytheism is replaced with Islam.  Further, the lands north of Zakhara are Christian lands reminiscent of Syria and the Byzantine Empire.

* In this "closer-to-real-life" version of Zakhara, magic is seen as _sihr_, or witchcraft, and is officially condemned.  However, the government of the Grand Caliph mostly pursues a "don't ask, don't tell" policy - so long as mages do not draw attention to themselves or terrorize the populace, they are not persecuted.  In the tolerant, cosmopolitan Heart Cities, especially the capital of Huzuz, many citizens have come to accept magic to the point of being jaded by wonders;  whereas people in outlying regions, especially those of a more conservative religious bent, may tend to stone first and ask questions later.

* The change to the True20 system has of course drastically altered the way magic works, relative to D&D.

* There are a number of real-world references - in particular, certain ethnicities and ancient kingdoms.

* The campaign is told in a storytelling style meant to be reminiscent of the Arabian Nights.  Therefore it tends to be a bit over-the-top and larger than life.  And enjoyably so, I might add!  The players, including myself, have had a blast, and found ourselves responding with some really memorable lines!

* I am now allowed to say that the campaign uses the rules of Paradigm Press's _Tales of the Caliphate Nights_, and that the GM is the author of the book, Aaron Infante-Levy!

Some of you may know me as the author of two other Story Hours, The Shadow Knows! and Chasing the Stars!; as well as the creator of The World of Terrima.  Feel free to go check them out!  (Readers of _Chasing the Stars!_ will be glad to know that thus far this campaign has been like clockwork.)

Now for the one fly in the ointment.  I find that every time I try to weave the game logs into a narrative that having everyone's exact words and poses at my fingertips is curiously paralyzing to the imagination.  So what I propose to do is to post the (edited within an inch of their lives) game logs.  I hope this doesn't bother anyone;  if it does, think of it as reading the transcript of a play.

I will not be posting game stats at this time, at the Narrator's request.  Suffice to say that the characters are all first level.  (Though in True20, that isn't as crippling as it might otherwise sound!   You'll meet them soon, but they are:

Yasir al-Ayyubi:  A warrior in his mid-twenties, seeking to avenge an old wrong.  He is a _ghazi_, a Muslim holy warrior.  The term means "forgiver", and a ghazi is meant to view combat as a last resort.

Farraj Hezma El Feisal:  A young Bedouin outcast from his tribe, with nobody to rely on but his faithful camel Shasti.  He has wandered the desert for the entirety of his short life, and has never seen a city.

Abdul al-Jann:  A young but prosperous scribe of about twenty years.  As his (nick-)name might indicate, however, there may be more to him than meets the eye...  He grew up in Huzuz and is returning there after some time away.

Our three heroes independently end up at the caravanserai of Zarif, a few days' journey east of Huzuz, as our campaign opens...  The Narrator has entitled it:

*The Redeemable and the Unredeemed*


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## The Shadow (Sep 19, 2005)

*1:  The Three Men Who Saved Mamoun*

*Narrator:* Wherein the tale beginneth...

*Narrator:* They say a sandstorm is a fearsome sight to behold, but, sihab, I assure you there was never a storm so fearsome as that night at the caravanserai of Zarif. At its forefront we could see upside down palm trees, leering skulls, and even what appeared to be a great lake. "A mirage" said the merchants wiser than I. It was at this very caravanserai that I, a poor camel keeper witnessed deeds that, had you not been there, you would think me creating a fanciful fiction. But, all my words are true, therefore listen to my tale, for in it there is weeping and redemption.

*Narrator:* The last of the animals were rounded up inside the caravanserai as the sandstorm loomed on the horizon. The old ghaffir! Shouts one of the lookouts. An old blind man was wandering in the wrong direction, and the wind swallowed the shouts of the caravanserai dwellers. Soon the storm would swallow him up.

Abdul glances over, troubled. "Over here, father! You walk into a storm!" He starts forward, looking a bit unsure toward the sandstorm.  [Note for the reader:  "Father" here is simply a term of respect to an elderly man.]

Yasir glances over briefly, then turns back to the path before him. 

*Narrator:* The wind seems to catch Abdul's words, twisting them, the sound scattering in four directions like a flock of birds. The old man leans forward as if listening but is uncertain which way to turn. The last of the merchants have been ushered into the caravanserai. Two guards linger at the gates.

*Abdul:* "God has mercy on the merciful," Abdul sighs when he realizes the man can't possibly hear him, and starts running.

*Narrator:* A guard grabs Abdul's shoulder, "Sihab, you will surely perish!"

*Farraj:* Barely a dot, often obscured, a scrawny figure on a malnourished camel races before the storm, heading for the safety of the camp.

*Yasir:* "Who is the man, sir?"

Abdul dithers. "But...!" He shakes himself free of the man's grasp. He is fairly young. 

*Narrator:* "The ghaffir? He is the caravan master's grandfather. A wise man, some say touched by the desert. Blind as a bat, blessed be his soul." The guard replies to Yasir.

*Yasir:* "If he is a good man, then we should help him."

Yasir follows Abdul.

*Farraj:* If your eyes are turned to the blasting grit you see the rider divert towards the lost Ghaffir.

*Narrator:* Farraj feels the force of the sandstorm weighing down on him, attempting to smother him. His camel froths at the mouth. Ahead you see an old man wandering in a haze.

Abdul comes to a decision, and once more starts running. 

Yasir runs after Abdul.

*Narrator:* Abdul quickly brushes aside the guard who murmurs, "Blessed be the brave youth!"

*Narrator:* The sandstorm is all around Farraj, howling in his ears, blasting sand into his ears and eyes. It is more than intolerable. At least, you console yourself knowing the camel fares better than you. (make a Survival check)

*Farraj:* Shasti stumbles amongst the drifts, tired beyond her years as her rider drives her on 

*Narrator:* Abdul sees Farraj the worthy get swallowed into the storm, and nears the old man.

Yasir moves to help Farraj 

Abdul grabs the old man's arm. "This way, father! It is the mother of all storms coming!" 

*Narrator:* The old man clutches Abdul's arm in terror, but the storm is fast and cunning. Already Farraj has lost all sense of direction, and knows all too well that if he travels too far in the wrong direction he may become lost in the desert.

Yasir moves into the sandstorm to assist Farraj. 

*Abdul:* As the sand swallows Abdul up, he shouts a word into the winds that cannot be heard. Doubtless a prayer.

======================================================

*Abdul:*  "Aqisan!"

*Narrator:* Aqisan appears in a puff of smoke.  He is a massive, ten-and-half foot tall djinn of fearsome aspect, with olive-brown muscles bulging out of an embroidered vest.

*Abdul:*  "Dear friend, would it be imposing to ask of you a favor?"

*Narrator:* Aqisan rumbles, "On the contrary, I was just looking for an excuse to put off an importunate suitor.  How may I serve you, O son of the worthy?"

*Abdul:*  "Please preserve us from this storm.  I leave to your judgment the best means of doing so... Only please do not show yourself unless it becomes necessary.  I mean no offense, but you understand it could be awkward."

*Narrator:* Aqisan bows, saying "Seeing and hearing, with sweetness and joy!" as he vanishes from sight.

=======================================================

*Narrator:* Perhaps the guard would have let the youth go, but now this young warrior was rushing to his death. Cursing his luck, the guard ran after Yasir, "Cover your face, you fool!"

Yasir covers his face. 

*Farraj:* Flogging his worn camel before the teeth of the storm, the wild looking man is nearing the lost elder. 

*Narrator:* Yasir grabs the reins of Farraj's camel.

Yasir pulls the camel toward the saftey of the caravanserai. 

*Yasir:* "We must get to safety, sir."

*Farraj:* "We are amongst the teeth of God, listen to him calling."

*Yasir:* "So I hear, but we will not survive long if we do not get to shelter."

*Farraj:* Hustling the elder, the two weather beaten travellers retreat to shelter 

Abdul blindly tries to make his way back toward where he thought the caravansarai was, clutching the old man to him. 

Yasir moves toward the caravanserai, clutching the camel reins. 

*Farraj:* (To Yasir) "Thanks to you kind stranger. I am Farraj, recently of the desert. It seems the sands will not release me without a parting embrace!"

*Narrator:* Farraj and Yasir hear a whisper on the wind, "Servants of the Merciful, the gates are rapidly closing! You must hasten! Follow my voice!"

*Yasir:* "I am Yasir. We must move quickly."

*Farraj:* Farraj dismounts and allows Yasir to herd Shasti to safety as he assists the elder into the settlement 

Yasir glances again to see if he can spot the elder. 

*Narrator:* Abdul and Farraj help the old man.

*Farraj:* "Old man, you look for your home and you have found a friend."

Abdul still clings to the old man with all his might, his eyes blinded by the sand. "Thank you strangers, whoever you may be!" 

*Narrator:* Sands and shadow cover the lands, strange shapes disappearing, dunes rising and falling underneath your feat.

*Yasir:* "I am Yasir al-Ayyubi; it is my honor to assist."

Yasir extends his arm toward Abdul. 

*Narrator:* You see the vague outline of a man before you -- it appears to be the guard, "Servants of the Merciful, follow my voice!"

Abdul makes his way toward the voice. "Quickly, my friends! Haste is the friend of God in a storm!" 

*Farraj:* "And I am Farraj Hezma El Feisal, what name has this place?"

Farraj follows this brave guide.

Yasir follows Farraj. 

*Narrator:* The winds blast through you, such that only hollering suffices now.

*Farraj:* Shasti the camel wonders about the ways of men who would rather talk than take shelter. Inshallah

*Narrator:* As you follow Farraj, who follows the voice of the guard - as if the voice of God - you find yourselves nearing the gates of the caravanserai as they close.

Yasir pulls Shasti after him. 

*Narrator:* You come upon the crumpled form of the guard who ran after the brave Yasir. He appears to be blinded by the sandstorm, and crawls on all fours in despair.

Yasir assists the guard.

*Yasir:* "Are you all right, my friend?"

Abdul has his hands full with the old man, but is about to bring the guard to the others attention when he notices Yasir already helping. He nods to the man gratefully and makes for the gate. 

Farraj takes Shasti's reins and uses her to give some shelter to the others from the biting wind as they struggle through the gates. 

Yasir gets the guard to his feet and assists him into the town. 

*Narrator:* The guard moans and clutches Yasir's clothes as he staggers to his feet. Farraj and his blessed camel Shasti bravely block the scouring winds for the rest of the group, giving them the momentary respite they need to press on to the gates. Seconds before the gates close, you burst through in a showers of dust and wind.

*Abdul:* "God be praised!" Abdul gasps.

*Narrator:* With a loud 'thud' the caravanserai's gate is secured. Merchants marvel at your coughing group.

*Farraj:* "Well my friends, the Sun rises, the Sun sets and God is Great."

*Abdul:* "You speak truly!"

*Narrator:* Several murmurs of "Truly God is merciful." can be heard throughout the caravanserai. The ghaffir's wife rushes to him, "Heart of my liver!" Clutching him, she bows before you, "Oh noble men, a thousand exultations upon you!"

[Character descriptions

Yasir is tall and broad, a sizable man with unkempt jet-black hair. He wears a well-groomed beard, which is trimmed almost daily. His skin is dark and ruddy from the sun, and his hands weathered from his work. His eyes, a dark brown colour, are distant, and suggest that his attention is often not in the moment at hand.

He usually dresses in a modest, olive-coloured dishdasha, over which he wears a rather elaborate embroidered vest. While his dishdasha and vest are sometimes weather-worn and dusty, he keeps his turban a brilliant white, and takes much pride in its appearance. A shining scimitar hangs gently at his side at all times.

Abdul is a slender, rather short young man nearing twenty, wearing the robes and carrying the writing case of a scribe. Jet black hair is swept back severely, and his beard is neatly trimmed. Dark brown eyes with a merry glint search you carefully as he smiles an enigmatic smile.

Farraj is a slight man who has yet to see twenty years. Beneath a layer of dust and grime resides dark eyes and a hawkish nose. He looks like any of a thousand men who have crawled into civilisation from the deep desert. Shasti, his camel, is a mare of considerable years who has gained in dignity and poise all that whe may have lost in endurance and speed.

[Note: Farraj's description is out of date, as he has been retconned to be fourteen years old.]

*Farraj:* Out of the wind you all notice the paticular reek of sweat, and camel coming from Farraj, a true sign of the desert wanderer.

Yasir speaks in a loud voice:  "We have injured men, can anyone heal them?"

Abdul looks to have no more energy for much talk or exertion. He is panting heavily, and shaking from his close brush with the desert's kiss. 

*Narrator:* The caravan master eyes Yasir skeptically. "Surely. Laheeb, see to this man's camel." A young boy helps remove salt and sand from Shasti's eyes. The caravan master looks at the ghaffir. "As for my grandfather, I'm afraid his cough is chronic."

*Farraj:* The light of the truly devout servant of God shines from behind Farraj's eyes.

Abdul finally lets go of the old ghaffir, the news of safety finally reaching his limbs. 

*Narrator:* The guard who Yasir rescued, quickly rises to his feet despite being unable to see, "I---I am fine sir. It was a momentary lapse, nothing more."

*Yasir:* "As long as you are sure."

*Farraj:* "Perhaps the storm has blown some of the Breath of God into your illustrious elder?"

Abdul murmurs faintly, "Inshallah." 

*Narrator:* "I am honored that you have saved so worthy a servant," says the caravan master slyly. "I consider myself in your debt. As you seem to have come without a caravan, may I offer you free lodging and the bond of salt?"

*Yasir:* "To whom are you speaking, sir?"

*Abdul:* "Most generous, I'm sure!" Abdul gasps. He sure looks to be in need of something wet to drink.

*Narrator:* .: With the gates are closed, darkness covers the sky and the storm crashes against the caravanserai, blasts of sand leaking in. Quickly, the staff goes about filling the cracks as merchants calm their herds. Prayers are murmured, In the name of God, the most merciful, the most compassionate... One of the merchants can't find his falcon. A musician plays upon his sitar to soothe the crowd. Jasmine, cinnamon, and frankincense assault your nostrils. Bedouin argue with one another. It looks like it will be a crowded night.

*Farraj:* "I thank you kind friend. I have come with nothing and I arrive to your gifts. Inshallah."

*Narrator:* The caravan master bows, "I am Metef, who is twice in your debt, for saving my grandfather and my servant." The guard is guided away by his fellows, who shoot venemous looks at the caravan master.

*Yasir:* "I am Yasir al-Ayyubi, and it was my honour to assist."

Farraj leads Shasti away to find water and a comfortable spot to rest. 

*Narrator:* Suddenly the old man bursts out "Praised be the Almighty! My cough has been cured through a _tahrik min qad_*. Though I am blind surely I know when I am in the company of saints!" ((*lit. "moving through the flame"))

Yasir looks around, puzzled. 

*Farraj:* "It is true that God is Great. You must use the voice he has given you to call out praise to him!"

Abdul blinks, finally taking in the situation. "God be praised! The Compassionate smiles upon us - heaping up his gifts!" 

Abdul then suddenly stops. "Uh... saints?" 

Yasir bows in quiet prayer.

*Narrator:* The old man begins kissing at Abdul and Yasir's feet. 

*Farraj:* Shasti politely but firmly tows Farraj in the direction of the watering troughs.

Farraj mutters, looking over his shoulder at the ghaffir, "Surely no greater sign that the man is blind."

*Yasir:* "Stand up, old man. You are among mere men."

Yasir reaches down to help the old man up. 

*Narrator:* The old man feels Yasir's face. "Ah, such piety in one so young. _Is not the wise and virtuous man a saint?_" He asks, his pearly eyes gazing at Yasir.

*Yasir:* "As are wise old men, friend."

Abdul gets a humorous look in his eye. "Is it possible, my friend, that your admirable humility blinds you to your true status?" He looks perhaps ever so slightly piqued that his own contribution goes unrecognized.

Yasir asks the old man, "Who are you?"

*Narrator:* "I am Naskir al-Ghaffir, father of Batuta, father of that ungrateful whelp Metef." Addressing Abdul, the old man grins, "A humble man was never so clear-sighted as an arrogant one."

*Abdul:* "Truly said, truly said."

*Yasir:* "So I gather that you have come here with your grandson, Naskir."

*Narrator:* Naskir, the old man, salaams Yasir. "May I show you your rooms? Though I am blind, I but need my wife's loyal hand and then the caravanserai is transformed into the most astonishing palace --every secret passage, nook, and cranny revealed to my hands."

Yasir turns to Abdul.  "What brings you? ... Yes, Naskir, show us what you like.  It is truly generous of you.  Praised be Allah."

*Narrator:* "Ah, my grandson, that incorrigible stingy Metef, yes he is the master of the caravanserai. I moved here with my wife three years ago and have regretted it ever since."

*Abdul:* "Lead on, estimable Naskir."

*Yasir:* "Where is your son, Naskir?"

*Narrator:* "Alas, my son perished in a sandstorm." Says Naskir, before falling silent. Guided by his wife, he travels through the courtyard, passing by Farraj.

Yasir following Naskir, says, "May Allah bless his soul, then."

Abdul trails after, still looking parched.

===================================

*Narrator:* At the watering trough, Farraj comes across a shocking scene. Merchants doing what they do best, not minutes after being trapped inside by the howling storm. Various silks and rare blades are on display. Already they bicker amongst themselves about the price.

Farraj gawks at the untold and unimagined riches before him. He has never seen such colours before. And fresh forged steel, so shiny!   He touches a bolt of silk and snatches his hand back. It is so soft. How did they make such fine linen? 

*Farraj:* Shasti gorges herself at the watering trough, watching her naive master with one eye. She has carried far greater riches, and once the daughter of a prince, in days long gone.

*Narrator:* A fat-cheeked merchant eyes Farraj, "Have I seen you before?"

*Farraj:* "We are all as one under the gaze of the Great One.  Lordly merchant, surely you have traversed the far ribs of the world to bring such finery to this city." (Farraj has never seen a city before so assumes that this is one.)

*Narrator:* The swarthy merchant arches his brow at Farraj. "Indeed... From Baharta these silks, and the blades from Hiyal. This fine scimitar is made of Damascene steel. Where are you from stranger?"

*Farraj:* "I come from the desert kind stranger. For many, many days I have passed over the burning sands and only with this storm at my heels (Shasti snorts loudly) did I come upon this city. And what may I ask is it called?"

*Narrator:* Coyly wrapping some silk around his finger, the merchant grins at Farraj, "Why, this is the famed city of Zarif!"

Farraj, laughing, says, "I am the first of my tribe to stand within the walls of great Zarif. Thank you kind sir. My camel has drunk her fill and I must find lodging. Let the blessings of Allah fall upon you and your family."  He nods and leads Shasti in search of lodging.

====================================

Yasir turns to Abdul and asks, "What brings you to the caravanserai?"

*Abdul:* "Oh, me? I have been plying my trade in Halwa. Now..." Abdul flushes becomingly. "I have been invited back to Huzuz to display my craft."

*Yasir:* "Your craft?"

*Abdul:* "I am a scribe, kind sir."

*Yasir:* "That would explain the case, then."

*Abdul:* "Indeed. And you? For is it not said that a trade is to a man as a staff in hand?"

*Yasir:* "My trade is rather more militant. I am seeking glory for Allah and to bring justice to the man who killed my father."

*Narrator:* Naskir shows you to some simple rooms. Bed rolls upon the floor. The opening phrases of the Qur'an written in blue and white on the far wall. A simple pitcher of water and several bales of straw.

*Abdul:* "May God grant you success!"

*Yasir:* "Thank you."

*Abdul:* "And your name?"

*Yasir:* "Yasir al-Ayyubi, you?"

Abdul bows. "I am Abdul." He pauses, looking away for a moment. "I... have no proper patronymic."

*Yasir:* "It is a pleasure nonetheless. And thank you, Naskir, for taking us in."

*Narrator:* Bowing to you, Naskir wishes peace upon you. "Here you surely will find rest, for this room is two feet below the rest and well sheltered from the storm. Do not listen to my grandson if he says anything...odd...during the night. Blessings upon you."

*Abdul:* "Odd, father?"

*Yasir:* "Where is that wayward camel-rider?"  He glances around.

*Narrator:* "Ah, of these matters I cannot speak. I last smelled the camel in the courtyard by the cistern. Poor beast is never bathed." Naskir is gradually led away by his wife, talking to himself. "Ah, but my poor son..." "I know dear, I know."

*Abdul:* "How strange." But Abdul wastes no time on wondering, but makes a beeline for the water pitcher.

*Yasir:* "Pour me some too, Abdul?"

*Abdul:* "Of course, friend Yasir." He asks a bit dubiously, "Tell me, you are not what good Naskir believes, are you?"

*Yasir:* "A saint?  Hardly."

*Abdul:* "Yes. Forgive me; no man need be insulted by the assertion he is not a saint."

*Yasir:* "Surely not."

Abdul gulps the first cup of water down, then sips the second more slowly. 

Yasir sips the water slowly. 

============================

*Narrator:* The young boy who Metef the caravan master had assigned to attend to Farraj's camel, salaams to Farraj, "I have found this on your camel." He holds out his closed hands.

*Farraj:* "What have you there young one?"  

*Narrator:* The boy places a large dab of wax that appears to have a broken arrow shaft stuck in it. "It was on your saddlebag, sihab."

Farraj takes the wax and has a good look at it, trying to discern what it might be.

*Narrator:* Like an ocean swell, murmurs begin close to the gates among the guards and merchants gathered there, gradually rippling through the crowd seeking shelter in the caravanserai courtyard. It is news received as darkly as the storm that rages overhead itself. There is a pounding at the gates.

*Narrator:* Farraj, though used to finding such scavenged items, is quite puzzled by it. Within the wax there appears to be a pink pearl.

Farraj pries the pearl from the wax, using his knife if necessary.

*Narrator:* Farraj pops the pearl into his hand. It is truly fascinating. Within are the complexity of several oceans burning in fire.

*Narrator:* All of a sudden you hear a shriek. "Do not open the gates!"

*Farraj:* "Thank you young sahib, can you help me find lodging? Perhaps the gate guards know the best place...?"  Upon hearing the shriek, he deftly pockets the pearl and dawdles over towards the disturbance.

*Narrator:* The boy looks at Farraj, and appears eager to answer, but the commotion has caught his tongue.

============================

*Abdul:* "I am sure there is some sad tale about your father. If it is rude for me to inquire, please tell me."

*Yasir:* "He was a merchant like yourself. He sold livestock in Halwa.  I was sixteen when it happened... rivals of my father's... heretics..."

Yasir is noticably shaken and looks away, pausing. 

Abdul chuckles. "I would hardly call myself a merchant, Yasir!  It is true I must sell my work, but my clientele is often too decorous to haggle." He settles down to listen, making sympathetic sounds at the right places.  He is a good listener. 

*Yasir:* "Forgive me, I meant it as no offense."

*Abdul:* "It is nothing. Please do go on, if you wish it."

*Yasir:* "They found him in the marketplace and dragged him off. I was too far away to reach him in time."  Yasir is not a terribly good story teller, and does not make the necessary dramatic effects.  "I found him dead in the street a mile or so away."

*Abdul:* "The ways of God are strange. May his Mercy ever surround you. My condolences."

*Yasir:* "Thank you, friend."

Yasir's mood lightens some.   "And you, Abdul, your scribing is going well then?  Is that why you are headed back?"

*Abdul:* "Very well! I did not want to say it for all to hear, but... The Caliph himself has invited me to display my calligraphy!"

*Yasir:* "That is wonderful to hear."

[The shriek above is heard.]

*Abdul:* "What was that sound?"

Yasir stands up.  "I'm not sure. We should go to the gates and see."  He heads toward the sound. 

Abdul gets up, resigned to more trouble, and follows along. 

*Narrator:* A crowd has gathered around the gates again. This time they watch with dread. Metef, the caravan master, in particular watches with horror at the heavy wooden post which locks the gate. And then it comes, a pounding on the gate, and a muted voice on the others side.

Yasir looks for someone nearby to ask what is happening.  He wonders out loud, "Who or what is outside the gate?"

*Narrator:* "Do not open the gates!" Metef commands his guards, who stare at him wild-eyed. "There is a hideous djinn called al-Zaraksh that attempts to trick us!"

Farraj asks a nearby person what the problem is? "Surely the storm is satisfied with having the rest of the desert to play in without coming into the great city of Zarif?"

*Abdul:* "May God preserve us!" Abdul exclaims piously, while fiddling with his writing case.

*Yasir:* "A djinn? Outside?"

*Abdul:* "Surely you are mistaken, good Metef? There are many wonders in God's broad world; not all of them are djinn."

*Narrator:* "Your good fortune in the arms of God has clouded your mind!" Metef snaps at Abdul. "I have suffered this shaitan for several years. It torments my caravanserai and every night knocks upon this gate attempting to lure us out so that it may prey upon us in unspeakable ways!"

*Abdul:* "Every night? None have ever answered it? What has it done to unwary travellers?"

*Narrator:* One of the guards nonchalantly remarks, "It has given them a mad host." Several of the gathered bedouin laugh.

*Yasir:* "If it has become such a problem to your people, why does no one do anything to turn it away?"

*Abdul:* "Truly, for the Hand of God shields the Faithful."

*Narrator:* One of the merchant's wives raises her voice, "It is too powerful to contest! It took Naskir's sight!"

*Yasir:* "Then his injury must be avenged. Surely Allah will reward one who dies valiantly in combat with a djinn."

*Narrator:* "Yes! It is a powerful shaitan, a cunning shaitan---" Metef is interrupted by the muffled voice again, which seems to say: _Please, for God's mercy, open the gates!_

*Abdul:* "Come! Can even a shaitan use the Name of God in its evil tricks?! Surely Allah the Mighty would blast him for it!"

*Narrator:* The merchant's wife glares at Yasir, "And would you have the rest of us die with you?"

Yasir turns to the merchant's wife.  "Do you fear death more than you fear Allah?"

*Farraj:* Shasti finds a comfortable corner in the stables and within minutes fills the room with her delicate, lady-like snoring.

*Narrator:* Metef holds up his hands, one of which is missing a finger. "This is what the shaitan has done to me when I thought to open the gate before! We must pray together, and drown out the djinn's trickery."

*Yasir:* "Then lead us in prayer, master, or move aside and let us face whatever may be outside the walls.

*Abdul:* "Well, Allah has favored me once today; I will trust in his Mercy once more. Can you not open the gate but slightly, so I may go out to see what awaits?  It is not in me to turn aside anyone who asks in the name of God."

*Yasir:* "You are a brave man, Abdul, and Allah favors that."  Yasir puts his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. 

*Narrator:* Metef says, "Oh young man, do not tempt fate a second time! God is merciful to him who helps himself!" A few guards grudgingly bar the gates, though they make no show to draw blades and seem rather troubled.

*Farraj:* "Did I hear the cries of a person in need? The great city of Zafir surely houses a grand mullah who can send shaitan back to his pit?"

Yasir turns and stares awkwardly at Farraj. 

*Narrator:* Naskir is near Farraj, "The great city? There is no mullah here! Not as long as Metef is in charge!"

Abdul scoffs, "God is merciful to whomever his Most Gracious Will blesses; man's efforts are as nothing in his sight. Is it not so?" 

*Narrator:* The voice at the gates continues: _I am dying, show me mercy! Oh forsake me not at death's door!_

*Yasir:* "Open the door, Metef, and let whomever pleads to us by God's name in."

*Farraj:* (To Yasir) "Come, friend, there is no shame in being lost in the desert."

*Narrator:* The crowd murmurs in agreement with Abdul. Metef stands resolutely before them. "Tempt death! Mock God! But I will not let you risk the lives of those under my protection! Can you not see that once the doors are open we shall be consumed by the storm and the shaitan may possess any one of us?"

*Farraj:* "We stand in the greatest city in the land. Help is at hand. The prince will send his guards. You will see."

*Narrator:* Incredulous at Farraj, Naskir whispers to him, "You must be mad! I know a secret way of egress - if you can gather your friends perhaps we may save this poor soul."

*Abdul:* "If I have mocked God, tell me in what ways my words have offended, O most wise Metef! Lower me over the wall in a basket if that suits your fears, then."

*Narrator:* The crowd again murmurs in appreciation of Abdul's bravery

*Farraj:* "Brave Abdul, you shame us. I will proudly lower you myself."

*Yasir:* "How would you do that, brave Farraj?"

*Farraj:* "Surely the friendly merchant I spoke with earlier will give of his strange fabrics in defence of this fine City. I can lower you using no more than 4 or 5 bolts of his `silk'."

*Narrator:* At last the guard who Yasir rescued speaks up, "Metef, you're acting like you're already possessed by a shaitan. Was it not you who ordered the gates closed on these brave souls, myself, and your own grandfather?"

*Yasir:* "Open the gates. If there is combat then remember it is written:  'Who fought and were slain...I will most certainly make them enter gardens beneath which rivers flow; a reward from Allah, and with Allah is yet better reward.'"

*Narrator:* The crowd begans chanting: "Give them a bucket! Give them rope!" The voice outside is barely a whisper, the banging is dying down.

*Farraj:* "Where is that kindly merchant? After all, a gift given is a gift gained."

*Narrator:* A bucket and "rope" (bolts of silk tied together) materialize from the hands of the crowd, passed to you.  The "kindly" merchant grudgingly parts with his silk, cautioning you to be careful and not damage it.

*Abdul:* "I know you are as true as your word, friend Farraj." Abdul makes his way to the wall, climbing up whatever scaffolding there may be.

*Farraj:* "Come Abdul and all who praise Allah. Let us lower our champion to his destiny."

*Yasir:* "Shall I go with you, Abdul, lest you need help?"

*Abdul:* "Allah can save one as easily as two, good Yasir. If Metef is right, two will only mean two deaths; if I am right, only one will be needed."

*Yasir:* "Then Allah be at your side, Abdul."

*Narrator:* Metef is distraught beyond reason, and screeches: "I should be the one to go!"

*Abdul:* "You seem to change your tune quickly, O good Metef."

*Narrator:* But the crowd pushes against Metef, elbowing him out of the way. Above you the desert storm whips over the edge of the towers, casting sand in all directions, like hellish ocean spray or sweat from a mare.

Farraj clambers after Abdul onto the wall and loops the silk rope around his waist as he takes a good look at whatever is beyond the gate. 

*Abdul:* "I am ready, Farraj."

Yasir forces his way to the wall to watch Abdul. 

*Farraj:* "Place your foot in this stirrup my friend and let your Faith be your sword."

Abdul clutches the fine silk, signalling Farraj to lower away. 

*Narrator:* The storm is blinding, strong enough to drag a full-grown man across the desert's floor. A palm leaf hurtles past you.

*Farraj:* Signalling to Yasir for assistance, Farraj prepares to lower away

Yasir assists Farraj.

Abdul prays audibly for God's protection as he is lowered. 

*Farraj:* "Inshallah!  Go with God, Abdul."

*Narrator:* Shapes become indistinguishable to Abdul, his feet cannot find purchase against the wall which has become as slippery as the path of the righteous man. At first his compatriots Farraj and Yasir lower him in spurts, but gradually Abdul is smoothly lowered to the ground. Sand bites at him from every direction. The winds howl like banshee djinni. It is indeed awesome and terrifying, as if your bones might fly from your skin.

Abdul picks his way gingerly toward the voice by the gate. 

Yasir strains to see what is happening. 

Farraj looks down into the swirling sands; to Yasir he says, "Blind Faith, my friend. We are protecting him and he is protecting us."

Narrator (for Yasir):  You see Abdul begin gagging, but he seems to shake it off

Yasir keeps a close eye on Abdul, ready to give him any help he needs. 

*Narrator:* Cleaving to his faith, Abdul is almost guided as a blind man. And indeed he is blind, mute, deaf, threatened to be swallowed by sands which have devoured entire caravans and armies. Only his hands guide him through the raging darkness. And then he touches a shoulder, a wrapped face. A man.

*Abdul:* "Come, brother. Help is here."  He gathers the man up as best as he can, then yanks on the silk "rope" rhythmically, to signal the others to pull him up. 

*Narrator:* A bubble of protection allows you to yell to each other. Moaning the man grabs Abdul, "Djinn or Moslem, I accept your aid! Help me to bang upon these gates with my last efforts."

*Abdul:* "I beg your pardon?! We will go up and over - is that not enough?"

Yasir begins to pull the two up. 

*Farraj:* Feeling the tug, Farraj hauls in rhythm with Yasir

*Narrator:* The man blesses himself in the name of God. "Oh djinn, be merciful, I have never flown before!"

*Narrator:* The silk goes taut but the winds are too strong -- Abdul feels a slight tug, but the storm seems intent on claiming him.

Abdul laughs like a loon - doubtless sounding a bit awe-inspiring despite himself. "Me? A djinn! Surely you jest. No, brother, I am but a man." 

Farraj calls back to the people who are watching, "Who has hands as well as eyes?"

*Narrator:* Yasir begins to haul, possessed by none other than the strength of God.

Abdul buries his face in the man's shoulder. "Cling to me, brother, and trust in God's Mercy." 

*Narrator:* And so does the man cling to Abdul as he is half pulled, half climbs up the wall, but then he gets stuck halfway. Yasir's burst of strength is leaving him. And the people of the caravan are paralyzed with fear at Metef's preaching. "And should it swallow the brave youth and then tempt us with his voice? Would you open the gates and invite our doom?"

*Yasir:* "I can't hold them much longer... we need help."

*Farraj:* "Who will allow the Champion of Zafir to perish? Help or be damned."

Abdul tenses in desperation as he feels himself begin to fall. He gathers breath to speak a last word into the winds. 

*Narrator:* The guard who Yasir rescued grabs a melon and launches it at Metef, knocking him on his arse. "If it were you in the bucket, perhaps we'd leave you out there!" Several of the guards encourage the young half-blinded guard on.

*Yasir:* "Quickly!"

*Narrator:* Several men spring to Yasir's aid at the urging of Farraj, their wives chastising them for their cowardice. Grabbing the rope, they haul Abdul and the man he has rescued over the top of the caravan wall.

*Narrator:* Yasir catches the man who collapses into his arms.

*Yasir:* If he is not a djinn, Metef, then Allah protect you.

Abdul falls to his knees and cries out, "God be praised! Twice in one day he has delivered me from the storm!" 

Yasir puts the man gently onto the ground.  "Someone help him."

Farraj cheers. "We lower one and bring back two, who said there was no fishing in the desert?"

*Yasir:* "Farraj, less useless chatter. The man needs help."

*Narrator:* The crowd cheers with Farraj, prays with Abdul, and answers Yasir's call for help. Metef appears horrified and pushes his way through the crowd toward his personal quarters perhaps?

Yasir follows Metef, hand on scimitar.  "Get back here, you coward!"

Farraj calls to the crowd, "Who has water for a stranger?"  To the man himself, he says, "Be at peace, friend, you are within the walls of Zarif and safe from peril."

Abdul bends toward the man he rescued. "Can you hear me, brother?"

*Narrator:* The man weakly speaks to Abdul and Farraj: "Oh noble and worthiest of men, you have saved me from a terrible curse. I am Mamoun ibn-Naskir, long thought dead by my grandfather, and cursed by my own flesh and blood."

*Abdul:* "Do you hear, people of Zafir? It is Mamoun, son of Naskir!!  Let the father come recognize his son!"

Yasir runs after Metef.

*Farraj:* "Be at peace friend, you are within the walls of Zarif and safe from peril."

*Narrator:* "Mamoun? Impossible! He's dead! Oh, heavens be praised! Who is to blame for our own sons' fate?" The crowd is apalled and ecstatic.

Abdul adds meaningfully, "He says he has labored under a curse - a curse laid by his own kin!" 

*Narrator:* "Yes, it was my step-father Metef who cursed me to walk the deserts and for men to not know their brother's voice. That every prayer and plea I offered would fall upon deaf ears!" The man sobs, tears of joy and betrayal gracing his cheeks.

*Farraj:* "Drink, small sips, you have sun sickness."

*Narrator:* "Thank you, kind one," says Mamoun, falling unconscious in Farraj's arms.

*Abdul:* "Let not Metef escape! He stands accused of evil sorcery - though," he warns, "only a qadi can decide his fate."

*Narrator:* Gasping, the crowd looks about for Metef. "He has taken advantage of us for the last time! A curse upon the accursed Metef! Honor to the faithful!"

*Abdul:* "Where would he go, good people?"

*Narrator:* "To his quarters! Upstairs!" The crowd replies to Abdul.

Farraj finds that he is fingering the pearl in his pocket. He brings it forth and shows it to Abdul. "This was on my saddle when I arrived here." 

*Abdul:* "Show the way, then! The sorcerer must not escape justice!"

*Farraj:* "If your thirst is for blood rather than pearls, so be it."  He pockets the pearl and follows Abdul. 

===================================

*Narrator:* Yasir spots Metef as he dashes through a curtained room, ordering a guard to bar the way. Upon seeing the approaching Yasir, the guard attempts to draw his sword, but it appears stuck in the sheath.

Yasir forces his way past the guard and toward Metef.  "Face me like a man, Metef.  Surrender now, and you will lose no blood."

*Narrator:* Metef holds before him a ragged doll in the likeness of a soldier. "Come no closer, defender of the faith. For I shall curse you lest you bring ruin upon my caravanserai!"

Yasir draws his scimitar.  "Fool, do not practice such sorcery, for it is an abomination to Allah."

====================================

*Narrator:* The crowd carries Abdul and Farraj toward a stunned guard on the ground and the sound of threats and conflict from within.

Farraj strides to the door and pokes his head inside. 

Abdul likewise forces his way forward to see what may be seen. 

*Narrator:* To the horror of the crowd, they fnd Yasir bravely denouncing Metef's sorcerous ways, the two struggling within the cramped quarters. Metef snarls, "My step-son is a dog who should have perished long ago! And for your meddling, I curse you defender of the faithful!"

*Narrator:*  "As you desire to meddle in affairs which you know nothing about, I curse you to take such form!" yells Metef, squeezing the doll before him. Yasir feels himself fall to his knees, but a light seems to fill his heart. Though he may be a sinner, he is blameless now. Standing to his feet, Yasir throws off Metef's magic. 

*Narrator:* Wailing, Metef's doll falls to tatters in his hands and he falls backward into a chest which closes on him.

Yasir moves to keep the chest shut 

Farraj gawks. "Gwaaaaaaa." 

*Abdul:* "Hear the blasphemer!" Abdul rushes into the room.

*Narrator:* Yasir puts all his weight on the chest. There's no way anyone inside is getting out.

*Yasir:* "A lock, rope, something!"

Farraj brings forth the silken rope, bundled until now in his hand. 

*Abdul:* "Is he not harmless now? We can gag him, bind his hands - surely that will be enough?"

*Yasir:* "We'll bind the chest.  It is safer."

*Narrator:* The silk merchant looks wistfully at Farraj, "Now none will want this silk. Sigh. The sacrifices I make."

*Farraj:* "For a man who can say that his wares have rescued heroes and bound villains, you have a long face."

*Yasir:* "You talk too much, Farraj. Bind the chest before he forces his way out.  We will do what we can to compensate the merchant later."

*Narrator:* The merchant seems heartened by Farraj's words, assuredly planning his next business venture.

*Farraj:* "Of course, here it is!"

Abdul helps bind the chest however he can. 

*Narrator:* The lid jumps a bit.  The chest is made of hardwood, a real scarcity;  the lock is metal.

*Farraj:* "He is seeing his own inner darkness."

Yasir forces the lock shut. 

Abdul pants. "For now I'll settle for the chest's darkness!" 

*Narrator:* Yasir can hear strange sounds issuing from the securely bound chest *gawk* *gawk*

*Farraj:* "He was bound by chains of his own making long before we ever met him."

Abdul addresses the crowd. "Where is the nearest qadi? This matter cannot wait." 

*Yasir:* "I am not sure why you would rather talk than act quickly, friend Farraj, but thank you for your help."  He moves away from the creepy chest. 

*Farraj:* "You are right, Friend Yasir, yet he is bound and we are still talking, it is the will of God."

*Narrator:* The crowd's fear has abated, and now they watch Yasir with something like wonder. Some repeat Naskir's words. Was this man truly a saint?

*Yasir:* "Inshallah."

Abdul repeats, "The nearest qadi?" He seems to be making a habit of being ignored today. 

*Narrator:* *gawk* It almost sounds like there is a bird, or perhaps some demonic vulture within the dark chest. The caravan master, the sorcerer Metef, paying the forefeit of his ignorance and malice. Trapped, as it were, by his own heresies.

*Narrator:* Naskir steps forward, "Alas, the nearest qadi is in Huzuz, brave soul."

Abdul looks to the chest in wonder. "Why, it sounds as if he has suffered from the same curse he meant for you, Yasir!" 

Yasir puts his hand on Abdul's shoulder.  "We have done good things, friend. Thank you for your help. You are right, though. We must bring him to a qadi, as soon as the storm allows."  He looks around for a wash basin. 

*Abdul:* "I thank you, friend Yasir. Your devotion preserved me from the storm."

*Yasir:* "I did only what I must."

*Farraj:* "How did you know Yasir. One minute I am watering Shasti and the next we are jailing sorcerers. Is every day like this in the City? It is like having the moon on the ground and the desert in the sky."

Abdul finally laughs. "Wait until Farraj sees Huzuz!"

*Narrator:* You can hear murmurs as the crowd parts, Mamoun being led forward by the half-blind guard. "What wonders have befallen ye, oh commendable servants?"

*Abdul:* "O most favored Mamoun, your wicked step-father was caught in the act of casting a foul, abhominable curse upon the good Yasir, yet it seems to have rebounded upon his own head."

Yasir moves to the cistern, removes his turban and begins to wash it. 

*Narrator:* Mamoun, despite his weakened state, bows before you. "I am humbled by your courage and faith. Indeed, my step-father is the most wicked of men, and you have dealt with him in surpassing mercy. Whatever has befallen him he wrought upon his own head. To each of you, if there is a boon within my power - for the caravanserai is now mine - I shall do my best to grant it."

Yasir pays little attention to Mamoun's offer. He finishes cleaning his turban, dons it again, and returns to the rest of the group. 

*Narrator:* Men and women marvel at Yasir's piety. His sainthood does not seem to be in doubt to them.

*Abdul:* "For my part, I ask simply for safe passage to Huzuz, and hospitality should I come again. For the rest, praise Allah each day for his Mercy to you!"

*Farraj:* "If I may Mamoun, I ask to keep the silken rope. For a brief moment it helped me make a friend and it has bound the greatest evil i have ever met. Can it be so?"

Abdul beams and clasps Farraj's hand. "I feel the same way, my friend!"

*Narrator:* Mamoun looks at the silk merchant with consternation, who sighs and nods his head. "Very well, noble Farraj, I entrust to you this cord of silk, that it may continue to bind your foes and provide safety to the misfortunate."

*Farraj:* "Thanks be to you and to the infinite grace of Allah. I humbly accept this gift."  Then, to Abdul, "If that is so, will you show me this splendid city, Huzuz? The desert has made my eyes sore and I feel the need to rest them upon beautiful things."

Yasir turns to Abdul.  "Your clothes are dirty with sand, friend."

Abdul blinks and looks down at himself. "Well, so they are..." He seems puzzled by this comment as he brushes himself off, but adds to Farraj, "Of course I will show you Huzuz! You have not seen a city yet!" 

*Yasir:* "Give my boon to the silk merchant. He has done much for us."

*Narrator:* Stunned, Mamoun bows and salaams Yasir. "As you command, oh virtuous amir." At this the crowd whispers like crazy.

*Abdul:* "Yasir, you are truly a generous man."

*Yasir:* "Speak nothing of it. He gave us silk when we were in need."

*Narrator:* The silk merchant is at first stunned, then weeping thanks Yasir over and over.

*Narrator:* And then Mamoun addresses all three men. "I have one favor to ask, though I fear I am too bold. Will you take this chest and my wicked step-father to Huzuz for fair trial?"

*Abdul:* "Well, of course. Why do you think I asked for safe-passage?"

*Yasir:* "We must."

*Farraj:* "The Faithful man is a gift of light to the traveller in the desert."  He ties his new silken rope around his waist like a sash, gazing proudly at its bright colours. 

*Yasir:* "We should give thanks to Allah and then rest. The journey ahead is long."

*Abdul:* "You speak truly." He continues brushing himself off, still puzzled by Yasir's drawing attention to it.

Farraj turns to look at the storm through the window as it rages beyond the gates. "In the desert we say that a storm is the breath of God, it brings friends together and binds them as they take shelter. The dunes move, the sky goes dark but when the sands fall to the earth the world is as new. Let us go to Huzuz."

*Narrator:* "And that, oh weary traveler, is the tale of the Three Men Who Saved Mamoun. And should you come to our humble oasis again, ask Mamoun to tell you the story. Why, you may even meet the brave Abdul, the strong Yasir, or the wise Farraj at this very caravanserai. Inshallah." The young Laheeb, a camel groom of little import but big imagination left his listeners with a tale. The first of many..."


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## The Shadow (Sep 19, 2005)

*Handout:  Mamoun's Tale*

[Our most generous Narrator tries to give out at least one handout after each session.  This was the first of them.]

Mamoun ibn Khaldoun ibn Batuta ibn Naskir, keeper of the caravanserai at Zarif, reclined in the courtyard giving his blessing to the trio who had saved his life and broken his curse.

“Oh auspicious travelers, my story is the story of my step-father, and how I escaped from the wickedness that consumed his heart. My great-grandfather Naskir carried on a tradition of tending to holy sites.  My grandfather Batuta broke this family tradition to take over this caravanserai for a wounded friend; when his friend passed away, Batuta became the caravanserai’s master. When Batuta (may he rest in peace) was lost in a sandstorm, the caravanserai passed to my uncle Metef. Later, his brother Khaldoun arrived with his pregnant wife after falling on hard times, and Metef welcomed them in. After a violent argument with my father, Metef cursed his name. To Metef’s horror, the next day my father was found dead in his bed. Obligated to take care of Khaldoun’s pregnant wife, Metef married her after the mourning period passed and became my step-father. This loss was too much for Metef to bear, and he became possessed by the idea that his family was cursed. Metef began gleaning bits of mystic lore from passersby – Magians, hakimas, kheri-hebu, even sha’ir. Metef learned that it was not his family, but the caravanserai that was cursed. During my youth, I remember Metef cursing many travelers, hoping through his diabolic experimentation to find a way to dispel the caravanserai’s curse. Over the years, the caravanserai became considered a place of bad luck, and only a sandstorm or utter lack of supplies could force a caravan to rest in Zarif. I was often at odds with my step-father, though I never had the courage to denounce his wicked ways, for I was just a boy.

“Oh how history repeats itself! One night a sandstorm forced many to seek shelter. Then there came a pounding on the caravanserai gates, a traveler pleading for shelter. Convinced it was the wicked shaitan who cursed the caravanserai, Metef forbade any from opening the gates. My young friend Shuri (the guard you rescued) and I fought our way past Metef’s guards to open the gate. There we found a dying Persian with strange wounds on his back. The man died in my arms uttering the words ‘sanctuary.’ Metef swore the wounds were from a djinni’s claws, and that I had nearly destroyed the entire caravan. I nearly struck my step-father where he stood, but my dear mother tempered my rage. That night, Metef secretly cursed me, and when my mother learned of Metef’s wicked act she died on the spot. For eight months I wandered the desert, always near death, never accepted in any place as a man, turned away like a dog. And so I was driven to the brink of madness…until you saved me. And for that, oh noble hearts, I am truly grateful.”


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## The Shadow (Sep 19, 2005)

*2: How Yazid's Madness Was Cured*

[The Narrator took on the role of Shuri ibn-Razan, the half-blind guard from the previous session.  Those poses the Narrator makes in italics are things noticed only by Abdul - often because of his supernatural senses.]

*Narrator:* The second tale beginneth....  [Part One of "Fishing For the Honest Man"]

*Narrator:* Never were there three more noble men, or so I thought until my later travels. But those are a story for another time, oh grateful listener. I longed at many a point in our travels to strike down the dog Metef, that wicked sorcerer who had betrayed my truest friend and kept me in the shackles of ignorance. Now I am a man half blind, but I see clearly. This, which you shall now hear, is the tale of our journey to Huzuz and the trial of that wicked one...

*Narrator:* The group which departed from the caravanserai at Zarif consisted of the trio of men: Yasir, Abdul, and Farraj and his loyal camel. Accompanying them were myself, Shuri ibn-Razan; and Jamul ibn-Ushtaq al-Huzuz, the silk merchant indebted to Yasir. Two caravan guards accompanied Jamul. And of course, there was that ominous chest from which a horrific sound issued in the evenings - the accursed sorcerer Metef, whose judgement awaited that one in Huzuz.

Abdul rides somewhat uncomfortably on the camel Mamoun loaned him. 

Yasir looks into the distance.

Farraj proudly sits astride noble Shasti, watching his companions. He is very excited today. 

*Yasir:* "Are you ready for the city, Farraj?"

*Narrator:* I rode close to the warrior Yasir, who they called saint. A thousand times blessed is his valor and a thousand times more his generosity. Though the greedy merchant deserved not such a man.

Abdul heaves a deep sigh. But he makes an effort to smile at Yasir's words. "Yes, Farraj, you look to be in high spirits!" 

Farraj occasionally whispers in Shasti's ear. "Look at these men. It is like a pilgrimage."   To the others, he says, "If it is as large as Zarif I will be happy. If it is smaller than a hovel, I shall be happy."

Abdul laughs despite himself. "As large as Zarif! Zarif is to an anthill as Huzuz is to Zarif! Less!"  He has the pardonable pride of a native in his tone. 

*Farraj:* "And we are as ants to Allah, scuttling about beneath the sun."

*Yasir:* "You are excited to show your caligraphy, Abdul, yes?"

*Narrator:* A light breeze fills the air promising a cool journey.

*Abdul:* "Oh, I am. And it is good to be going home again." But he sighs again, for some reason. At Farraj's words, he adds piously, "It is truly written."

*Yasir:* "I am certain that it must be good to go home. We are all filled with pride to join you on your journey."

Abdul glances at Yasir. "Oh? Is my company as grand as all that?" He essays a smile again. 

Farraj urges Shasti to one side of the travellers, looking across at them against the horizon. 

*Yasir:* "I've never known a man of such renown as to be a scribe for kings."

*Abdul:* "Oh, it's not such a great thing as that, though it is an honor. The Caliph (may God preserve him!) often invites artists and craftsmen to show their work. He is quite the patron."

*Yasir:* "Don't be so humble, good Abdul. It is quite an honour."

*Narrator:* In the distant west, Farraj can make out a thin trail of dust. Bedouin surely, and in these parts it is most likely Dar al-Hanif.

*Abdul:* "Perhaps you are right, Yasir." But he still looks to be making an effort to be cheerful.

Farraj points to the dust-cloud and calls to the travellers: "We aren't the only ants in the desert. Do you see the trail-dust?" 

Abdul peers where Farraj points. 

*Yasir:* "Is there a problem, Farraj?"  He stares carelessly toward the dust-cloud. 

*Farraj:* "Shall I go and find out?"

Shuri pulls his camel alongside Farraj, the chastiser of Zarif's men. "Hmm, a group of Bedouin, perhaps thirty strong."

*Yasir:* "We should go together, if we must go."

Abdul chuckles at last. "Let not we three be separated, indeed." 

Farraj looks to see if the Bedouin are headed our way.

*Narrator:* The merchant Jamul comments slyly to Shuri, "Perhaps that sandstorm addled your head. Are you not half-blind now?"

Shuri fingers his scimitar. "Silk merchant, I had anticipated a long journey, but do you think I would not recognize my own kinsmen?"

*Yasir:* "There is safety in numbers, and behind my scimitar."

*Narrator:* The trail of dust burns in the desert heat, quickly turning toward your small caravan. They are certainly headed your way.

*Farraj:* "Perhaps soft words will negate the need for sharp swords."

Yasir holds back.  "Someone else should talk to them, then."

Farraj waves to the approaching group and after riding slightly ahead, dismounts. 

*Abdul:* "I doubt they are hostile. Dar al-Hanif bears unblemished loyalty to the Caliph."  He smiles at Shuri as he says it.

*Narrator:* "Indeed," Shuri agrees with Abdul, "They are the cool saving wind of the desert, a boon to all travelers."

Farraj notices their tribal colours for the first time and looks back at his friends, an uncertain and maybe `lost' expression on his face. 

*Abdul:* "What is wrong, Farraj?"

*Narrator:* Three riders separate from the main of the Bedouin group, approaching on their camels.

Farraj mutters "Perhaps seven years in the desert have washed me clean." 

*Abdul:* "Clean, my friend?"

*Yasir:* "You are usually fond of talking, Farraj.  Are you finally at a loss for words?""

*Farraj:* "They have dried in my mouth my friend. I find an unpleasant taste there instead."

Abdul looks upon the younger man, concerned. "What is wrong, good Farraj?" 

Farraj strokes Shasti's flanks, whispering to her, "What do you see my friend?" 

Abdul repeats, "Farraj?" 

Yasir fingers his scimitar.  "Faith, Farraj."

*Farraj:* "Friend Abdul, I was once al-Hanif. I was expelled for my fortunes. I have no words for the pain."

*Narrator:* At the head of the Bedouin trio is a short man, perhaps of thirty-some years, with terribly sharp features, a scowl carved into his weather-beaten face. A great indigo aba swirls about him. Two faithful guards ride at either side, one of them bearing a banner emblazoned with a golden palace on a blue shield.

*Narrator:* Farraj instantly recognizes the man as Yazid bin Hanif, son of the sheikh who was conceived first yet born second. He has his own camp of followers within Hanif who wish to build their own enlightened city far from all caliphs, courts, and merchants. Some say that Yazid was touched with madness or perhaps even djinni during a sandstorm eight years ago.

Abdul looks positively stricken at this news, but there is no time to speak of it. 

*Farraj:* "I was left to die in the sands Abdul. Shasti rescued me and has been my friend and companion ever since."

Abdul moves his camel closer to Shasti. Wordlessly, he reaches out and grips Farraj's shoulder. 

Shuri leans close to Yasir, "This man, he may be quite mad. I am afraid with my eyes in their current condition I should prove less than valorous in a fight."

*Abdul:* "I had wondered how one so young as yourself came to be travelling alone in the desert."

*Farraj:* "He is Yazid bin Hanif, a dangerous man with no love for the Caliph."

*Yasir:* "Do not worry, Shuri. My eyes are good, and my sword is strong."  Yasir fingers his scimitar again.

*Narrator:* "Peace be upon you!" says Yazid, son of Hanif. Dismounting his camel he approaches your small caravan. In the background a sea of indigo robes and glinting spears swim behind him. "Do you come from Zarif?"

Farraj watches from around Shasti's flank, thankful for Abdul's presence. 

*Abdul:* "Peace be upon you, sir. We do."

*Narrator:* As Yazid draws near, it is quite clear his eyes dance with a mysterious light - they are a bit too wide, his features a bit too sharp, a perpetual sneer glued to his chapped lips. "Then if you have family there, you should pray for their souls. Know that the great storm which passed through not two nights ago has tainted all springs - where clear water should come forth there is only mud and sludge. Without water they will surely perish."

Abdul stares searchingly at Yazid. "That is terrible news."  He studies the man closely.

*Narrator:* _It is evident to Abdul that the man has been among the jann for far too long, exposed to elements that would have killed a man who was not protected by the djinni. He appears to genuinely perceive the world through eyes which are touched by the fringes of the earth._

Farraj watches Yazid with wide eyes. He remembers the wild storm in his youth wherein Yazid was said to have been maddened. 

*Yasir:* "Farraj, say something!"

Farraj looks back to Yasir. 

Yasir moves toward Farraj, hand still on scimitar.  He places his hand on Farraj's shoulder. 

Farraj mutters, "First `be quiet' now `speak'. my mouth is as dry as the wells."

*Yasir:* "Oddly, I was thinking how strange that you speak when you should act and now are quiet when you should speak.  Have faith."

*Farraj:* "Sometimes the Moon covers the Sun."

*Narrator:* Prowling around the camel burdened with the chest, Yazid strokes his beard. "Indeed. I do possess extra water my men gathered at a well not far from here. We were headed to Zarif anyhow. Perhaps we could help the caravanserai and its master Metef? Of course, I should desire something in trade..."

*Narrator:* _He also appears to look very carefully at Farraj and the chest, as if he were seeing with eyes that weren't wholly human, at least in their perspective.  Though he does appear human._

Abdul says, "Mamoun is the master of the caravanserai now."  He narrows his eyes at Yazid, his face going still and impassive, as he continues to study the man. 

Yasir waits silently, growing ever more impatient. 

*Narrator:* "Mamoun...Ah I remember him, whose voice sang of his father's great deeds, and whose prayers would make the prophets weep. As it is nearing sundown..." Though sundown is at least 2 hours away. "Why should we not make camp as brothers? You shall be well provisioned and I shall tell you of my foolish brother Mu'awiya, and perhaps we can plan a way to save the caravanserai from the drought which they are surely discovering as we speak." 

*Farraj:* "Son of Hanif. I am but a poor boy but I have riches to share. Wrapped in my saddle is a Zephir and I will play for you and your men. It must be a long time since you have heard the sublime beauty of the Hanif Zakkir, our tribal symphony in thanks to Allah for his gifts. I will play for water."

*Abdul:* "Why not, indeed?" Abdul shudders slightly. "I am not used to spending time on the sand. Perhaps I have heard too many tales of the jann." He watches Yazid carefully as he speaks.

*Narrator:* Yazid arches his brow at Farraj, as if trying to remember a distant face. "The water is given freely. And your music, oh rawun, is welcome. As you all are under the banner of Yazid. Though there is one thing you must not do, and that is to ask me of the djinn or the sandstorm. He who asks this question shall be cursed."

Farraj bows and goes about the duties of setting up camp. He is happy to be away from the serious and somewhat frightening adults. 

*Yasir:* "An odd request."

*Narrator:* Yazid levels a dark look at Abdul, but speaks nothing of it.

*Yasir:* "Keep your glances to yourself, friend."

*Abdul:* "I am sure our 'friend' simply has no wish to bring ill fortune, Yasir."

*Yasir:* "That must be it, Abdul, because I'm certain that he'd like to keep both his eyes in his head."

*Narrator:* "Yes," agrees Yazid quickly, "It is bad luck to invoke that name in these deserts. But let no more be said of this matter, for tonight we sup as friends and avert the evil eye together." 

Abdul says, only a touch ironically, "Inshallah." 

*Yasir:* "Let us dine, then. Inshallah."

*Narrator:* And so camp was made, and a splendorous feast is set before you, laden with dishes you had not expected to find on the road to Huzuz - freshly slaughtered goat meat, lentils, rice, dates, even fermented mare's milk. Yazid seats himself at the head of the small table in the majestic tent and you enter, noting the hanging banners and strange talismans which adorn the walls.

Abdul continues to watch Yazid carefully as he eats, but his words of the food are sincere: "Marvelous!" 

Yasir eats in relative silence, though he pauses intermittently to praise God.

*Narrator:* Yazid eats quietly, watching you intently. Shuri and the silk merchant Jamul, who had been at odds since the trip started, observe a terse silence. Indeed, the meal is almost supernaturally quiet, as if the angel of silence had descended upon the tent, save for the howling night wind outside.

Abdul belches courteously when he is satisfied. "You have my thanks for the meal, good Yazid." 

*Narrator:* Yazid raises his hand to Abdul as if to say "you're welcome." When he does so, Abdul can't help but notice that he has not fingernails on his left hand, or only the barest remnants of what used to be fingernails.

Abdul observes, "Your hand appears to be injured." 

Farraj has picked at his food. He seems slightly uncomfortable despite the hospitality of our host. 

Yasir eats more than he ought, and belches when he is done, although not terribly courteously.

Farraj waits for the meal to conclude and when the dishes have been cleared away he brings out his Zephir, polishing its brass length on his dirty robe.

*Narrator:* Yazid looks at his hand. "Ah, my brother Mu'awiya's gift." He raises his hand in mock pride. " 'Shake both your brother's hands, for then there is no hand to backstab you' goes the saying."

*Abdul:* "May God give you recompense."

*Yasir:* "That's quite a grim idiom."

*Narrator:* Yazid's eyes seem to glaze over as he watches Farraj draw forth his zephir. "Not the grimest idiom I know, for that is saved for my brother and those he idolizes. Inshallah. Inshallah."

*Abdul:* "Those he idolizes? Surely he is not an idol-worshipper!"

Yasir remarks, "Why do men in these parts have such hatred for their families?"

Abdul looks down at his plate, abruptly abashed at Yasir's words.

*Narrator:* "He is none other. And the worst of it you have not yet heard. He worships a man who walks upon the earth. Even more than he worships his own father." 

Abdul looks up again at Yazid in undisguised horror. "How can he be such a fool!" 

*Yasir:* "What is it that he worships?"

Farraj quietly practices his fingering. Recalling the airs of a tune he has not played in a long time. 

*Narrator:* Yazid grins at Yasir. "None other than the Grand Caliph." The word 'grand' a vicious sneer in his mouth.

Farraj looks up sharply, then back to the Zephir. 

*Abdul:* "Well.... assuredly, the Caliph - may God grant him peace! - would refuse this worship with as much horror and disdain as any of the Faithful."

*Narrator:* Driving his knife into the bone of goat upon his plate, Yazid leans back, "You seem so confident that the Most Worthy Caliph is quite the discriminating man."

*Yasir:* "The Caliph?  It is quite bold of you to accuse the Caliph of such atrocity!  I should hope that you have some proof of this."

Abdul blinks slowly, and gets that impassive look again. "Whether or not he is discriminating, I do not know. I do know he is a faithful Muslim and a hajji.  And," he adds meaningfully, "the Commander of the Faithful." 

*Yasir:* "Not for the caliph's sake, mind you, but your own."  He fingers his scimitar gently.

*Narrator:* "Often my brother Mu'awiya travels to Huzuz bearing great tribute. I hear from reports (as I myself am not a hajji) that he prostrates himself many times before the Grand Caliph and blesses him in every way, kissing his hands and feet." Yazid watches Yasir carefully, though there is a vicious gleam in his eye.

*Yasir:* "Jealousy does not become you."

*Narrator:* "My brother returns empty-handed and praises God that the Grand Caliph was so good to him. If this is not idol worship, I do not know what is."

*Abdul:* "There is no sin in offering tribute to a ruler. As for the rest, I do not know."

*Yasir:* "And speaking ill of the caliph will win you no friends."

*Abdul:* "You say that your brother 'praises God' that the Caliph was good to him. Surely, then, the Caliph cannot be his... 'god'."

Yasir snorts, imitating Shasti. 

*Narrator:* At Yasir's words, the bitter Yazid laughed. "I need not speak ill of the Caliph, my brother's disgusting behavior speaks volumes. And, I am sure you would agree," he says to Abdul, "that many men feign piety for their own advancement?"

Farraj gets to his feet. "We have shared our words at the table of our host. Please allow me to attempt the Hanif Zakkir, the beautiful and haunting music of our tribe, reminding us all that we are companions in life beneath the merciful gaze of Allah."

*Abdul:* "I have heard that it is so. But I fear, my good host, that we delay Farraj in his music."

*Yasir:* "I believe men are fond of inciting rebellion for similar reasons."  He sits quietly, his feathers ruffled.

*Narrator:* Yazid aquiesces the point to Yasir, and leans back, a smug look on his face, as he watches Farraj, still trying to recall his face.

*Farraj:* "It is said that a breeze once blew across the desert bringing the scents of the far ocean. It blew over the dunes and across the sands. It gained the aroma of the hot sands. It wafted through an oasis and it gained the smell of the dates and the camels there. Finally, it came to Al-Akara, the mountains of Creation and collected the aroma of the flinty stone and the mountain goat. This is the Hanif Zakkir."

Abdul settles down to listen.  Though he does look around idly abit, eyes half-slitted, as the song commences.  [Trying to get a good look at those talismans.]

Farraj begins to play. At first he is uncertain and you can hear his breath trying to match his fingering. Then, slowly you hear the washing of the waves on the shore, the call of the gull, and you are entranced by the Hanif Zakkir..... 

*Narrator:* _One talisman in particular has a skull of a little jann on it -- Abdul shudders to think where it came from. It surely would ward off jann. As for the others, many appear to have been made by someone familiar with djinni (perhaps even a cunning djinn itself!) but they are only disguised to appear effective and offer no protection at all._

Abdul's face abruptly blanches as he glances off in one of the corners, despite the beauty of the music. He quickly hides the expression. 

*Narrator:* Yazid is silent for a long time, tears welling in his eyes. "Oh youth of the desert, though you play with your hands, it is surely your heart which plays the zephir! For the longest time I tried to recall your face, but it was your voice that revealed you to me. For you are Farraj, that noble youth who was wrongly left to die by my father the sheikh!"

Abdul stares at Yazid, undisguised. 

*Farraj:* The tune rises and you feel the tempo increase as you are taken across flowing dunes. You hear the sifting sand at the crest of the dune and the hard sand at it's face. The dangerous, clinging sands in the troughs snatches at your ears but then the music skips and dances away.

*Narrator:* When Yazid utters these words, Shuri is amazed, yet a little apprehensive of Farraj, as are the other guards in the tent. Whispers can be heard from outside, 
whispers that a bad omen has returned, or that a bad omen has been overturned - they seem indistinguishable in the evening winds.

*Farraj:* The Falcon calls from on high and the desert mouse scuttles as the snake glides and the crickets chirp. Farraj is lost to the tune, his eyes closed.

*Farraj:* Date palms sway and waters ripple then the wind rises and blasts across the wastes. The Hanif Zakkir is not afraid of the tempest. It flits alongside and then bows down at the feet of the Mountains of Creation and at their feet, it rests. And all is quiet.

Farraj opens his eyes. 

Abdul's face is an impassive mask. "Most beautiful, my friend. I had no idea you were so talented." 

*Yasir:* "Well done, Farraj. I am surrounded by talent."

*Abdul:* "And in the midst of a family reunion, no less."

*Yasir:* "Perhaps that is the best time."

*Abdul:* "You speak truth, good Yasir. Though as you have already noted, some families are more peaceful than others!"

Farraj laughs. "You all look like a herd of camels looking at one cup of water." Then, "Oh, I didn't mean you are camels." 

Abdul smiles tightly.

Farraj blushes. His words had come out before he thought. 

Yasir forces a smile. 

*Narrator:* Yazid grins broadly, wiping away a tear from his cheek. "Oh noble youth, if I were a camel in your service, if I could listen to such playing each day, I should count myself the luckiest man in the world!"

Farraj stares blankly. "You surely are the noble one." 

Abdul tries to catch Farraj's eye. 

Farraj is looking about. He is increasingly confused and a little alarmed at the amount of attention he is getting. 

Abdul shakes his head ever so minutely when Farraj looks at him.

Farraj lowers the Zephir. "Did I make a mistake?" 

*Abdul:* "Not at all, my friend. It was lovely."

*Narrator:* "Not at all, oh young Farraj!" says Yazid. "Methought I'd become a falcon and was blown by the merciful wind to the mountains."

*Farraj:* "Thank you Abdul. I learned it a long time ago, it is now as though those days were a dream."

*Abdul:* "I thank you again for the meal, my host. But I find I am weary. I will bid you a very good night."

*Yasir:* "I should be off to sleep as well."

*Farraj:* "Your praise is generous dear Host. Though my fingers play the Zephir and my breath blows through it, my heart soars through the skies.

*Narrator:* "Yes," agrees Yazid, suddenly becoming very anxious to depart your company. "Farraj, there's is much that we must speak of, but let it wait to the morning. I shall dream of your playing till then, for it is the sweetest sound I have heard in many years - a gentle wind when I have been in a maelstrom. We shall speak in the morning about the water and the fate of Zarif, and more important matters."

*Farraj:* "I bid you goodnight as well. I must see to my camel."

Abdul rises and bows, then heads for his tent. His face is still set like flint. 

Farraj bows to Yazid and follows the others from the tent, looking about for wherever Shasti is hobbled. 

Yasir finds his tent and sleeps.

Farraj goes to Shasti, checking that she is fed and watered. Shasti looks at Farraj and relaxes, he seems far less nervous compared to when he went in. She speculates on what might have been in the tent. Snort.

Abdul enters his tent and drops the flap back down. 

=============================

Abdul whispers, "Aqisan, my friend, come softly."

Aqisan appears, as promptly as ever, and makes his obeisance.  "Son of the worthy, you have called like a mouse in the desert, but your timing could not have been more opportune, for just now I was beset by the same unwanted suitor as when you summoned me in the storm."

*Abdul:* "I am glad, my friend. How long can you stay? I may have need of you, for I am guest to a man I trust not at all."

Aqisan: "Do you mean you are living and trust not God? For that is a common thing; or do you mean to say the bond of salt which you have taken (and does not apply to me) might bind your hands?"

*Abdul:* "I mean that I ate with a man with the skull of a janni child in his tent. I trust God, but I will keep my wits about me. Now please, go as swiftly and invisibly as the wind to Zarif and find if the wells there are pure or fouled. I would know if this man has lied to me about their fate."

Aqisan arches an eyebrow at the news of the skull, but says readily, "Hearing and seeing with sweetness and joy, I shall return before the sun rises!" And turning into a whirlwind, he departs.

=============================

Farraj bids Shasti a good night and makes for his tent.

*Narrator:* Farraj has just settled to sleep, and begins to doze off when he hears voices outside his tent, which is close to where the camels are kept.

Farraj places an ear against the wall of the tent. Can he hear them over Shasti's snores? 

Shasti: SNRRRRRRRR... HMMMMMMGRRNN SNRRRRRRFFF HMMMMMGRRRRNK

*Narrator:* The three men appear to be preparing camels for a journey. They are talking about the madness of Yazid, son of Hanif, how the winds have driven him mad, and that he shall run them all to the ground with exhaustion if they do not warn his brother Mu'awiya of his worsening condition.

Farraj pulls out his knife and sneaking to the back (or far side) of his tent, quietly cuts a slit and wriggles out. Staying out of sight, he makes for Abdul's tent. 

*Narrator:* Farraj rolls right into Yasir!

Yasir whispers, "Careful, Farraj."  He creeps around the tent, closer to the camels. 

*Farraj:* "Am I blind, everyone is up but I was sure it was night."

*Narrator:* "It is an ill omen the sounds the emit from that tent. I hear it is a cursed chest which the travelers bring," says one Bedouin. 

Abdul emerges from his tent, making a great show of being restless.  He wanders over to Farraj's tent.

*Narrator:* "Think no more of it," says his fellow, "For soon we shall be far from here and that damnable Yazid."

Abdul whispers at the front of the tent, "Are you awake, my friend? I find that sleep escapes me."

Yasir walks over to the camels calmly. 

=======================

*Narrator:* The third hushes the other two upon noticing Yasir.

*Yasir:* "Isn't it late to be huddled in the shadows by camels, friends?"

*Narrator:* "Ah, but they are quite warm on a cold night without a wife!" says the younger of the Bedouin. His older fellow soundly backhands him upside the head. 

Shasti looks at the Bedouin with disdain. Snort. 

*Yasir:* "How foul."

*Narrator:* "We are keeping guard for camel thieves known to frequent these regions." Explains the older Bedouin. "And think nothing of my nephew. He has been kicked one too many times in the head by camels."

*Yasir:* "It takes three of you to guard camels?"

*Narrator:* "Ah, certainly," explains the elder elaborately, "One to keep watch, one to keep the camels quiet to our presence, and a third to...ah...keep the other two awake." He is a poor liar, to his credit.

*Yasir:* "It seems to me like your crude jokes may not be as jestful as I'd hoped."

Yasir puts his hand on the hilt of his scimitar.  "What are you really doing out here?"

*Narrator:* Upon seeing Yasir's scimitar, the elder falls upon his knees. "Oh righteous one, spare us, and tell not the fearsome Yazid of our actions here. Have mercy!"

*Yasir:* "Then tell me what you are doing."

Shasti thinks to herself, If these camel men keep crying like that they will solve the water shortage. The desert will be as green as the oasis python.

*Narrator:* "We are only giving to Mu'awiya his just reward -- his brother's health. Know that Yazid's madness worsens with each passing season..." says the eldest to Yasir, not shaken to his core, but nevertheless afraid of this lion before him.

*Yasir:* "Forgive me, but I do not understand.  Nor, I am afraid, does my sword."

*Narrator:* "Oh righteous and perceptive one," says the Bedouin, "how can I trust that you will not relay these things to Yazid the son of Hanif?"

*Yasir:* "If you truly believe me righteous, there should be no doubt. I give you my word."

*Narrator:* "Then upon your word I place my life and my nephews' lives. Know that Yazid has been driven mad by storms, touched by djinni of the utter wastes, and he sleeps not each night, instead staggering into the desert calling for the djinni to take him back to their palace. He acts as a man possessed. He leads us to the brink of disaster only to be saved by some strange chance of fortune. Oh, righteous one, I fear our luck runeth out, for the wells have run dry and only sludge fills the wadis of the desert. Mu'awiya, that noble and exalted youth and Yazid's brother, is the only one who can talk sense into him and spare us our misfortune."

*Yasir:* "Then ride quickly, and do not return until you have found Mu'awiya; my companions will stay here with me and deal with Yazid while you are gone."

*Narrator:* "Oh master of the merciful, I do as you obey!" declares the Bedouin before saddling the camels with his nephews.

Yasir returns to Abdul and Farraj.

==============================

Farraj notices Abdul and moves to intercept before the men notice him. "Shush, my friend, there is trouble near the camels."

Abdul blinks and whispers, "Farraj, you are well met.  There is more trouble than that, I fear."  He gestures to Farraj's tent wordlessly, cocking his head in a question. 

Farraj whispers, "Abdul. Yasir has followed in the footsteps of the prophet.  Is he a man or a lion?"

Abdul whispers, "He is a man in an age when too many men are jackals. We must speak further of many things." 

*Farraj:* "Yes?"

Abdul enters Farraj's tent without a further word. 

Farraj follows.

*Abdul:* "We can speak a little louder here. Did you hear what Yazid said of you when you played? I thought it likely you did not."

*Farraj:* "I was in a dream."

*Abdul:* "He recognized you, and said you were the boy unjustly banished by his father."

Farraj is shocked speechless.

*Abdul:* "Farraj, please. I have no desire to ask you a question which will pain you, but I must know - why were you banished?"

*Farraj:* "Did you ever hear the story of the man who found a coin in the desert?"

*Abdul:* "No."

*Farraj:* "He saw a beautiful gold coin lying on the sand. How fortunate I am, he cried. I can buy a rug for my wife and a cloth for my daughter."

Abdul listens, a little impatiently. 

*Farraj:* "Bending down to pick it up he dislocated his shoulder and was unable to feed his goats, who all ran away."

Abdul waits. 

*Farraj:* "This morning I was a rich man, tonight I am a pauper. Cruel fortune. He cried."

*Farraj:* "Everyone who meets me is like that poor man. Inshallah. It is the will of God."

*Abdul:* "So your tribe believed you to be accursed?"

*Farraj:* "This is true."

Abdul nods. "I am sorry, my friend. How long have you been alone?" 

*Farraj:* "I was left in the desert. When the sun had baked me as hard as a stone and I was at the gates of heaven, Shasti came and rescued me. We have been in the desert for seven years."

Abdul is shaken to the core by this news, and his face twists. "It is insupportable, my friend! It is an outrage." He meets Farraj's eyes. "Know that I also have no family or clan or relations in this world. I have been alone all my life. But if we survive this, I would be proud to call you brother. I care not of any curses." 

Farraj has tears in his eyes. 

Abdul grips the boy's shoulder, then says, "But for tonight, we must preserve ourselves. Yazid is either mad or possessed. He has the skull of a ... child... in his tent, as part of some magical charm." 

Farraj frowns. 

*Narrator:* _Abdul notices the subtle signs of Aqisan's return, a light breeze which plays with his hair. For now, Aqisan remains invisible._

Abdul's hair rustles slightly in a breeze. (In the tent?!) He cocks his head as if to listen. 

*Narrator:* _"Son of the worthy," comes Aqisan's whisper, "It is as you have said. The water of the Zarif oasis is mud and unsuited for drinking. The oasis wells run dry. Only the cistern still has water, but that only enough for one week."_

Farraj is mulling over all these things he has been told. His own brother keeps the skulls of children?? 

Abdul frowns to himself and nods slightly to the air. Aloud, he says, "Where is Yasir?" 

Farraj is still bemused. "It is a strange night."

*Abdul:* "Very strange, indeed."

Yasir wanders in, brushing off his clothes. 

Abdul looks up as Yasir enters the tent. "We were just about to seek you. There is much ill afoot." 

*Yasir:* "You don't know the half of it, friends."

*Abdul:* "Nor do you." He tells Yasir also about the skull he saw.

*Yasir:* "It seems our generous host has been dealing with djinni, at least according to his men."

*Farraj:* "Golden Yasir. Men don't know whether to fear or love you."

*Yasir:* "You, Farraj, have nothing to fear, nor you Abdul.  As for the men afoot tonight, they shouldn't know, for I don't know either."

Abdul gets all impassive again at the mention of djinni. "What sort of dealings has he had with them? And what think you of such dealings?" 

*Narrator:* _"He is a noble one this Yasir, but a bit too quick to lay harsh words upon my kind. Shall I drag him to the desert for your amusement, oh son of the worthy?" whispers Aqisan playfully._

*Yasir:* "I know little of djinn, but whatever leads a man to harm his kin is evil.  As for Yazid, they called him possessed."

*Abdul:* "You will understand that this does not surprise me." He shakes his head for some reason.

*Yasir:* "You seem troubled, Abdul."

*Abdul:* "I am troubled, Yasir. I keep thinking of that child." That is true, but perhaps not all the truth.  "What are we to do, my friends? We share the bond of salt with Yazid, and cannot harm him."

*Farraj:* "He says he is my brother. I would prefer him helped or healed than harmed."

*Abdul:* "When did he call you brother, Farraj?"

*Yasir:* "I'm not sure where to go from here, but this family is certainly not very stable."

*Farraj:* "Didn't you just tell me that he said that his own father was my father?"

Abdul blinks at Farraj. "Ah, no. I said that he said you had been unjustly banished by HIS father." 

*Yasir:* "I'm still curious why you would both rather talk than do something."

*Abdul:* "I am open to suggestions, Yasir! What are we to do?"

*Yasir:* "Let us go and find Yazid and see what his dealings with the djinn are."

*Farraj:* "I gain a brother, I lose a brother, do you see what I mean about the man and the coin?"

*Narrator:* A voice comes from outside of the tent, "Yasir al-Ayyubi! Come quick!"

Yasir runs out. 

*Abdul:* "Ah. Yes, I suppose we can do that." He heads out of the tent after Yasir, muttering something under his breath.

_Abdul mutters to Aqisan, "Can you find this Yazid without undue difficulty, my friend?"_

*Narrator:* _"Indeed, I can. And then?" whispers Aqisan._

*Abdul:* _"Do not show yourself to any djinni that may be with him, if you can. Then return to me and tell me where he is."_

*Narrator:* _"Hearing and seeing, with sweetness and joy." Aqisan departs._

*Narrator:* One of the caravan guards appointed to watch the chest grabs Yasir's shoulder. "I have ill tidings. Though all is well now. Soon you shall find that Shuri ibn-Razan, my own captain in the caravanserai, is not to be trusted. For he attempted to open the chest!"

Yasir screams, "Shuri!"

*Abdul:* "I would not have thought this of good Shuri. Perhaps even in his new form, Metef has worked some foul magic on him."

Farraj is standing alone in his tent. "One moment my tent is the bazaar. The next it is empty. It has been day at night with everyone wandering about and riding off."  He leaves the tent.

*Yasir:* "You find Yazid, Abdul. I'll find Shuri."

Abdul laughs out loud for some reason. He promises, "Do not worry, Yasir, I will attend to it."  He makes his way out of the camp.

Yasir goes looking for Shuri. 

*Narrator:* The caravan guard motions for you to follow him to the tent with the chest. "We have bound Shuri to the tent pole. My fellow keeps firm watch on him. Were it not for his excellent training he surely would have gotten the drop on us!"

Yasir follows the guard, his face thunderous.

Farraj listens for a moment and heads towards where he can hear voices. 

*Narrator:* The caravan guard leads Yasir and his companion to the tent. Within is tumult. Shuri, bound and gagged to the tent pole kicks his sandal from his foot, catching the other guard square in the jaw as the guard is about to open the chest! Shuri tries to say something, but his voice is muffled by the gag.

*Yasir:* "What's going on here?"  He draws his sword. 

Abdul hears the commotion and hurries back toward the tent from which it emerges. 

*Narrator:* The caravan guard by Yasir does the same, "Feyrouz! What in the name of the Compassionate God are you doing?" He interposes himself between the guard (Feyrouz) and the chest.

*Yasir:* "Steady your hand, friend. It is Metef who is the enemy."

Farraj grips Ittifaqi Hasanah with one hand, his knife with the other and sidles around the inner edge of the tent, closer to the chest. 

[Note:  "Ittifaqi Hasanah" is Farraj's silk rope, which has acquired some minor magical abilities:  It has "rescued heroes and bound villains" after all.  The name means, roughly, 'Unexpected good fortune / Harmony / In concert / With one accord'.]

*Yasir:* "What is going on here, Feyrouz?"  He reaches over and pulls the gag from Shuri's mouth. 

*Narrator:* Feyrouz, his words slurred as if half asleep, hisses at Yasir. "It's him who I trusted! Shuri has freed Metef from the chest!! I sought to open the chest so that he might be trapped within again!"

*Yasir:* "The chest stays closed, Feyrouz."

Farraj looks back and forth beteen the men. 

*Narrator:* Ah, praise the name of Yasir a thousand times, from every mountain top! Even my children know his name now! I growled when I heard that one's slander. "It is not true, oh Yasir! This man has been lured by promises of riches and wives by Metef, who speaks with the serpent's voice from the chest."

Abdul enters the tent and listens closely, looking to Yasir. 

*Yasir:* "Move away from the chest, Feyrouz."  He moves closer to Feyrouz, sword in hand. 

Farraj steps over to the chest, tightly gripping his silken belt. 

*Yasir:* "Farraj, tie the chest shut."

*Abdul:* "So, Metef! Are you up to tricks? While no pious man can slay a prisoner meant for judgment, attempting escape is another thing."

*Yasir:* "Abdul, can you cut Shuri free?  As for you, Feyrouz, I suggest you move very slowly and steadily away from the chest."

*Abdul:* "Of course, my friend." He frees Shuri, saying to him, "Well met, O vigilant one."

Farraj unwinds Ittifaqi Hasanah from his waist, revealing first gold, then azure and lastly ebon silk. 

*Narrator:* As Farraj kneels by the chest, he hears a whispering voice, as if struggling to form human words, "And the stories I could tell....and you would be revered for them....open the chest, Farraj...."

Farraj is entranced by the voice, his eyes losing their focus.  He mumbles, "Tell me more."

*Yasir:*  "Abdul, Shuri!  Help Farraj!" 

*Narrator:* Feyrouz snarls at Yasir, "You should listen to the voice of the djinni within the chest, oh Yasir! It has told me it would make you my king if you would but open it, for it is a gift, a rare treasure! How many men pass up such things in the market thinking it some soiled antique? Be not the fool they are!"

Abdul rushes over to Farraj, seizing his shoulder and shaking him violently. "Listen not to the fiend, Farraj!" 

*Yasir:* "Feyrouz, it's a lie."

*Narrator:* The voice, like an animal attempting to form human words whispers to Farraj, "Rest your head upon me, touch my lock, it yields to you where the hearts of men are cold....*gawk*...."

*Yasir:* "If you don't renounce such a lie, I'll be forced to kill you."

Farraj reaches out to open the chest. "Tonight I am the man looking at the coin. Only the fool would leave it in the sand."

Abdul shouts, "Farraj, you fool!"  He tries to stop the young man, but to no avail.

*Narrator:* Feyrouz seizes an urn and throws it at Yasir!

*Narrator:* Yasir slices the urn cleanly in half as Feyrouz runs for the tent, only to be intercepted by his fellow caravan guard.

*Narrator:* And then Farraj does the unthinkable!

Farraj looks with greedy eyes into the chest. 

*Narrator:* The tent howls as unholy wind rushes within, black feathers bursting forth in a shower of smoke and ash. Within the chest gleams a single golden coin, brighter than the sun itself, and as sensuous as the moon, calling to Farraj, beckoning in subtle glory.

Farraj reaches for the coin. 

Abdul tries to bodily pull Farraj away from the chest.

*Narrator:*  Abdul grapples with the furiously writhing Farraj, but manages to get a solid hold on him.

Abdul gasps out, "Close the chest, Shuri, then help me!" 

Farraj shouts, "My birthright. Release me, thief!"  He struggles ineffectually in Abdul's tight grip.

Shuri ibn-Razan cries out to God, throwing himself upon the lid of the chest, "Oh Metef! I should kill you where you stand, but I shall not betray Yasir's wishes for your just trial!"

*Farraj:* "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

*Narrator:* Shuri forces the lid shut, just as the raven Metef is about to emerge to his freedom. Violent gawking can be heard from within as the smoke and darkness sucks back into the chest. And as quickly as it begun it is finished.

*Abdul:* "Quickly, Shuri! Bind the chest with the silk rope!"

Farraj goes limp. 

*Narrator:* Feyrouz falls limp.

*Yasir:* "Shuri, can you keep an eye on them and scream for us if anything else goes wrong?"

*Abdul:*  "The chest first, please."  He cradles Farraj in his arms. 

*Narrator:* "Yes, Yasir, I shall do my best," says Shuri as he finishes binding the chest with Farraj's blessed silk sash.

*Yasir:* "It's bound. Abdul, we need to go."

*Narrator:* The first rays of golden dawn filter into the tent.

Abdul sighs and nods, rising to his feet. He lays Farraj down gently. 

Yasir looks for Yazid.

*Abdul:*  Once out of earshot of the others, Abdul says to Yasir, "He is already being sought, my friend."

*Narrator:* Yasir does not have to look far, for he can see Yazid and several of his warriors heading toward them. He appears furious beyond belief.

*Narrator:* _Abdul gets a sinking feeling in his stomach about Aqisan._

Abdul looks at the approaching warriors and says faintly, "Oh my." 

Yasir moves toward Yazid fearlessly. 

Abdul follows. 

*Narrator:* "What is the meaning of this devilery?" Demands Yazid, throwing a copper pendant to the ground. "Are you not pious men? By God, I shall show you what we do to those whose tongues lie!" He cries. Over thirteen indigo robed warriors have gathered around you now.

*Yasir:* "What are you talking about, Yazid?"

Abdul's face goes completely expressionless at the sight of the pendant. 

*Narrator:* "This is the seal of Suleiman bin Daoud, binder of djinni!" hisses Yazid. "Only by the will of God Almighty was I saved from the wretched creature who sought to do battle with me."

*Yasir:* "What has that to do with us?"  He is clearly perplexed, and softens his grip on his sword. 

Abdul lets Yasir do the talking, his mind racing.

*Narrator:* "When it descended upon me, the foul djinn cried out, 'Oh fool! Know you not that I am a servant of Huzuz and the pride of the djinni courts?' All at once came a rushing of drums, and I was tossed this way and that, and my sword was of no more use." As Yazid speaks, a cistern filled with hot coals is brought forward. The ranks of the warriors swells to over 20 men.

Abdul starts to look perplexed now, but remains silent. 

*Yasir:* "That does not explain what this has to do with us, or why you think we have wronged you, Yazid."

*Abdul:* "There is a question I would ask you, O my host, save you have forbidden us to ask certain things of you. Will you free me from your prohibition?"

*Narrator:* "Verily you shall know soon! At last I summoned what little strength was left in me and drew forth my mother's charm against the evil eye, and I said unto the djinn, 'You who have come in the name of a foul lord, I abjure you to the pits of hell!' And unmoved, the djinn laughed, casting me to the earth...."

*Narrator:* Hearing Abdul speak, Yazid grows angry, "Speak, but know that the punishment among our tribe for lies, slander, and allegiance to the most foul is a hot coal placed upon the live tongue."

*Abdul:*  "I was but going to ask how the remainder of your encounter fell out, for I thought you had done. My apologies, and please do go on."

*Yasir:* "Abdul would not lie, Yazid.  I would risk my own tongue upon it."

*Abdul:*  "I thank you, my friend."

*Narrator:* "Verily I shall tell you, oh sage and ally to the unholy! For the djinn answered me, 'No, fool, I serve a greater one who has supped with you and is a true hajji, and a devout Moslem!' Whereupon I said, 'This is not true!' And it replied, 'If you do not believe me, then I shall bury you in sand!' Thrusting forward the charm of my mother, I said the words she taught me and the djinn vanished. Inshallah!" And the rest of the men repeat "Inshallah!"

*Abdul:*  "On what basis do you call me an ally to the unholy, my host?"

*Yasir:* "I have never before beheld a djinn, let alone spoken with them.  That is a grave accusation to make, Yazid."

*Narrator:* "It is one of your companions, oh Abdul, though I think it is not either of you. Summon them. Summon Faraj, and Shuri, and Jamul the merchant, for one of them has sent this djinn upon me, and the one who recognizes this pendant shall suffer my wrath!"

*Abdul:* "Friend Yazid, I ask you to recall that you have shared salt with our company."

*Narrator:* Yazid seems to ponder for a moment, "Yes, it is true, but if one has broken this bond by sending their servant upon me, then am I not justified in returning the favor?"

*Yasir:* "Yazid, I tell you this, if you accuse one of mine unjustly, I will be forced to kill you for such an insult. So you watch your words carefully."

Abdul has a sudden thought. "Though it is true that we are transporting a wicked sorcerer for judgement in Huzuz." 

*Narrator:* A gasp goes through the gathered men. "A sorcerer?" Yazid's eyes go wide with terror and anger. "Show us to him this instance!"

*Yasir:* "No."

*Abdul:* "Alas, we cannot. He is bound in a chest, for he whispers blandishments that twist the hearts of men."

Yasir regains his composure and stiffens his poise. 

*Narrator:* Yazid looks from Abdul to Yasir. "Very well, if it is of no matter, then...." He picks up the coppper pendant and holds it above the flame. "No one shall be missing this."

*Yasir:* "Certainly not."

*Abdul:* "Destroying such an implement can only be a pious act."

*Narrator:* Thrusting the pendant within the flame, Yazid watches as it glows bright and begins to drip copper. "This is what shall await the one who has played with the fire of wickedness and sought to overturn me..."

Abdul says coolly, "The will of God be done."

*Narrator:* All of a sudden Yazid's hand gets burned by the flame and he drops the pendant into the fire, nursing his right hand, he gazes at it in pain. All the fingernails have been burned off. Yazid gasps, "Where is Farraj? Oh where is that noble youth? His word only do I trust in all the world!"

Abdul stares at Yazid unabashedly. The words, "Is he mad?" are written on his face.

Yasir is still agitated by Yazid's accusations.

===============================

*Narrator:* Farraj comes to with Shuri nearby, "Farraj, are you quite yourself or has the vicious Metef still a hold over you like he had over Feyrouz? And if you are yourself, would you like some water? And what shall we do about your friends who are outside as we speak accused of heresy?"

*Farraj:* "A drink would be nice. ... My friends accused of Heresy? They must regret ever meeting me."  He is shamed by his actions and unsure of what to do. 

Farraj hears Yazid's gasp. Rousing himself, he mutters "Sometimes the Moon covers the Sun," and staggers out into the light. 

================================

*Narrator:* Indigo robes part like a sea as whispers surround Farraj who approaches the accused Yasir and Abdul, and the wounded and mad Yazid. "Farraj, oh noble youth," says Yazid, "have you kept the truth from me? But even then I would not believe it, for your voice makes the truth and fantasy seem a lake that we play in for only a while in our mortal lives. But is it true that one of your companions has sicked a djinn upon me out of malice?"

*Yasir:* "Farraj, tell him the error of his ways."

*Farraj:* "Yazid.  Deception lies all around us.  I myself sought to release the demon in the chest. You are beset by djinn.  The Sun is in the sky and it is day.  The Moon is in the sky and it is night."

Abdul murmurs, "Sometimes the Moon covers the Sun."

*Farraj:* "Where is the deception Yazid?  Who is the deceiver?"

*Narrator:* Rubbing his hands together, Yazid whimpers, "I fear it is as my brother says, that my mind deceives me, and I grow weak of will, that common clouds and storms and to me things fearsome as to a child, that shadows at which camels do not balk to me are terrifying omens. This is my curse, since I left that palace of beauty." Yazid's eyes are wet and filled with tears, but also roving like a madman's. 

*Abdul:*  "What palace is that, O my host?"

*Narrator:* "That palace which lies beyond the desert, beyond the storm, beyond even the unreachable. I travel day and night, and still it is denied to me. The winds deny me, the djinn deny me, and now they reproach me for my earnest efforts. Oh there, is the smell so sweet of frankincense that all cities of the land pale in comparison. The music is the most beautiful in the land, and only the sweet zephir of Farraj has soothed me and brought back a glimmer of that cherished memory."

Abdul's face has a look as of one remembering. "It is a rare dream, Yazid. Yet dreams are meant to be remembered with joy and to give one strength, not to trouble one's days."

*Farraj:* "Brother, let me tell you a story. It is the continuation of a parable I told Abdul just last night, before my own madness. It is the Tale of the Fortunate Man..."

*Narrator:* Amidst his tears, Yazid lays his head in Farraj's lap, "I shall hear you."

Abdul stares at Yazid in astonishment. 

*Yasir:* "Another story, there are always so many stories, Farraj."

*Abdul:* "Let him speak, Yasir.  A wisdom is upon him."

*Farraj:* "A traveller in the Deep Jedh once came upon a coin lying upon the sand. Gazing upon it he fantasized about the things he could do with this new found wealth."

*Farraj:* "He thought of gifts for his loved ones.  His mind wandered over all the generous things he could do with the treasure.  Then his thoughts turned to the personal gains he could make.  More goats, a bigger house in a better town... Perhaps he could hire a man to kill his rivals.  But these were all just thoughts. The coin lay in the sand."

*Farraj:* "Reaching to grasp it he dislocated his back. Jamming the coin into his pocket and gasping at the pain he returned home, barely able to walk.  He couldn't work so his goats wandered off or were poached. The water lay at the bottom of the well, all his labours unravelled.  He cried out: This morning a wealthy prince, tonight a pauper. Ah cruel fortune."

*Farraj:* "And here the tale continues because he still had the coin in his pocket."

*Farraj:* "In much pain he travelled to the city housing the wisest man, leaving his wife, his family and what was left of his life.  After much toil and pain from his ruined back he came to the city and approaching the wise man he said:  Wise Man! This coin is cursed. It has stolen my health. It has stolen my livelihood. It has stolen my love. I am an empty, cursed man.  Please lift this curse."

*Farraj:* "Without a word the Wise Man nodded, pocketed the coin and walked away.  The coin was not cursed, the man was deceived. He had deceived himself."

Abdul murmurs, "The curse was in his own heart." 

*Farraj:* "So Brother, take heart. I do not claim that there are no curses or works of Shaitan in this world. At any time the man could have dropped the coin and returned to his loved ones.  What is in your heart?"

*Narrator:* A veil seems to lift from Yazid's head, his eyes regaining a semblance of humanity and reason. "Oh, the cruel fates that it has taken one so young and new to the world to teach me how to see not with my eyes but with my heart! The coin that I have carried is enmity for my brother and for the Caliph, peace upon them, for I feared they would judge me. That they would not believe me when I told them where I had been. And in my silence I drove myself mad. How can I be forgiven?"

*Abdul:* "Ask it of them. How can there be any other way?  Ask it of them and of God."

*Narrator:* He bows to Abdul. "I swear I shall do it!"

*Abdul:* "God has blessed you this day, Yazid al-Hanif."

*Narrator:* Kneeling before Yasir he asks: "And you Yasir, how do you direct me to seek forgiveness?"

*Yasir:* "Seek it inside yourself, Yazid.  God has seen fit to give you a new chance."

Abdul raises Yazid to his feet. "Is it well with you, brother?" 

*Narrator:* "I shall do my utmost in the name of the Most Merciful." He bows low.

Farraj smiles. 

*Narrator:*"Though my heart aches for the wrongs inflicted upon my men and upon you, oh worthy souls, never have I felt more certain of myself or more full of faith. It is as if the sun has emerged from behind the clouds long after the clouds stopped believing in sunlight!" 

*Abdul:* "It is well. May I ask of you a thing?"

*Narrator:* "Ask it, and I shall comply."

*Abdul:* "This tale of the djinn in the desert today... Was it of your eyes or your heart? Did it happen as you have told us?"

*Farraj:* "I have forgiveness of my own to beg. The demon offered me paltry gifts and like the man of my tale, I lusted after the coin, willing to lose all for a handful of regrets."

*Narrator:* "I-- I cannot say," murmurs Yazid, "for the two were so bound to me, that I knew not the difference."

Abdul starts to say something to Farraj, but stops as Yazid speaks. "The two? What do you mean?" 

*Narrator:* "The two djinni that I met in the desert," explains Yazid, "The one that attacked me and the one that saved me."

*Abdul:*  "Go on."

*Narrator:* "I know not if what I say is true or imagined, but I was beset by a great wind, a towering djinn with fearsome eyes and tusks and as I staggered back, I drew forth my mother's charm and as I did so another wind, a pure and swift wind chased the other away, but it was sorely wounded, and approaching the massive man, I thought to help him, but as soon as I touched him, he vanished."

Abdul sighs deeply.  "And the pendant - where did you come by it?"

*Narrator:* "Oh Farraj, you who should be among my tribesmen today, how can we not but forgive you? For you have entertained us, you have resisted the demon that tempted you, and you have restored my faith and reason." Yazid kisses Farraj upon both cheeks.

Abdul looks down at his feet. He is alone once more. 

*Narrator:* Yazid continues to Abdul, "That pendant I found upon the wounded djinn. When he vanished it remained behind." Reaching into the warm embers, Yazid draws forth the slightly deformed pendant. "It is a miracle it is not but a lump of copper. Please take this and may it serve you well." Yazid presses it into Abdul's hand.

Abdul blinks. "Ah, if you wish this thing." He tucks it into a fold of his robe. 

*Yasir:* "That's a dangerous thing to have, Abdul."

Abdul sighs. "It seems to be a day of confessions and forgiveness. I have come to love you well, my friends, and I find I also must open my heart to you."  He waits for some sort of response, trembling.

*Yasir:* "Go ahead, Abdul."

*Abdul:*  "I have spoken no lies, yet neither have I spoken all the truth. I also have walked among the djinni, having been carried off as a child.  The second djinn, the one who saved you, Yazid, is a friend to me. When Yasir asked me to seek you out, I sent him to find you. He is the second djinn, the one who was wounded. I do not know what it means that the pendant that bound him remains while he is gone."

*Yasir:* "Strange company for you to keep, Abdul."

Abdul says bitterly, "I have found more friends among djinni than among men, until these last few days.  Perhaps that is why the people of Huzuz call me 'Abdul al-Jann'."

Farraj looks at Abdul with new eyes. 

*Narrator:* "Then it must be that you have saved my life twice. Once from madness, and once from djinn. I am a lucky man. Oh Abdul al-Jann, I am in your debt. I too was lost among the lands of djinn as a youth, and was stricken from my tribe for it. When you are in the desert look for the banner of Yazid, for under it you are always welcome."

Abdul al-Jann nods. "I thank you, Yazid." 

*Farraj:* "The sun has risen and found a new world."

*Abdul:* "But truly, I did nothing. Aqisan must have chosen to protect you himself, for I did not ask it of him."

*Narrator:* "Then the servant takes after the master," says Yazid.

Abdul looks ready to weep. "Perhaps. Though I am no master. He is my friend, not my slave."  He turns away. 

*Yasir:* "There's no reason to get upset, Abdul. All is well that ends well."

*Abdul:* "You do not yet know all the truth, Yasir. He rescued us from the storm, as I asked - he was the 'guard' who called to us and led us to the gates. And because I knew he was near, I was the braver to go down the wall - though I needed his aid not, for your steadfastness preserved me. Yet what then is left of the 'bravery' of Abdul, which was so extolled - when I knew that with but a word, if need were, Mamoun and I would be lifted up amidst winds, and lightnings and thunders, and the beating of drums? Yet I was pleased by the praise and craved it, though I knew it was not deserved."

*Yasir:* "You and Farraj...  Now listen here, Abdul.  There's no reason to be ashamed of what you have done, for it has been great."

*Abdul:* "Bah."

*Yasir:* "I am only brave because I have my sword to protect me."

*Abdul:* "Nay, my friend, your faith shines out of you for all to see."

*Yasir:* "As does yours, Abdul.  Allah blesses us differently, not more or less.  Nor is there reason for us to spend so much time talking about the past when we should be moving on to Huzuz to bring the sorcerer to justice."

Farraj nods and smiles. "Yazid, you spoke last night of the springs failing. Now we are united in cause, what do you propose for helping the people of Zarif?" 

Abdul says dispiritedly, "If you can suffer the presence of one so wretched as I."  He adds almost offhand, "I learned the arts of a sha'ir while I was in Jinnistan as well." They might as well know everything. 

*Narrator:* "Oh young Farraj, I happily provide Zarif with what we have. Perhaps enough to last them a few more days until their stored water runs out. When you go to Huzuz make haste and send back water merchants, for I can only help the caravanserai for so long before my own tribesmen begin to suffer as well."

*Yasir:* "It will be useful."

Abdul searches Yasir's face. "You are serious?" 

*Yasir:* "We have no choice right now.  On to Huzuz."

*Farraj:* "To Huzuz."

Abdul al-Jann says wearily, "Yes, to Huzuz." 

*Yasir:* "Inshallah."

Shasti looks over at the men with their ranting and story telling, hot coals and sharp swords.  She thinks to herself. If they're not fighting they're travelling. And men don't walk in the desert.  Looking down at her feet, Shast sighs and bats her eyelids. Even if Farraj is an idiot sometimes, he is family.

*Narrator:* Oh patient listener, this is only the first of many stories in which the unredeemable became redeemed, and I bore witness to it all. You can touch the stone today at Zarif where I built the new well. Is it not smooth? I, Shuri ibn-Razan, am but a servant of fate to whom it has been given to walk in the footsteps of great men for a time. Thus ends the Tale of How Yazid's Madness Was Cured. And thus begins my second tale...


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## The Shadow (Sep 19, 2005)

*Handout:  The Former Madman's Tale*

Yazid found no greater joy in life in listening to Farraj playing the zephir, but alas the departure of the three men and the sorcerer-in-a-chest was imminent. The company of Hanifi tribesmen would ride to the oasis with Yazid and help the people there as they were able, while the small entourage traveled to Huzuz. But that is a story for another time.

Thus, on the eve of their imminent departure, Yazid invited those three noble men to private audience within his tent.  “My heart still weeps for wrongly accusing you and for being a poor host to the worthy and righteous. But know that I have been wrongly accused by the djinni, and you shall soon learn why I do not trust Huzuz or the Caliph. These things which I speak cannot be uttered, and thus I trust in your confidence.

“Eight years ago, my brother Mu’awiya, blessed be the fool, found me groveling in the desert, calling out for “Hakiziman!” I had become lost in a sandstorm and, following the advice of my dear mother, I sought out the eye of the storm. The winds grew fierce and I collapsed, thinking I would soon be buried alive. Just then – for God is infinite in His wisdom and His timing – I found a gilded chest buried in the sand. Pulling it toward me, to my horror I saw that it was in the clutches of a skeleton. At once, fearing for my life, I put the chest down, but it was too late, and all about my hideous shapes moved in the storm – horned djinni on fearsome beasts, phantasms that were real and yet only existed in my mind at the same time. As if with one voice they called to me: ‘Repentance, oh misguided one! Long has your family tormented us, and long shall be your torment if you persist in their wicked ways!’

“Not knowing of what the beings spoke, I pleaded. “Have mercy on me, for I am guilty of no wrong doing!’”

“’Did you not seek to steal the treasure of his lord, the effulgent, the magnanimous, the far-seeing Malik Hakiziman?’”

“’Truly I did not,’ was my reply. ‘I only saw the chest and hoped that in the sand I might find shelter. _For where there is one oasis, there are many springs_ – goes the saying.’

“Their laughter was deafening, like the clash of hooves on battle shields, or the roar of thunder, or the collapse of a mountain. ‘You are as poor a thief as you are a liar! For we have seen you stealing Malik Hakiziman’s treasure, and for this you must be punished. If not now, then in a year. If not here, then we will find you in Huzuz, for there we have many eyes in the Caliph’s court which see everything!’

“Fearing for my life, I fled into the storm, pursued by the wicked djinni who called after me, ‘In the name of Hakiziman, you only prolong the inevitable!’ How I escaped to my brother’s arms, I do not know, but it was the mercy of God that rescued me from the djinni, the wrath of the djinni that drove me mad, and the music of God that healed my madness. Inshallah.”


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## The Shadow (Sep 19, 2005)

*Handout: How Farraj Was Abandoned*

[As told by Yazid al-Hanif to Farraj and his companions]

There is another tale that I must relate to you, oh noble youth, of how my father, the Sheikh himself, abandoned you as a boy to the mercy of God. It was the year after I had been driven mad in the sandstorm. Heavy rains and merciful clouds left the desert verdant; the _wadis_ rushed with water, the oasis flowers blossomed, and life was good for my tribe.

There was talk of a young boy – it is you to whom I refer, noble youth – who had been offered from Dar al-Hotek as a sign of peace with my father. It was many seasons ago, but I recall the story as if it were yesterday. The emissaries of Hotek claimed you had brought them good fortune – their herd doubled, their infant children grew strong, their enemies fled before them, and their Sheikh lived a long life. I wouldn’t be surprised if they lied, but the ways of the barbaric Hoteki are mysterious.

You were taken in by the kindly _hakima_ Safana, who was passed the age of child-bearing and who had never been married. After you were abandoned, this very same Safana would marry my father after his first wife died, and just last year she too perished. Safana raised you for several years, and she persistently warded off those who claimed who had brought the evil eye upon the tribe. The good fortunes quickly fled. My father grew ill, camel thieves struck us at every turn, and many complained “every well by which Farraj passeth runs dry!”

At last my father came to Safana and bid her tell him the truth, whether or not her adopted son was cursed. As she would not disobey her Sheikh, she replied “oh my lord, know that this boy bears a djinni’s curse which is too powerful for my humble magic to undo; but please show to him mercy, for he is an innocent.” Deeply troubled, my father deliberated for three days, and on the third day, though Safana’s motherly heart was breaking, he took you from her, and rode with you into the desert and returned alone. He never spoke again of the matter.


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## The Shadow (Sep 19, 2005)

*Interlude: The Plot Thickens*

[Abdul decided after the last session to summon a young noble jinn of his acquaintance:  Fajhoul ibn-Shisas al-Kitab e Seif.  (Fajhoul, son of Shisas, of the Book and Blade.)  He is the thirteenth (and therefore extremely minor) son of the Khedive of the Court of Rising Winds, a noble jinni house.  Aqisan has a position there as the Royal Drummer.]

[This scene occurs just after the end of the last session, and Yazid's storytelling.]

Abdul retreats to his tent at the nearest decent moment.  He pauses, considering how best to go about things, then places a stick or two of incense on a brazier to help him concentrate.  Then he rocks back and forth, calling the young jinn to mind and associating his image with various arcane symbols for a time.  Abruptly he opens his arms wide, throws back his head, and states, "Fajhoul!"  His voice is not especially loud, but is penetrating enough to pierce the veil between worlds. 

*Fajhoul:* The sound of boastful laughter of youth fills the tent as a blast of air rushes through Abdul's hair. Trails of colored smoke pour from the incense, wrapping around each other, filling the tent. There in the smoke a pair of brilliant purple eyes are visible. "Brash youth! Is this how you call upon your betters?" booms the voice.

Abdul salaams deeply.  "Lord Fajhoul, I am pleased that you chose to respond to my humble summons.  Please forgive the lack of formality." 

*Fajhoul:* The form of a statuesque black haired youth with aquiline features materializes, wiping the sleeves of his shirt which bears a single tear. "May I remind you Abdul _al-Jann_ that it was your lack of formality which got you expelled from my father's court in the first place." Slowly the smoke clears.

*Abdul:* "Be that as it may... I would not have called you were there not need, my lord.  Aqisan has been injured, and vanished - leaving this behind."  Abdul produces the pendant and displays it.  "I do not know what this means, but my heart is heavy for him.  Has he appeared in the Court of Rising Winds?"

Fajhoul examines the pendant. "The seal of Suleiman...What care have I for some common drummer boy?" He looks with disdain at the conditions within the tent. "Are these the rewards of your office now? Hardly suiting one of your caliber, Abdul." He tsk-tsks with mock admonition. 

Abdul suppresses a flash of anger and says evenly, "My birth is humble, as I am sure you know, my lord.  I am not troubled by simplicity.  But surely, it is of at least some moment to your father, the great Khedive, what has become of a member of his court.  And even if it be not, I would appeal to you based on our old acquaintance on behalf of my friend.   For does not God smile upon generosity?" 

*Fajhoul:* Grinning wide, Fajhoul raises a finger. "He does indeed. And God also said to Suleiman, "Lose not track of your djinni." For if what you say is true, and your servant is vanished, then all suspicion lies upon you." 

*Fajhoul:* "According to the law, whatever your servant does, then you are culpable for." Fajhoul looks irritatedly at the rip in his shirt. "I certainly hope you don't ask me to do anything once I return to the Court; today I am training at swordplay, and, as it is readily clear, I have a score to settle with my teacher."

Abdul says with quiet dignity, "He is not 'mine', my lord, but my friend.  Perhaps you have forgotten this thing.  None can say I have bound any djinn to my will."  Though those who know Abdul well might guess that he's getting tempted. 

*Fajhoul:* As if remembering a childhood fantasy, Fajhoul says with a far off look. "Ah, Nakhlouf would be proud if he could but see you today."

Abdul bows his head at the mention of Nakhlouf.  "I have missed our old teacher greatly.  I hope that he is well." 

*Fajhoul:* "Yes he is, and happy he would be to see you walking the path of the virtuous sha'ir, but I am afraid he would find your current accomodations rather reprehensible." He removes the pad of leather armor at his chest and wipes sweat from his brow. "He often speaks of you, Abdul, saying that he never had a student such as you." And then he adds darkly. "Save for the one he dreams up now."

Abdul smiles.  "Were he lecturing on a subject dear to him, the accomodations might be fire, knives, and acid, and he would notice not at all!" 

Fajhoul lets out a laugh which shakes the tent, sending wisps of wind through the flaps. "I say," he says in mockery of his beloved teacher, "my feet do seem to be melting and I'm up to my neck in acid. Have you found that autobiography yet?" 

Abdul laughs also.  "But now, my lord, I implore you:  You have heard nothing of Aqisan?" 

*Fajhoul:* "Verily I have heard nothing, Abdul," Fajhoul shakes his head. "It is most unlike him to quit your presence unannounced. The last I recall he had received an earthly summons, and he hastily departed with great eagerness. Surely it was you who summoned him?"

*Abdul:* "It was.  I have at second hand that he bravely fought another djinn, without my knowledge or request, to rescue an innocent man.  He succeeded, but was sorely wounded, then vanished... leaving the Seal behind."

Fajhoul's eyes narrow and his knuckles whiten. "Was this an ifreet that harmed a member of my court? One of the servants of Malik Sayoun?"

*Abdul:* "I do not know, my lord.  The man who witnessed this was unclear as to the details.  The other djinn bore fearsome tusks, and taunted him saying he had been sent by a man who had eaten at his board.  This same man has been troubled by the servants of the Malik Hakiziman, if that name means anything to you."

*Fajhoul:* "If it bore tusks then it was surely no djinni I have ever seen, unless a devolved ghul. Malik Hakiziman?" At the mention of the name, Fajhoul goes stiff.

*Fajhoul:* The lights inside the tent flicker, and strange shadows cross over Fajhoul's face. "Would to the Almighty that you had not uttered that name, Abdul. Shall I tell you of what I know of that dark one?"

*Abdul:* "I must hear, though the danger be great, Lord Fajhoul.  I would give my own life for Aqisan if need were."

*Fajhoul:* "Even that may not suffice, if Aqisan has fallen into the clutches of Hakiziman. Know, oh young Abdul, that of the nobles of the City of Brass, the title of "Malik" is reserved for the eldest ifreeti who adhered to their pagan ways even after being offered the Choice. The ifreeti were great servants of Himyar, that kingdom which stood to the East in the lands of Nog, before the coming of the Prophet, peace be upon him.  Malik Hakiziman roamed for many years as a fearsome dragon, but was tamed by a descendant of the Prophet, who bound him to watch over one of the beacons which was lit to announce the First Caliph's ascension to the throne of man."

Abdul's eyes widen slightly at this recital. 

*Fajhoul:* "Bound for many years, Hakiziman believed the sha'ir that bound him was ever present until a foolish rawun one day reported that the descendant of the prophet had died a century ago. In a rage, Hakiziman destroyed the beacon and returned to the City of Brass. His is a feared noble house, with great influence over the ifreeti sultana. I know this because in the madrasah after hours all my brothers (save my beloved who my father wrongly exiled as he did you) and I study our enemies, the ifreet, in preparation for battle."

Abdul squares his shoulders as if to accept a heavy burden.  "I will do what I must.  But if he was victorious in battle, how could he have been taken by the Malik?  Are there sha'ir among djinni as well?" 

*Fajhoul:* "Alas, you need to consult Nakhlouf, for I am ignorant of such things. Even the ifreeti will not take captive one who defeats their captor in honorable battle. It sounds as though your servant defeated some creature (and I do not know if it was djinni) in single combat. But, perhaps he was willingly taken hostage...." Muses Fajhoul, an idea coming to his head. "If he is as brave as Nakhlouf, and as you have promise to be, then perhaps he faked his defeat and allowed himself to be taken captive, hoping to learn the secrets of the ifreeti?"

*Abdul:* "He is brave enough for that, though I find it passing strange he would not inform me of his intention.  Perhaps, if you are right, there was no time."

*Fajhoul:* "You are only mortal, Abdul al-Jann. To inform you may have exposed you to the Malik and his allies."

*Abdul:* "Do you know anything of a golden treasure of the Malik, hidden in the sands?  I have heard a tale of such."

*Fajhoul:* "There is a story that when the Malik was bound, the descendant of the Prophet who bound him placed an iron and ivory necklace upon his neck, as a symbol of his servitude. Unable to destroy the neckalce upon learning of the descendant's death, he cast it into the Ghul's Anvil in the High Desert."

*Abdul:* "Ahhh!  Perhaps this also was the Seal of Suleiman that bound him.  Iron, for one who made the wrong Choice."

*Fajhoul:* "Abdul, if it is true that the Malik Hakiziman has come after your servant, you must know that he intends to bring ruin to the entire Court of Rising Winds through this act, though I am not far-sighted enough to predict how this shall unfold."

*Abdul:* "Then, clearly, your father must be informed at once.  And Hafiz Nakhlouf must be consulted for whatever knowledge he has on this subject.  Are you willing to do these things, my Lord?  Please give my compliments and tenderest greetings to your illustrious father, as well, for I never intended to cause him anger or grief.  And would it be unwelcome to you if I called you again in, shall we say, three days?"  He adds, "I am willing to come with you and repeat all I know, should that be desired."

Fajhoul unsheathes his blade drawing a symbol in the sand. His body sways back and forth with ease, his wrist snapping at the far edges of the symbol, sweeping like an artist through broad strokes and pausing at the apex. "I shall do all that you ask of me. Beware, Abdul, for you are a valuable commodity to any Malik of the ifreeti, and as you are outside the protection of my Court and without your faithful servant, others may seek you out. When you call me in three days I shall report how the court has responded to this news." Finishing the symbol he steps back, sheathing his sword. 

*Abdul:* "It is good to see you again, my Lord.  Though we differ in station, I have often enjoyed our talks.  May we speak again under more pleasant circumstances."

*Fajhoul:* "The symbol I have written can be used to call me at a moment's notice. You need but inscribe it upon the earth, and I shall appear." His eyes shine with deep trust when looks into Abdul's eyes.

Abdul salaams deeply.  "I am honored by your trust in me, my lord." 

*Fajhoul:* Smoke again pours from the long-dead incense, or rather pours into them, as if reversing the summoning he made. Ribbons of pastel pink and blue surround Fajhoul as he departs for the Court of Rising Winds.

Abdul turns to the symbol and studies it carefully, committing it thoroughly to memory before rubbing it out with his sandal.  Then he marches out of the tent, head held high, intending to question Yazid more closely about his experiences.


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## The Shadow (Sep 19, 2005)

That's all I have cleaned up thus far.  We have, however played out the third session, which shaped up to be only the first part of a two-part tale.  It was... mindblowing.  Unfortunately, Yasir's player couldn't make it, but he'll be back next week.

Please let me know what you think!  We've all been enjoying this campaign to pieces.  In particular, I'd like to know if the presentation of the logs is objectionable to people.


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## The Shadow (Sep 26, 2005)

Got our fourth session in. Due to some unexpected tangents and RL complications, the basic adventure STILL has not yet resolved. The party is split in three, which makes for much bouncing around. (The GM, Aaron, has us take on different NPC roles while doing so, though, so it's hardly boring.) 

This session was mostly Yasir, Jamul (played by yours truly) and Shuri (played by Farraj's player). With a brief cameo of Abdul and the set-up for a solo adventure of his the GM has decided we'll do this Monday. Alas, Farraj's player's power supply chose to fry itself halfway in, so we saw nothing of Farraj at all. 

I'll post sessions three and four within the next few days, as I get them cleaned up.


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## The Shadow (Sep 26, 2005)

*3: The Bad Liar*

[Once again, the Narrator took on the default role of Shuri ibn-Razan.  As mentioned, Yasir's player couldn't make it, and Farraj had to bow out near the end too.  So it's a bit Abdul-heavy.  Appropriately enough, given the turn of the plot...  Plus, the basic story did not finish, so it doesn't receive a flourish of an ending the way the others have.  Finally, Abdul is in a much better mood than he was at the end of the last session.  Finding out some more about Aqisan's problems (and making a start about doing something about them) completely swept his own problems out of his mind.]

*Narrator:* Wherein the third night begins... [Part Two of "Fishing for an Honest Man"]

*Narrator:* Once in my boyhood had I beheld such wonders as Huzuz, Gem of Zakhara. Returning there was the awakening of a distant memory, now polished and made whole. Oh grateful listener, the journey that brought me and the great men with whom I was honored to travel was not without strife. The silk merchant, who I did not trust since we left the caravanserai, persisted in badgering me. At last I yelled at him, "Everyone knows for a merchant, even honesty has its price!"

The silk merchant quickly replied, "Apparently it costs as much as your courage, oh Shuri of the Grand Caliph's Hunting Dogs."

Anger swelled in my breast at this insinuation of greedy conduct by my kinsmen, but I recalled the pious company I was in and the favor with which the merchant looked upon the lion Yasir, and I thought better and swallowed my pride.

God was kind to us for the remaining three day journey to Huzuz. Following the shortcut advised by Yazid al-Hanif, we made good time and quickly reached the Al-Sarif, River of Nobility. Many travelers bid us welcome and shared our campfire as we traveled west. At night, Metef's voice would issue from the chest, always pleading and asking for repentance. Metef, that vile dog!  even went so far as to claim that Mamoun merited his curse for trying to take the caravanserai from Metef. His lies were outrageous! As the journey went on, Metef's ploys grew more desperate. Yet we dared not open the chest, merely pouring water through the lock to keep the wretched sorcerer alive. My mood was dark as we approached the river ferry crossing as I thought of my dear friend Mamoun and others at the Zarif caravanserai who would rejoice now to see so much water.

This, which you shall now hear, is the tale of what befell us in Huzuz.

Abdul has been in a lighter mood in the days since his momentous confession.  He smiles as the group tops a rise and beholds the grand City, gleaming.  "Golden Huzuz, City of Delights!  Do you see now what I meant, Farraj?"

Farraj goes through periods of intense excitement and quiet solitude during these days of travel. He seems somehow changed since the night of his temptation by the Devil in the Chest.

*Abdul:* "You are quiet, my friend.  No, let me speak truly - my brother."  He smiles at the younger man.

Farraj is never far from the chest of his temptation. It is almost as though he has become it's personal guardian!  "It is hard to see with new eyes. A river flows past our feet, and in my heart."

*Abdul:* "Are you so full of joy, then?"

*Farraj:* "I truly do not know. Are those the walls of a city of men?"

Abdul laughs.  "Of men, yes!  Even djinni do not build larger, though they build grander."

*Narrator:* Since the battle against Metef's magics, Shuri keeps one hand on his scimitar hilt at all times. "I will ride ahead and broker passage on a river ferry." And he nudges his camel forward, a dark glaze over his eyes.

*Farraj:* "How shall we cross the waters?"

*Abdul:* "Shuri is seeing to it.  Perhaps we should enter by the Gate of the Learned.  I have a room on the street there."

Farraj laughs.  "I speak and it is done!  Who said that words are never enough!"

Abdul says, only a touch ironically, "No sha'ir has ever said so."

*Narrator:* Huzuz, even from a distance is vast. Its minarets shimmer in the desert heat which has begun even only a half hour past sunrise. A light fog of evaporating vapors dances along the surface of the Al-Sarif.

*Farraj:* "You must be very important to have your own room in this great city. Do you think the guards will let me pass?"

Abdul laughs again.  "Important!  I have a tiny room under the shop of a starving artist.  I am but one scribe among thousands in the City.  And of course they will - do you realize how many pilgrims come here in a year?"

*Narrator:* Jamul the silk merchant speaks to Yasir aside, though clearly he heaps great accolades on the warrior, who listens unimpressed by the bluff and bluster. It would seem Jamul has invited Yasir to his house for supper this evening, and Yasir insists that his companions be allowed to join him.

Farraj interjects, "Jamul, he who gave of his own to save the caravanserai, I accept your kind offer. A shared meal is a shared faith."

Abdul adds easily, "Your invitation is welcome and accepted with joy, good Jamul."

Shasti eyes the great walls of Huzuz. Blinks and thinks of the number of times she has passed its gates. It seems they have kept her city in good repair during her years in the desert.

*Farraj:* "Why Shasti, let me unpack your crown and throw petals at your feet. Your stride is noble today."

*Narrator:* Sighing, Jamul can't help but smile at Farraj. Brown-nosing courageous warriors can be exhausting work after all. "Oh noble men, my household will be blessed for your presence. You shall meet my wife, whose cooking makes the tigers in Nog ravenous, and my three daughters. Why, my eldest", he says eyeing Yasir cannily, "My eldest, Fatima, ah, her beauty is beyond compare with a head for accounting to match...." He quickly adds, "And she nears the marrying age."

*Narrator:* In the distance you can see Shuri negotiating heatedly with a ferryman.

Abdul smiles with only a twinkle of friendly malice in his eyes.  "Do you hear that, Farraj?  Perhaps our friend the merchant would consider an alliance with your tribe.  You are nearly old enough to marry as well."  He deliberately speaks loud enough for Jamul to hear.

*Farraj:* "Marry!" He blushes, suddenly looking very young.

*Narrator:* Shasti snorts in Jamul's direction as if to say not on her watch!

Abdul's banter, while genuine enough, is only on the surface.  Deep thoughts roil beneath.

Farraj looks back at the chest.  "Can you hear the wind in the minarets, Devil? They whisper your doom!"

*Narrator:* A hiss eminates from the chest follows by a muffled sob. Farraj hears a voice beseeching him, whispering from within the chest, but quickly puts it from his mind.

*Narrator:* Jamul keeps his eye on a robed man approaching. The man is dressed in a Bedouin's rugged aba, though his bearing is noble and his steed the most graceful you've ever seen.

Abdul heaves a mock sigh as Jamul elaborately ignores his suggestion.  "Another great opportunity lost."  He listens idly to Shuri's bargaining.

*Narrator:* The stranger hails Abdul. "Sahib, I am new to Huzuz. May I trouble you for directions?"

Abdul blinks and turns to the newcomer.  "Certainly, sir, peace be upon you.  What do you have need of knowing?"

Shasti looks upon this `steed'. She has seen better ANIMALS carrying salt.

*Narrator:* "Peace by upon you," says the stranger in return, a thick accent coming through. "I seek a high official said to be the most just man in Huzuz. He goes by the name of Namvar al-Qadi."

*Abdul:* "Alas, sir, I have been away from Huzuz this past year, and am not as familiar with events in the city as I might be.  I suggest you ask after him in the Court District.  Do you know of it?"

*Narrator:* "Alas, I have never been to Huzuz, though I am eager to see how the qadis here handle justice, " he says with a twinkle in his eyes. "How may I find the Court District?"

Farraj twitches and turns to check something in his saddle-pack. 

*Narrator:* Shuri has concluded the deal with much ado, and signals for you to approach as the ferryman unropes the docked raft.

Abdul gives directions easily enough.  "It is just east of the Grand Palace.  If you enter the Gate of the Learned just opposite the river from us just now, the street will lead you to the Street of the Ajami, and then the Boulevard of Caravans.  From there you cannot miss the Palace."

*Narrator:* The man bows, "Thank you young man. May I enjoy the ferry with you?"

Abdul bows in turn.  "I have no objection, though I suppose it is up to the ferryman.  I am Abdul, and this is Farraj Hezma El Feisal.  And you?"

Farraj nods to the man, a preoccupied expression on his face.

*Narrator:* Dismounting his horse, a fine mare of the Saqlawi strain, he salaams Farraj and the rest. "Gobryas ibn-Taralas of Mahabba, by...Well, it is a long story." He settles the account with the ferryman, whose eyes go wide at the coin the stranger gives him. The caravan guards with you comment on how dignified Shasti looks boarding the raft; their snickering is venom to Farraj's ears.

Abdul boards without fuss.  "A pleasure to meet you, Gobryas.  An unusual name, if I may say so."

Farraj balks and looks at Abdul.  "Am I to understand that we are crossing this water on a log?"

*Narrator:* Shuri groans. "You've never been over a river, youth?"

Farraj repeats, "On a log, Abdul?"

Abdul blinks and looks to Farraj.  "A log?  It is a raft, Farraj.  Many logs, tied together."  To Shuri he says, "He has never _seen_ a river, Shuri, unless I am mistaken."

Farraj says proudly, "I have spent my years on the river of sand, Shuri and I beg for nothing less.  Abdul, it is a log. My hand has many fingers but it is still just a hand."

*Narrator:* Shuri whispers aside to Abdul, but loud enough for Farraj to hear, "It is common in many desert dwellers. Fear of the unknown. The city. Water. These sorts of things." 

Abdul laughs.  "Well, be assured, Farraj:  Many hundreds of men and camels have crossed on this log without getting wet!"

*Narrator:* The ferryman gazes impatiently at Farraj and his group, but keeps his mouth shut. He has been well paid after all.

*Farraj:* (To Shuri) "I fear nothing less than the Devil in the Chest but I am a man Shuri. A bird flies, the snake slithers and the man walks. He does not float."

Shasti thinks, _The man walks, does he?_

*Abdul:* "But men DO float, Farraj.  Even swim like fish, at need.  I have done it myself, in this very river."

*Narrator:* The ferryman comments dourly, "Oh, some men sink, sahib."

*Farraj:* "I have seen the children paddle at the Oasis. Surely a man does not submit to such things?"

Abdul laughs again.  "True enough, good ferryman.  But let us not alarm my friend.  Farraj, the raft floats, but you may walk back and forth upon it if you wish.  There is nothing unnatural in this."

*Farraj:* "Are you sure?"

Abdul affirms patiently, "Quite sure.  It has pleased Allah to make logs such that they float upon the water.  If men choose to walk upon them as they float, I see no impiety in it."

*Farraj:* "I have seen the Ibis wade deep into the pond. Perhaps I should wade across. Shasti would surely not be asked to float like a leaf."

*Abdul:* "It is far too deep for Shasti, Farraj.  Come!  We are holding up the other passengers."

*Narrator:* The ferryman snickers, "Just make sure your camels don't leave any logs of their own floating in the river. *sniff* They fine for such things."

*Farraj:* "There is no way around. Perhaps I could meet you in a few days?"

*Abdul:* "Farraj.  You see that Shuri is aboard the raft.  He also is of al-Hanif, he says.  Why should you not also join us?"

*Farraj:* "It is said that sometimes the Moon covers the Sun. If that is so, who am I to say that a man cannot float. I submit to the great wisdom of Abdul.

Abdul smiles.  "And well you should.  It is fitting."

Farraj gingerly leads Shasti onto the raft and proceeds to the exact centre.  "Hmm, it is like walking on soft sand with hard shoes."

Abdul turns back to Gobryas.  "I am sorry for the interruption, sahib.  You were saying?"

Shasti walks about the raft inspecting her new domain.

*Farraj:* "Shasti! Must you do that! There is no room in heaven for wicked camels."

Abdul chuckles again at Farraj.  "Judgment is with Allah only, my friend."

*Narrator:* The ferryman pushes off, and your raft pierces the snaking mists of the Al-Sarif. Glittering Huzuz, Gem of Zakhara, rises from the southern bank where all manner of boating activity can be seen. You are dwarfs among giants - great sambuks and dhows of the Caliph's own fleet surround you.

Farraj grips the planks at his feet so that his knuckles go white.

Abdul sighs when he sees how terrified the boy is, and kneels beside him, putting an arm about his shoulders.  "Come, brother.  You need not fear."

Shasti looks at some of the grand boats plying the waters and back at the simple raft at her feet. Something will have to be done about this!

*Narrator:* Gobryas looks with awe at the passing boats. "Truly the Grand Caliph is a great leader. Such vessels!"

*Farraj:* "How is it that men do this every day?"  He finally notices the other boats.

*Abdul:* "Like many other things, what is at first a wonder and a terror becomes with custom but another thing men do.  Many fellahin* would be terrified by a sandstorm, you know.  Or even travelling across the desert without a known route." (* city dwellers)

Farraj stands up, leaning on Abdul.  "It is a beautiful sight."

*Abdul:* "The reward for facing one's fears is often such."

*Farraj:* "Are those men in the rigging?"

*Abdul:* "They are, indeed."

*Narrator:* A man in the rigging of passing dhow raises his hand to you, calling out, "Any word from Kiryana al-Hanif in the Haunted Lands?"

*Farraj:* "Do all the different colours in the sails and hulls mean anything. I have never seen such colour."  He grips Ittifaqi Hasanah.

Abdul shrugs, looking to Farraj and Shuri at the man's question.  To Farraj he says, "Some indicate the houses or merchants or nations the vessels hail from.  I believe others may simply be decoration."

*Narrator:* At that point in the adventures of the three men who saved Mamoun, I knew not this name, and yelled back to the sailor, "Alas, no!" With that he placed a hand over his heart as if wounded, and fell into the arms of his companions who laughed mirthfully.

*Abdul:* "How odd."

Farraj laughs and points.  "Shuri!  You are a word archer!"

*Narrator:* You both notice that the ferryman is only paddling minimally, dragging on the trip unnecessarily.

Farraj walks (carefully) over to the edge of the raft and dips a hand into the water.

*Narrator:* Shuri can't help but laugh at Farraj. "Though I've no talent for the bow, it would appear at least I am a good shot at something."

*Abdul:* "It has been said that well-timed words are more lethal than spears! ... But ill-timed ones can be perhaps more lethal yet, I suppose."

*Narrator:* The ferryman controls the rudder, and appears to be leaning hard on it, slowing you down, even as the rest of the oarsman toil away.

Farraj mutters, "The wealth of the desert."

Abdul then calls over to the ferryman, "Are you trying to make your oarsmen earn their pay, good sir?"

*Farraj:* "I remember many days of thirst when I could not have dreamed of this!"

*Abdul:* "Wait until you see the ocean, Farraj!  Water as far as the eye can see - yet not safe to drink."

*Narrator:* The ferryman makes no response, and has a look which is eerily familiar to you both upon his face. The look in the ferryman's eyes sends shivers through Farraj's bones. "Yes," he mouths breathily. "Yes."

Farraj starts up, a look of horror on his face.  "The Devil is a word-archer too!"  He walks towards the ferry-man.

Abdul shouts angrily, "METEF!  This is enough!"

*Narrator:* Shuri turns around, mid-laugh and upon seeing the ferryman's blank expression his eyes darken once more. Like Yasir, his swordhand is ever present upon his scimitar.

Farraj glances at the chest. "Release this man and accept your fate."

Abdul strides wrathfully toward the chest.  "Try your tricks on ME if you dare, carrion crow!  But leave these be."  He kicks the chest savagely.

*Narrator:* The oarsman and Gobryas stare stunned at the commotion.

Farraj grabs ahold of the ferry-man.

*Narrator:* The ferryman makes no move to stop Farraj, his gaze distant upon the Trade Harbor (far west of your destination).

Farraj slaps the man's face.  "Awaken. It is day and the sun is in the sky, enlighten the inner darkness."

Abdul sighs.  "Farraj, tie Ittifaqi Hasanah about him.  When he is free, tie it about the chest. ... You men!  Who of you knows how to steer this raft?"

Farraj obeys Abdul's command and binds the steers-man with his beautiful scarfe.

Abdul then tells the chest, "You are but storing up wrath for judgment, fool."

*Narrator:* Once bound, the ferryman comes to himself, "A strange breeze, it seemed to call my name...Why are you all staring at me like that? And get back to the oars, you! And get this rope off of me!" He struggles to extricate himself from the sash.

Farraj takes Ittifaqi Hasanah back.

*Abdul:* "No more tricks from you, Metef!  As I told you before, it is not unlawful to slay an prisoner in the act of escaping."

Farraj walks over to the chest.

*Narrator:* Both Abdul and Farraj make out faint whimpering from within the chest.

Abdul then tells the other passengers on the raft sourly, "We beg your forgiveness for the... untoward... happenings."

*Farraj:* "No one wants to hear your words Devil. Your chance to explain yourself approaches all too soon."

*Abdul:* "Tie the silk about the chest.  That seems to help."

*Farraj:* "I must bind you again, Devil, though you have bound yourself, in truth."

*Narrator:* Gobryas says to Abdul, "Abdul of Huzuz, I though my story was outrageous, but yours has left me stunned. You speak to a chest as if it were a heretic and you treat a bolt of silk as a most treasured child! Surely there must be an explanation!"

Farraj binds the chest with his vibrant scarfe.

*Narrator:* Farraj hears Metef's voice hiss from within the chest, as if recoiling from the sash which binds the chest he lurks within, awaiting his trial which looms like the far shore of the Al-Sarif.

*Abdul:* "I speak not to the chest, good Gobryas, but a wicked sorcerer we are transporting for judgment in the City.  He has been cursed into the form of a raven - God the Mighty having brought the curse he meant to place on faithful Yasir there upon his own head.  As for this silk, it seems to have some strange virtue against the blandishments he makes against men's minds."

Farraj is quickly distracted by the amazing sights around the raft. The drifting mist and the boats gliding from one shore to another.

*Narrator:* Shuri gazes ominously at the chest, "I am beginning to regret not opening the chest myself and slaying the foul one. Farraj, you have cleared that blemish which the sorcerer laid upon you before. I cherish the day I see him punished for his crimes."

Farraj tells Shuri, "He is already dead within. His judgement will be greater than any punishment we can conceive."

*Narrator:* The northern gate is awash with travelers from Halwa, Bedouin and Al-Hadhar alike. The ferryman directs the agile bowman to jump off the raft and secure it.

Farraj looks at Shasti, bemused.  "You are my ship of the desert. This is a strange day indeed."

Abdul adds to Gobryas, "You were saying you had heard of a qadi famed far and wide for wisdom?  He may be just the one that we need."

*Narrator:* Gobryas rubs his beard, and Abdul realizes the man is younger than he had at first thought. "Perhaps. I am to meet before him with an unscrupulous beggar who claims my horse is his. Not this horse mind you. It is my honor that binds me to do so."

*Abdul:* "Yet you have never been to Huzuz before?  How odd."

*Narrator:* Shuri eases the rest of the camels onto solid ground, guiding them toward the city gates. Jamul breathes deeply, inspired to be in his homeland. Feyrouz, the caravan guard brings up the rear, a dark cloud over his head since the encounter with Metef's sorcery. Gobryas converses amiably with Abdul.

*Narrator:* Metef lurks within the chest, grumbling about his fate. The chest is secured to a camel (a different one each day so they did not tire) which is led by Shuri.

Abdul disembarks, offering a hand in encouragement to Farraj.

*Farraj:* "It is a shame to be leaving the river. I will never forget the sight of the Al-Sarif and her ships."  He laughs.

*Abdul:* "But now you will see Huzuz herself, Mother of Cities!"

*Narrator:* "Ah...no I haven't. I have decided to take this occasion to visit the Great Mosque," says Gobryas.

*Abdul:* "Well, how could a beggar of Huzuz claim your horse, if you have never been here before?"

Farraj watches the activity at the Gate. He takes a long sniff of the air, then looks back at the raft.  "What a strange place where men can walk on water."

*Narrator:* "Ah, the beggar, by great misfortune was captured by pirates and was to be sold as a slave, but they ship-wrecked upon Mahabba's shores, whereupon the ungrateful man took to his trade at once. In passing him one day, I offered him coins, and on a second thought I offered him a ride upon my steed. When we reached his destination, I bid him dismount, and he refused, claiming the horse was his own. The qadi in Mahabba bid me come to Huzuz in one year to seek the famous Namvar al-Qadi so that the case may be decided."

*Abdul:* "What an odd decision!  Why did he not settle the case himself?  And where is the beggar now?"

Farraj turns back to the discussion. "I have seen what happens to horse (and camel) thieves."

*Narrator:* "He ruled in favor of the beggar, but I appealed the case, and the Caliph of Mahabba ruled that I should travel to Huzuz in a year and a day." He sighs, "So here I am with the horse in question."

*Abdul:* "How absurd!  I can see why you seek a just qadi."

*Narrator:* A merchant hawking strange elixirs leans close to Farraj, her reeking breath upon his face, "Bottled breath of the Ghul's Anvil. And more wares have I. Come young one, Mesekhert's elixirs will cure all things."

*Farraj:* "But surely not your breath! You are a poor advertisement for your wares."

*Narrator:* Chastised, the hag goes on to her next customer, "Bottled breath....."

Abdul adds to Farraj, "I see you are not quite the easy mark I had feared, lad."  He smiles.  "There are more peddlars in Huzuz than can be dreamed of."

*Narrator:* Shuri laughs at Farraj, "It would seem so. Fear not, you are an archer of words, Farraj. With your wit, you could scare off the king of peddlars himself."

*Farraj:* "Do you think so? I knew she was trying to fool me because surely no Ghul would labour as a blacksmith."

*Narrator:* Shuri blinks. "Well, no, I suppose not."

Abdul stares at Farraj.  "Blacksm-"  he bursts out laughing.

Farraj makes sure that he is not separated from the chest. His greatest treasure is binding it!

*Narrator:* Great caravans of silk, glass, spices, and books pass by you toward the gates; an elephant laden with chests looms ahead, carving a swathe through the crowd. A flock of great white birds flies overhead, and a hawk harries messenger doves making their way about the city. The sound of debating theologians merges into the din of traffic, punctuated by periodic blasting of furnaces in the glassblower's neighborhood. There is a palpable buzz in the air, for Huzuz is a living breathing place, and every person has a tale.

Abdul winds down to chuckles.  "Pardon me, good Gobryas.  Mirth waits for no man, I fear."

*Narrator:* Gobryas bows, "Thank you Abdul of Huzuz. I shall do my best to find the Courts, though Huzuz's grandeur puts Mahabba to shame. Thank you for your assistance."

Abdul leads the group confidently through the Gate of the Learned as they talk.  "It was my honor, sahib.  I will not wish you good fortune, but rather justice.  If I may be of any further aid, I should be glad to assist."

*Narrator:* Gobryas wishes Abdul good luck with the sorcerer's trial, and excuses himself, leading his mare ahead of the group.

Farraj watches the elephant in awe.  Pointing, he exclaims, "It has a snake on its face!"

*Narrator:* The elephant lumbers right by Farraj, stopping to eat a melon from a nearby stall as the merchant curses and the rider apologizes as best as he can.

*Farraj:* "Did any of you see that!"

*Abdul:* "It is an elephant, Farraj.  One of God's more impressive creations."

*Farraj:* "How many men does it eat for breakfast? It has the biggest teeth I have ever seen!"

*Abdul:* "It does not eat men at all, nor any other meat."

*Farraj:* "Well, I am thankful for that."

Abdul leads the motley company down the Street of the Learned.  "My old neighborhood.  I wish I could invite you all to stay with me, but I fear my room is but a tiny one.  Farraj, you may stay with me, and Shuri, you also if you wish.  Where are we to join you tonight, good Jamul?"

*Narrator:* Shuri interrupts, "Abdul, we must speak with the water merchants and organize provisions for Zarif, for surely Mamoun and his family are suffering greatly now with the drought brought on by the furious storm. Mamoun has given me funds suited to this purpose. Is there a place we can meet again later after I broker a deal?"

*Abdul:* "Of course, Shuri!  You are right.  Jamul, who is best for us to speak to?  And if you wish my aid with the negotiations, I am pleased to do so, Shuri."

Farraj turns to Shuri at the mention of the plight of the caravanserai. But he is unable to stop gawking at everything happening around him. He has Saturation Gawk Syndrome.

Abdul keeps a hawk's eye surreptitiously on Farraj out of sheer habit.  Or rather, on the people passing by the lad.

Farraj murmurs, "I walk on water, enter the Great Gate of the Learned and then see a giant beast with teeth like palms who is allowed to steal melons. Perhaps a flock of tiny birds will spring out of the sun and turn into dates, surely that will happen next."

*Narrator:* A date pit hits Farraj on the head. A monkey chitters from a clothesline above, making faces at Farraj before disappearing.

*Narrator:* Jamul considers Shuri carefully, then sighs. "Noble Yasir, I would be honored if you would accompany me. We may have need of your....way with words. I shall take Shuri and Yasir to a merchant. I shall send a porter by your house just before sundown to summon you."

Abdul bows.  "I thank you, good merchant."

*Narrator:* Shuri entrusts the camel laden with the sorcerer-in-a-chest to Abdul and Farraj before departing with Yasir and Jamul to speak with the water merchants.

*Farraj:* "Abdul, a tiny little man just threw a date pit at me. I cannot understand his language."

*Abdul:* "It is not a man but a monkey, Farraj."

*Farraj:* "Ah, so he is a Southerner."

*Abdul:* "Farraj....  Where do you GET these strange ideas?!"

*Farraj:* "A man once told me that all the men of the South are monkeys, you do not need to take that tone with me."

Abdul laughs.  "I am sorry, my friend.  It is just that you have seen much of the desert, but little of the rest of the world.  I suppose I would be equally ridiculous lost in the sands.  For a short while."

*Narrator:* "Abdul! Abdul!" rings a voice from the crowd. It is the Sufi next door, the one who gave up his name upon becoming an ascetic.

*Farraj:* "So I am ridiculous? Small thanks for protecting you from the Southerner."

Abdul just can't help it;  he laughs again.  "Ah, Nameless, it is good to see you again.  Yes, I am returned."

Shasti takes in the smells and sights of the city. Ahh, it has been too long.

*Narrator:* A date pit bounces off the nameless Sufi's head. His eyes glaze over for a second and he does a quick dance, which goes to prove that even old men are young boys when the spirit of God moves them. "Oh Abdul, very great and very tragic news for you!"

Abdul frowns and moves toward the man, beckoning Farraj to follow. "Oh?  What is this?"

*Farraj:* (To Shasti) "I am afraid to speak. Does it always rain dates here?"

*Narrator:* The nameless Sufi offers a quick prayer to God, kissing the six icons which hang around his neck before proceeding. "The chatty women of the neighborhood, you know the ones, decided that you were in need of a wife and found just such a lotus blossom, and they spread word you intended to court her. Her suitor has heard the matter and is red with jealousy and has declared he will challenge you to a duel!"

Abdul smiles. "Duel with a scribe?!  Is not the pen mightier than the sword?  Come, my friend, I daresay this matter is easily smoothed over.  Or do you not think so?"

Farraj grins. "You and Yasir could be married on the same day!"

Abdul grins back at Farraj.

*Farraj:* "Have you noticed how loud it is here? My ears are aching."

*Narrator:* "Oh Abdul, God is Wise and I do not know. The suitor was quite irate and his shouting drew two guards over. Then, quick as a wink he disappeared into the crowd. I had never seen anything like it before in my life! Though I thought it strange when he heard your name he seemed to recognize it. Do you make it a habit to cross angry young men?" The Sufi gazes at Farraj with a broad grin.

*Abdul:* "What is the man's name?"

*Narrator:* "I am afraid he did not mention it, or did he and I wasn't paying attention? Such are the concerns of one into whose ear God constantly whispers," the nameless Sufi adds, raising a finger and rising on to his toes to make the point.

Farraj is trying his very hardest not to be distracted by all of the incredible things going on around him... but not very successfully.  He watches the chest vigilantly, when he remembers.

Abdul teases, "Does He often whisper, 'Ah, Laughter, you are indeed a fool!'  Though a kind fool and an excellent neighbor, to be sure!"

Farraj notices that there are dozens of Southerners swarming the street. Some of them are without clothes. This is a shameful thing.

*Narrator:* Laughter, Ecstasy, Rapture, The Iconist, Raja of Small Gods, the nameless Sufi raises an ear to the wind. "Oh dear Abdul, I am being called to bicker with the cleric's sons now. I hope to finish with them before the call to prayer. There is nothing like prayer to steal the anger from a man's sails." He winks and excuses himself.

Abdul tells Farraj, "A madman, but a pleasant enough one."

*Farraj:* (To Abdul) "I can barely even describe the madness that is across the street. I think that your neighbour is the sanest man i have met here."

Abdul laughs yet again, shaking his head.  He leads the way to his own house.

*Narrator:* One of the Southerners scrambles over near Farraj. "Ook? Eeech. Ack! Ack! Ack! Eeach? Ook. Ook?"

Farraj bends down and smiles kindly.

*Narrator:* The monkey takes off the fez it is wearing and holds it out open, as if begging, with a grin a mile wild.

*Farraj:* "Great Southerner. It is our custom to wear clothes here in the north. A strange custom to you I am sure but it is the way we do things here."

*Abdul:* "The monkey cannot understand you, Farraj.  He is not a man at all, but a clever beast."

*Farraj:* "A coin for the ignorant is a gift before God. Here, take two because you are surely twice as ignorant and therefore twice as needy."

*Abdul:* "Farraj..."

Farraj digs out two of his meagre supply of coins and plonks them into the southerners unusual cap.

*Narrator:* Tucking the coins into its vest, monkey offers its hat again, this time with a whimper on its face.

*Abdul:* "Farraj, if you give coins to all the monkeys you meet, you will soon need to beg yourself.  Take it from one who knows:  It is not a pleasant way to live."  Abdul is serious all of a sudden.

*Farraj:* "I will give you a greater gift than coins, my friend.  Here is some advice. If you are ever lost in the desert, look to the sky in the evening. If you see the hawk in the air, follow his lead. For the Hawk hunts the mouse and the mouse lives where there is water."

Abdul blinks and files that away.  You never know.  "This way, Farraj."

Farraj stands up and beams at Abdul.  "He has money for bread and will do well in the desert. Let the Southerners know that Farraj is a good judge of men."

*Narrator:* The Southerner falls over, astounded by Farraj's hand raised in the air. It pulls a date pit from its mouth and gives it to Farraj.

Abdul shakes his head but opens the door to his old home.

Farraj (to the Southerner): "Well, thank you, perhaps these are coins in your primitive southern lands. I will plant this in a treasured place and the palm that grows will be a shared treasure for any who pass."

*Narrator:* Abdul finds the house exactly as he left it, save for his desk has been moved, pillows cover the floor and a bowl of half-eaten rice is balanced precariously near a window sill! What madness is this! A great canvas, half-torn, has various bits of calligraphy, seemingly copied from Abdul's own books by an untrained hand. Humming can be heard from the pantry room.

*Farraj:* "Ah Abdul, what should I do with Shasti? Is there room for her here?"

Abdul stands stock still for a moment, gaping in astonishment.  Then his face goes red.  "What is the meaning of this?!"

Farraj starts at Abdul's turn from humor to rage. "What is wriong?"

Abdul strides into the front room, looking about more carefully.

*Narrator:* A fat-cheeked man comes from the pantry, dropping a jar of grape leaves upon the floor. *crash* "Oh my! Are you Abdul? I am Ferej, the artist's friend. I wasn't expecting you for another month."

*Abdul:* "Abdallah's friend, are you?!  What are you doing in my home?!"

*Narrator:* "Why, didn't you know I was keeping the place for you while you were away? Abdallah certainly must have told you!" He replies indignantly, going about the task of cleaning up the dropped grape leaves and oil.

*Abdul:* "Keeping it!  It looks like a typhoon has hit it!  And no, I was told nothing of this - and no surprise, as I paid to have it waiting for me as I left it!"

*Narrator:* "Welcome, welcome," says Ferej to Farraj and his camel, "please come in won't you. Oh, nothing to worry about Abdul. I am a superb chef and a talented barber."

Abdul says icily, "Are you suggesting, SIR, that I am to suffer your presence in my home another moment?"

*Narrator:* "Suffer? Oh not at all, I've kept good care of all your books - even tried my hand at reproducing some of those beautiful letters you write, but alas I am illiterate. I repainted the cracks in your ceiling, chased out the vermin, and I have even gotten the two love-birds upstairs to quiet down. But that's a story for another time." He winks.

Abdul does not dignify that with a retort, but sweeps past the man with an imperious air that even the Caliph might envy to check on his precious books.

*Narrator:* At the very least the boisterous Ferej doesn't seem to have damaged Abdul's books, and they have clearly been taken care of.

Abdul relaxes.  Barely.  He states, "Where is Abdallah."

Farraj leads the camels into the house. Waving over his shoulder to the Southerner. "It has been a pleasure meeting you little man."

*Narrator:* The monkey waves to Farraj before scurrying away.

Abdul glances over at the camels.  What matter, a few more guests, probably cleaner ones!

*Narrator:* "Say, Abdul there was someone looking for you yesterday. He tried to rough me up, but I scared him away. Oh! Abdallah is visiting his sister in Hiyal. He said he will return in two weeks time."

*Abdul:* "Then you will stay in Abdallah's apartment until he returns.  I am sure he would not mind putting up a friend."

Shasti watches the vine leaves in oil on the floor. There was a day when she was fed such delights. And marinaded apricots studded with cloves. But such days are gone....

*Abdul:* "And who was this man you speak of?"

Farraj looks at the attempts at calligraphy.

*Narrator:* Ferej seems overjoyed at the presence of the camels. "Fine coat of hair on this one. Though it does smell rather funny." The man blinks. "Oh, good Abdul, that surely is out of the question, for his fiance's brother and wife are visiting with their three children. The quarters upstairs are quite crowded. Fortunately, I stayed the course of my duty and occupied your room valiantly despite the crying of the little children upstairs." He says with a whiff of pride.

*Abdul:* "Where do you come by such inimitable cheek, you... you... POLTROON?!"

*Farraj:* "Friend Abdul. Remember the hospitality we have found on the road. Perhaps he deserves nothing less than what we have been given?"

*Narrator:* "Why thank you," says Ferej finishing cleaning up the grape leaves and spilt oil. "I didn't catch his name. Haggardly though, perhaps a beggar, several years older than you. And a monkey was hanging around him. Cute little animal." He says fondly.

*Farraj:* "Yes, there are many of them here it would seem. But there is no need to insult them despite their strange customs."

Abdul almost explodes messily when the man thanks him, but Farraj's words calm his ire.  "Very well!  You may stay a few days to make other arrangements.  I would not throw any man on the street.  But Abdallah will be hearing more of this than he cares to, I can assure you."

*Narrator:* "My name is Ferej, the sixth son of six, and I am pleased to meet you oh bearer of fine camels. You are fortunate to have met me and not my brothers, the five of them are prone to rambling and can drive you mad with their incessant gibbering. But I will not speak ill of my brothers. Perhaps some water for your camels and fresh sherbet for yourselves? We should spare no expense, after all, this it has been a year since Abdul has been here. Just because we have never met before does not mean we can't celebrate your returning!"

Abdul eyes Ferej.  "Whose expense are you speaking of?"

*Narrator:* Puffing up his chest, "Why I sold a couple things that were lying around -- you know riff raff, odds and ends -- and I managed to get a bit of money. Well, I invested in a group of merchants bound for the Crowded Sea, and I'm bound to come across great fortune just as soon as they come back!" He appears quite happy with himself.

Abdul says in a quiet, dangerous voice, "You sold.  A couple things.  That were lying around." After a measured pause:  "What."

*Narrator:* "Nothing anyone will miss, I can tell you that. There were the crumpled writings to begin with, several old seals that you could barely make out, pens that stopped working, some white feather quills -- because everyone knows white is an unlikely color -- you know, those sorts of things. Ah! And one more thing..."

Abdul waits with a thunderous patience for Ferej to finish his story.

Farraj watches Abdul while Shasti casually edges her way around to the spilled vine-leaves.  He wonders if men are really meant to turn the same shade of crimson that Abdul's face has become. Usually only prior to sunstroke.

*Narrator:* "...and someone had the audacity to fake the Caliph's seal, can you imagine? Sent three letters your way, all of which I wouldn't dishonor you by reading, and these I promptly threw out. On the third trip, I kicked the porter and said 'Attempt not such trickery! Abdul will be quite displeased with you for trying to deceive him so.'"

Shasti hopes that the piffling argument that the men are having continues long enough for her to daintily lick up the spill, carefully avoiding the glass.

Abdul turns from red to white.  "You... insulted... a messenger... of the... Caliph?"

Farraj frowns. 

*Abdul:* A vein begins pulsing in Abdul's forehead.  Oh, this can't be good.

*Narrator:* "Convincing the scoundrel was, though. I mean, why in the world would a messenger of the Caliph (peace and praise upon him) ever step foot in our humble neighborhood. Thus I figured out his trick. It was the least I could do for one who so graciously has invited me into his home." He says innocently.

Abdul asks almost gently, as if of a child, "Are you a man, or a fiend in human shape sent to destroy me?"  He sounds serious.

Farraj looks about for a chair, he thinks that Abdul is about to collapse.

*Narrator:* "Are you well Abdul? Perhaps your travel in the desert has wearied you?" suggests Ferej, quickly making a stack of pillows for Abdul to lie down upon.

Farraj nods to Ferej. "You are a kind and generous man, Ferej. Perhaps we should take his shoes off. That can help."

Abdul slaps Ferej's face.  "By your own accounting, you are a freeloader, a thief, and you have insulted the Caliph on my behalf.  Give me ONE REASON why I should not haul you before a qadi this instant!"

Farraj jumps back. 

*Narrator:* Tears well up in the man's face. He seems completely flabbergasted and knows not what to say. "Oh, Abdul, I have only tried to be a humble and good housekeeper in your absence. I have tried to get a job, but a former criminal such as my self, why jobs are scarce and memories long. But soon, when these sailors return, I shall have a fat sum of money and I shall repay your kindness tenfold."

Abdul snarls, "I have heard sad stories made up by EXPERTS, Ferej!  Spare me your crocodile tears!  You are nothing compared to Rafiqi!"

*Farraj:* "If only Yasir was here. It is a cruel day when bad luck strikes when the righteous have been called away."

*Narrator:* Terrified, Ferej whimpers. "Oh I kiss the ground upon this Rafiqi, and call him lord if it abates your wrath, Abdul, which I fear is the product of your lack of rest might I add." He resumes cringing once again. "Perhaps if you laid down, I shall massage your feet with warm oil and ease your travel-worn body?"

*Abdul:* "What, so you can cripple me in the bargain, with everything else?!"

*Farraj:* "In the desert we say that water spilled is water lost. Abdul, berating your guest will not solve these problems." 

*Abdul:* "Is this man my guest?  Did I invite him into my home?"

*Narrator:* "Oh Abdul, I fear you cripple yourself with these unhealthy fancies. Surely the guest of your host is your guest is he not?" he says hopefully, a glint in his eyes.

Abdul catches sight of that glint.  "A deceiver as well, are we?  I think you are not as ignorant as you seem.  You knew enough to sell my most expensive small items, certainly."

*Narrator:* "Would that I were so lucky merchants trusted me anymore, but until I pay my debts I am afraid I can neither buy nor sell anything. Abdul, friend of Abdallah, you worry yourself too much! Please rest before you pass out. " Ferej pleadingly arranges some cushions for Abdul.

*Farraj:* "If you are willing to speak and make accord, I will play a short piece I learned from a man I met during my bout of shaking sickness two years ago. It is the story of Tiljma and how she helped the Lion find his Tail."

*Abdul:* "You yourself just told me you sold some of my effects to finance your venture!  You are a terrible liar, Ferej."  To Farraj, "There is nothing at all to reconcile, Farraj.  Two of a trade never agree."

*Narrator:* Looking frantic, Ferej bumbles as quickly as he can. "Oh, noble scribe..."

Abdul levels a finger at Ferej.  "You might be able to pull the wool over the eyes of another scribe, but not me.  I was not born to my station, but grew up on the streets.  I know your kind, Ferej, so you may as well stop now."  He is deadly serious.

*Narrator:* Ferej whimpers, "Oh, it was that wicked Rafiqi! And he tied up Abdallah and his wife upstairs!" He is on his hands and knees before Abdul sobbing.

*Abdul:* A truly extraordinary expression goes over Abdul's face.  "Rafiqi?!  Here?!"

*Narrator:* "Yes, oh scribe, but for my sake do not tell him, for he will beat me sorely about the hands and ankles should he learn of my betrayal." He pleads to Farraj, "Oh servant, let not your master beat and berate me. Let him not abandon me at death's door."

*Abdul:* "Lead me to him this instant.  He will not beat any man if I have aught to say about it.  He should know better."

*Narrator:* "Yes, oh virtuous and merciful Abdul," says Ferej (if that's his real name), pointing toward the street.

Abdul collars Ferej firmly to make sure he doesn't get away.  "Lead on."

*Narrator:* As soon as you emerge on to the street, several people start gazing at Abdul and the collared Ferej. At once, Ferej shouts, "Oh have mercy!" All at once, Abdul notices a figure in the crowd look up sharply and take off running.

Abdul cries out, "Rafiqi!  Come back!  I hold nothing against you - you are like a brother to me!"

*Narrator:* The figure dashes through the crowd looking back but once. Ferej says to Abdul, "He will surely get away, and where he goes I cannot follow, for his hiding places are various."

Farraj hurries after Abdul.  Upon hearing his words, he slips off after the running man.

Abdul hauls Ferej back inside.  "Tell me all you know of him.  If I am pleased with your answers, perhaps I will not give you up for judgment to lose a hand."

Abdul adds, "And do not lie.  You may have heard I was carried off by a jinn.  The tale is true."  He smiles disturbingly.

==================================

*Narrator:* Farraj follows the running man, Rafiqi, around several back alley bends. Once he is convinced no one is following him the beggar man ambles through the crowd normally. The city Huzuz is a cunning maze of foreign faces, wide-eyed pilgrims, and great glassblowers. The alleys are narrow and pass by many furnaces and shop backdoors, while the streets are crowded and few people make way for a beggar. The man moves with studied confidence, deftly avoiding. He makes no effort to ply his trade, and moves hurriedly.

Farraj follows this man who Abdul is so interested in.

*Narrator:* At last the beggar arrives at a stall in a bazaar the size of the Zarif oasis itself! 

*Narrator:* He meets another beggar, this one sharp-eyed with a vicious scar along his upper lip. The scarred beggar and the man Farraj followed hold a quiet conversation. "Is he in Huzuz again?" "Without a doubt, and as perceptive as you said he'd be." "Well done Rafiqi, it appears my trap is working just as planned." "Yes, soon you won't have to worry about any competition for the Caliph's graces." And so the conversation turns to mundane things and they speak in innuendo which is indecipherable to 
Farraj, who listens nearby.

Farraj spends a moment to memorise everything that he can about the scarred man's face and features and taking care that he is unnoticed, returns to Abdul's abode.

*Narrator:* Farraj gets halfway back to Abdul's home, getting lost in the Warehouse District. Loud voices, like the roar of the nearby sea, and jarring motions disorient his desert senses. Soon he finds himself amidst an alley of blacksmiths who watch him carefully as he passes. These are men used to thieves, and in their mind Farraj fits the bill.

==================================

*Narrator:* Meanwhile, Abdul listens to Ferej spill his guts:

*Narrator:* "Rafiqi lives in a burned out house deep in the Northwest District behind a cemetery of whorehouses and dying men. He meets every week with a scribe who seeks to do all his competition in, and he is paid handsomely for his jobs. Several boys work for him now, and he beats them like he was trying to rid a mule of evil djinn..."

Abdul's eyes narrow.  "If you are lying to me, Ferej...  Do you not mean that Akim does these things?"

*Narrator:*  Ferej shrugs helplessly in response.

*Narrator:* _Abdul doesn't think that Rafiqi could ever hit a child. Perhaps Ferej embellishes to give Abdul what he perceives Abdul wants to hear? At any rate, the rest of the information is plausible, though a bit shocking._

*Abdul:* "How do you come to work for him?"

*Narrator:* "He bought off my gambling debts in a card game, and he plagues my conscience night and day, reminding me constantly of the good turn he has done me, and how I must repay him." Ferej gnaws his lip.

*Abdul:* "It is obvious enough you have not been doing this long.  Is Akim still in the same house he was when Rafiqi lived there?"

*Narrator:* "I know nothing of Akim save for what Rafiqi tells me. Please, sahib, let me be and I swear I shall never bother you again, " pleads Ferej.

*Abdul:* "Tell me more of this scribe Rafiqi works for."

*Narrator:* Ferej continues spilling his guts. "The scribe dresses as a beggar, but his hands are too dainty and reveal his noble birth. He is possessed by unnatural jealousy, particularly for you, Abdul, and he often rants to Rafiqi, who endures such nonsense so that he can spite you. There have been several times when I thought the scribe would break ties with Rafiqi for his violent way with other scribes. I think he holds a grudge against all people born to favor...."

*Abdul:* "Born to favor?  I am not one such.  Rafiqi desires to spite me?"

*Narrator:* "Oh, Abdul, I do not know why he is so turned against you, but his hate is so great, he shudders upon hearing your name."

Abdul closes his eyes.  "This pains me more than I can say, for I love him well."  After a short interval, he sighs.  "Tell me the location of his house, and the names and faces of some of his boys.  Oh, and the name of this scribe.  Then I will do you a favor, Ferej, equal or greater to the one Rafiqi did you."

*Narrator:* Nervously, Ferej continues, "His house lies behind the Northwest cemetery, behind the fishgutter Hassoud, where three of his boys sleep. He calls them "Dyjer" (and Khemtian by his eyes), "Cricket" (the youngest who is gifted at music), and "Pencil" (the thinnest boy I've ever seen). He meets with the scribe in the Grand Bazaar amidst the melon stalls."

Abdul nods. "How much of the truth did you tell me before?  How long have you been here, and did you truly insult the Caliph's men?"

*Narrator:* "These were lies Rafiqi told me to tell you, Abdul, please have mercy," says Ferej in whimpering tones.

Abdul nods again.  "How long have you been here?  Just today?"

*Narrator:* "Yes, and the day before. I waited for Abdallah to leave, and I convinced his cousin staying here to run an errand for me that would take several days."

Abdul adds sourly,  "And of course, your words 'Oh have mercy' outside were the warning phrase telling Rafiqi to flee.  You see, you can hide nothing from me."

*Narrator:* "Verily, now you know the truth of it," says Ferej in fatalistic despair. "Surely you intend some dire punishment for me?"

*Abdul:* "This is what I shall do, Ferej:  Nothing at all.  I will not turn you over for punishment, nor will I harm you myself.  I think you will agree that a hand is worth more than whatever Rafiqi paid for you, so do not think to oppose me again.  I will ask of you only one small favor;  and then I will give you a bit of advice."

*Abdul:* "The favor is this.  Speak these words to Rafiqi without change or alteration, and that they are from me, Abdul Hakawati:  "My brother, long have I missed you and long have I sought you, to no avail.  I have not forgotten the Code, and I will stand by you in all things.  And if you desire to vent your anger upon me, verily I will stand still and let you beat me with a rod even until I die, if your wrath can only thus be satisfied.  But come and speak with me and look me in the eye and tell me how I have angered you.'"

*Narrator:* "You are too kind, Abdul." Ferej bows low, groveling, but his eyes drift to the door, as if he needs permission to leave.

*Abdul:* "This is the advice, Ferej:  Do not gamble any more, but know that Rafiqi did you no favor at all.  There was no kindness in his deed, but he has used it to make you his slave.  Live free and do not lie.  Now go."

*Narrator:* With that, Ferej scrambles to his feet, thanking Abdul as he backs toward the door, bobbing his head up and down in penance before turning and darting into the street.

Abdul then heads outside, following the sound of arguing infallibly to the Sufi and the cleric's sons.

*Narrator:* "Islam is not a revealed religion, old coot! If my father were better, he'd teach you a thing or two!" yells the cleric's eldest son and the nameless Sufi irreverently swings a bucket of fish in one hand. "Revelation is not in the book, but in the fish!" declares the Sufi triumphantly. At logger-heads once again. At least everything amongst his neighbors seems normal.

Abdul blanches a bit at the heresy, and from a cleric's son to boot.  But he asks the Sufi, "Oh Nameless One, I ask of you a small favor.  If the young man who was with me before should return here when I am not in, please take him in hand.  He is, as you saw, extremely new to the City."

*Narrator:* "Fishing for friends or fishing for the Friend, Abdul?" inquires the Sufi. The cleric's son angrily goes inside. "Ah youth. He does have a point, but he makes it so poorly!"

*Abdul:* "Both, always, O Sage."

*Narrator:* "I will care for your friend as best as I am able. Where are you headed, Abdul?" He inquires absently.

Abdul sighs.  "In search of one who is a brother and an enemy, all in one."  Satisfied with leaving the Sufi a conundrum to please him, he enters his house again.  "Ah, Shasti, what possessed young Farraj to run off?  It makes things so much more difficult."

Shasti snorts and licks grape oil from her lips. Farraj would come back soon enough; her prince would arrive with her guards soon enough. They would see.

=========================================

[Meanwhile

Farraj turns towards the most prosperous looking blacksmith (assuming that he must know his way around the city). "Excuse me sir, I believe that you have lost a precious trinket."

*Narrator:* The blacksmith turns to Farraj, "And what'd that be, boy?"

*Farraj:* "Why, it is the memory of the day the sun turned blue."

*Narrator:* "Ha! What do you take me for, a fool?" says the blacksmith, wiping sweat from his brow before cooling an iron poker. "The sun is bright yellow like a bee. It has never turned blue!"

*Farraj:* "Good sir, of course you will say that. Today it is yellow, yesterday it was yellow, just as the bright forge before you. But, considering that you seem to have forgotten, perhaps I can jog your memory by singing you a song about the day the Sun turned blue. It seems a shame to have forgotten such a wonderous thing."

*Narrator:* The blacksmith hangs up his apron. "Very well, I've got to break before the new ingots come in. I should enjoy a bit of song." He leans against a wall watching Farraj.

*Farraj:* "A wise choice sir." Wherein Farraj launches into a song sung by parents to children in the desert. (It is a kind of nonsense song that is meant to be fun and is sung when children ask for things that their parents cannot give them. It is a very morphable song into which all sorts of things can be inserted, depending on the situation (and whatever the child asked for.)

*Farraj:* (The upshot of the song is that the child was actually given what they wanted. They got it on the day the sun turned blue. I will try to reproduce the tone of this Bedouin song.)

Oh friend Blacksmith, sitting on his break; 
Looking at the singer, wondering what he would take; 
If he were a scoundrel and his song was far from true;  
About the riches, lost and found, on the day the Sun turned blue.

Are you surprised the hammer you hold was once a swooping bird;
Flying high amongst the clouds, take me at my word.
For you have forgotten this wondrous thing, and doubt it can be true;
That what once soared, now makes swords, on the day the Sun turned Blue.

And gaze upon the Forge so bright, it was once a horse;
Carrying a brave prince, in search of distant wars.
Surely you recall striking the heathen, and know it must be true;
Galloping across the field of dreams, on the day the Sun turned blue.

We take our trials and face our fears and give our thanks to Allah;
We live our lives and die our deaths and dream our dreams of grandeur.
In times of doubt when hope is spent, remember it is true;
All our hopes and dreams came to be on the Day the Sun turned Blue.  

===================================

Abdul sighs.  "Well...  As long as I am already annoyed, I may as well hear more annoying things."  He moves Metef's chest into the next room and covers it with pillows so he can't hear.

Shasti appears very agitated by Farraj's absence. They haven't been this far apart since they met. She watches Abdul with bashful eyes.

Abdul hehs at the camel.  "You are about to see an astonishing sight, Shasti.  Pay attention."  He stoops down and traces Fajhoul's symbol in the dust on the floor.

*Fajhoul:* In a flash of light which knocks Abdul on his back, Fajhoul appears in the room, drawing his scimitar, "Deev or ifreet be damned, I'll vouch for the youth!" Staring around at the empty room, Fajhoul sighs, realizing he overreacted.

Abdul picks himself up and salaams deeply.  "I thank you for your confidence in me, my lord."  Truly, he measures Fajhoul with a certain new appreciation.

*Fajhoul:* "Abdul, I had thought you were attacked." Sheepishly sheathing his sword, the handsome jinn continues, "Of course, there is the matter that if I didn't respond such to my family sigil, my prestige would suffer amongst all those other sha'ir that summon me. Has it been three days already? And how fares the exiled youth of my father's court?"

*Abdul:* "Yes, my lord, it has been three days.  As for me... I fare oddly.  Perhaps as usual."

*Fajhoul:* "Surely you wish to question me about Aqisan?" he inquires haphazardly, blowing dust from his fingernails.

*Abdul:* "Indeed, and the reaction of the Court."

*Fajhoul:* "My father was not pleased to even hear mention of your name. I had not realized how much he took your departure to heart. At first he raved, but his councilors quickly convinced him this was a serious matter. Rumors abound of an alliance between Malik Sayoun and Malik Hakiziman." He shudders when he says these names, the first out of rage, the second out of fear. 

Abdul winces at this word of the Khedive's anger.

*Fajhoul:* "The Court is concerned that you may become a target. Though I...haven't told them of the sigil I taught to you, they have asked me to keep an eye on you. And, truth be told, there are still those in the court who hope you shall return one day."

*Abdul:* "Well, that is good to hear.  I am glad that there are those who remember me well.  But come, what of Aqisan?  Is there any word of him?  Will your father send a delegation to the Maliks?"

*Fajhoul:* "If Malik Hakiziman has taken your servant, then he either intends to use him as a hostage -- but, as he has made no attempt to consult the Court yet, we can only presume he intends one of two things. To trick or interrogate information from Aqisan. Or to use him as bait." Fajhoul eyes Abdul pointedly.

Abdul blinks. "Come, my lord!  How can one such as I have any value to one such as the Malik?"

*Fajhoul:* "Well, you are an unprotected and unofficial member of my father's court. And you know Nakhlouf, who has bad blood with the ifreet. And there is the matter, though I am loath to bring it up, of your family. At any rate, the Court has decided to send an envoy to Malik Sayoun to inquire of his intentions in the matter. However, my father fears sending an envoy to Malik Hakiziman, for the last one defected to his side."

*Abdul:* "That is... most odd.  ... Of course, we do not _know_ yet that Aqisan is held by the Malik.  So far all the evidence is circumstantial, at least to my knowledge.  Has Hafiz Nakhlouf come up with any new information?"

*Fajhoul:* Fajhoul looks at Abdul with genuine sorrow. "Nakhlouf went blind shortly after you summoned me the first time. My mother suspects it is a curse, but his eyesight was failing due to his age, so it is hard to say. However, Nakhlouf was able to confirm that Aqisan is still alive and in Malik Hakiziman's captivity. Nakhlouf possesses a torus which I only glimpsed briefly; I believe this enabled him to gaze upon Aqisan ignoring all distances and structures."

Abdul lets out a gasp of sorrow. "Oh, this is hard news!  My lord... I am to present my calligraphy to the Caliph in a few days.  I had hoped to honor our old teacher with a gift of the second-best copy.  But... he cannot see it?  He cannot even READ?  Oh. woe!

*Fajhoul:* "It was a sorry sight to see him thus, but his mood is as pleasant as ever and he has quite a bit of humor about it. Though he is as preoccupied with you over Aqisan."

Abdul shakes his head in dismay.  "It is one bit of bad news after another today!"  Then his eyes go round.  "Wait!  Lord Fajhoul - you mentioned my family?!  Can YOU tell me anything of them?  Nakhlouf and Aqisan could not, for their bindings."

*Fajhoul:* Fajhoul purses his lips, "Abdul, I am forbidden from speaking of even what I have told you now about Aqisan. The Court fears you might do something brash, such as rushing to rescue him and endangering yourself. So," he says with a pure djinni grin that reveals all the recklessness of youth, "I should be happy to oblige you. Though I know little of your family, I have met, though only briefly in court, a woman claiming to be your aunt. Her name was Irethia bint Amira al-Hiyal, and she bore a long title which I cannot remember for it was surpassing boring to me."

Abdul says faintly, "She claimed to be my aunt?  And nobody told me?"

*Fajhoul:* "Of course not, there were many djinn and sha'ir alike who wanted you for their own. A youth raised by the revered Nakhlouf with his own private jinni servant? And versed in the arts of a scholar too? Why, such a page is valued universally across the land, and by more than just good-hearted djinni I might add."

*Abdul:* "I never knew I was such a game-piece.  Is that why the Court still values me, exile though I be?"

*Fajhoul:* Fajhoul laughs, shaking the foundation of Abdul's house. At this the camels huddle to the farthest corner from Fajhoul. The neighbors surely must think, "Oh! Abdul is back!" 

Abdul just stares mutely until a more meaty response comes.  It's been a long day.

*Fajhoul:* "Indeed it is, and for your good company, if you can believe that," Fajhoul stretches his arms. "I didn't know if she spoke the truth or not, Abdul, but she did bear passing resemblance to you, and she referred to you exactly as your servant does, calling you 'son of the worthy.' At this my ears pricked up, but I said nothing about it as I did not wish to upset you. This was three summers ago, and I have kept this secret from you in my breast since that day."

*Abdul:* "I... I thank you, my lord.  My friend, if I may call you such.  For truly, you have proved yourself a friend to me."

*Fajhoul:* Fajhoul arches his brow, "Say that when I have to save you from yourself, Abdul."

*Abdul:* "What do you mean?"

*Fajhoul:* "Already I can see you hatching a plan to rescue Aqisan. And if I told you about the flames that surrounds the Malik Hakiziman's palace and of the temptresses that serve him you would just be more determined. So what use? If you can't beat them, join them."

Abdul laughs weakly.  "No doubt it is just as you say.  But I face threats enough here in Huzuz at the moment.  Let me see if I survive the next week, and then we can discuss the City of Brass."

*Fajhoul:* "Very well. Then I shall return to my studies." Fajhoul blows upon a nearby candle, and as it goes out, the smoke trail wraps around him like a snake.

*Abdul:* "Wait, please.  One thing more."

*Fajhoul:* "Yes, Abdul, mighty sha'ir?"

*Abdul:* "Please tell your father that I mean to live as a worthy member of the Court of Rising Winds, even if he will not suffer me in it.  I will make the best use I can of the training and education that have been vouchsafed to me, the unworthy.  And that I hope he thinks of me not altogether unkindly, for I think of him with nothing but gratitude."

*Fajhoul:* "I shall deliver your words to my father..." says Fajhoul, as his eyes are left lingering in the smoke as it clears, leaving Abdul with more puzzles.


----------



## The Shadow (Sep 26, 2005)

*Interlude: A Father's Debt (a Tale of Yasir)*

[This was a solo adventure for Yasir, to make up for the fact that he had to miss last time.]

*Narrator:* Having departed from your allies, leaving the captured Metef in their charge, you traveled through a warehouse district with Shuri at your side, the two caravan guards Feyrouz & Jifar observing the great city with quiet wonder behind you, and the silk merchant Jamul in the lead. The negotiations with the water merchant Kara Iskendar could be quite terse. Shuri held a grudge against the man for selling one of his cousins into slavery. Even Jamul admitted that of all the merchants he knew, he least desired to do business with Kara Iskendar, who was widely known as a usurious loan-shark. Jamul added with morbid thrill that Kara is the Turkish word for Black and Gloomy. Jamul described the great warehouse that Kara Iskendar worked from as a den of every sort of rogue trader and unscrupulous caravaneer.

Much to your chagrin, Jamul revealed that Kara Iskendar is a Kharijite, one of those heretics who believe the Caliphate or any form of manmade government  is inevitably corrupt. Kharijite assassins have toppled Caliphs and Imams in the past. However, Kara Iskendar is the only merchant who can mobilize a large caravan of water-bearing elephants in a short period of time, and who cares enough about local trade to do it. Shuri, with a heavy heart, reports that the dwindling water stores of Zarif will soon run out and the people will be forced to drink mud to live. Perhaps some kindly travelers will help them, but the state itself is notoriously slow to respond to the needs of the caravanserais, even one so close to the capital as Zarif. Thus, you go to Kara Iskendar.

Yasir makes idle chat with the men as we approach Kara's place.

*Narrator:* You approach a large warehouse with ornate inscriptions on the exterior extolling the virtues of those men called blasphemers who died in the name of the faith, and several icons of revered saints adorn the heavy door. Two surly guards dressed in red turbans eye your small caravan at your approach.

Yasir approaches the guards. "We are here to speak with Kara Iskendar."

*Narrator:* Jamul the silke merchant lingers close to Yasir, but Shuri, Feyrouz, and Jifar hang back. One of the guards, a barrel-chested man of Yasir's age wipes sweat from his brow. "Salaam. Have you made an appointment?"

*Yasir:* "Not yet, but it is urgent."

*Narrator:* The architecture of the place is rather bizarre, a human face carved into the upper wall, which in and of itself could be said to be blasphemous, though the people of Huzuz seem quite tolerant. The guard strokes his beard. "Are you a friend of my lord's then?"

Yasir moves uncomfortably.  "Not exactly.  We need to see him, though."

*Narrator:* The guard nods his head sympathetically. "Ah yes, sahib, it is urgent and you need to see him, and, you do not have an appointment. Understandably I am disinclined to grant you audience. Many wish to see my lord, Kara Iskendar al-Mercan, but he is a busy man."

Yasir puts his hand on his scimitar's hilt. "Friend, I believe it is in your best interest to let us see your lord."

*Narrator:* The guard nods sympathetically. "It may very well be that, sahib, but I regret to inform you and your companions that my lord Kara Iskendar is busily engaged brokering a deal with an elephant herder as we speak. Surely at a more convenient time he would oblige your request, though does it not strike you as odd that you come with a company of armed men?" His hand rests on the hilt of his scimitar. "If I were Kara Iskendar I would be ill-advised to invite a group of thugs into my home. Surely you would feel the same?" His younger ally chuckles softly to himself.

Yasir draws his scimitar. "Perhaps you heretics do not understand the urgency of the matter, but an entire caravansarai is in danger."

*Narrator:* The guard arches his brow before laughing. "Son of Halwa, I recommend you speak with your people for a lesson in bartering! Take a look around, at the crowded street behind us. A man of your station would do well to remember that there are greater things in this world than steel and strength of arm. Do you truly wish to offend the Kara Iskendar?" He stares non-plussed at Yasir.

*Yasir:* "Perhaps you still lack the compassion to understand our problem. There is a town in danger."

*Narrator:* Shuri is gazing with spite at Jamul the silk merchant who suggested coming here. Shuri says, "It's clear these al-Hadhar ((city-folk)) are not interested in helping in any way, oh noble Yasir! And I suspect Jamul is trying to cause trouble for his own greedy ends." At this Jamul holds up a finger, "Ingrateful son of the desert! You are never welcome in my home!"

*Yasir:* "Shuri, Jamul, be civil with each other."  He turns back to the guard.

*Yasir:* "Let me try this again, friend. We need to see Kara, and if it requires me to take your life to save the lives of many innocents, then I shall not hesitate."

*Narrator:* The younger guard comments, "Perhaps before you go about threatening your betters, sahib, you might want to keep your wives over there in line."

Yasir turns to the younger guard. "Still your tongue before I still it for you."

*Narrator:* The elder guard steps aside to let Yasir and his younger companion deal with one another, casually leaning against the stairway banister.

Yasir moves toward the younger guard, keeping an eye on the older one and the door.

*Narrator:* The younger guard appears anxious, and is now on his toes, meeting Yasir. "And then once you stilled my tongue, what would you do? My uncle may tolerate your ill manners, but I have no stomach for it, nor for fools."

*Yasir:* "Your uncle?"

*Narrator:* Jamul and Shuri continue to argue in the background. "Why do you not speak with them, oh Jamul of infinite connections? Was it not your idea to seek this foul merchant?" To which Jamul replies, "May I remind you Shuri that while you were lost in the sandstorm and tied to the tentpole it was I who sacrificed several bolts of my most precious silk to capture Metef!" The two are in each other's faces now.

Yasir side steps toward the stairs.

*Narrator:* The younger sidesteps with Yasir. His footwork marks him as a warrior, though his skill remains to be determined. "It's not every day I meet a man with a death wish. Do you not know who Kara Iskendar is? Why, half the city is indebted to him."

*Yasir:* "The righteous man is not intimidated by debts."

*Narrator:* "Nor is he intimidated by idle threats," says the younger man. It is clear he wants to fight and his eyes blaze with unveiled anger toward Yasir.

*Yasir:* "I hope your blade is not as dull as your wit."

*Narrator:* "Then perhaps I would sharpen it on you if I did not fear you were rusted by desert salt."

Yasir takes another step toward the door

*Narrator:* "Do all the men of Halwa dress as you? Why if you were taken to the Caliph's court they should quit you of all your filthy clothes save your turban." quips the young guard, stepping with Yasir. "And you tread upon the earth like a pregnant camel."

*Yasir:* "How dare you disrespect my turban."

*Narrator:* Watching impassively with a slight smirk on his face, the elder guard watches the two. Jamul and Shuri continue to argue and accuse, throw idle threats at each other, completely heedless of the guards and Yasir. The elder merchant guard appears agitated by their quarreling.

*Narrator:* "Your turban is gleaming white, sahib. In truth any fair maid would be jealous of a dress of it's purity," he says with mocking appreciation.

*Yasir:* "If you are so confident in your ability, then strike me."  He takes another step toward the door.

*Narrator:* "Why are you so dense that you have not noticed I've struck you thrice already. With words, sahib, with words." The younger guard hops up several steps in front of Yasir. "That's close enough, stranger."

*Yasir:* "Your words mean nothing, and I am not leaving until I speak with your master."

*Narrator:* The elder guard says to Yasir and the guard's nephew. "Disband and be happy. Hejrad you are impetuous and rude. Stranger, I must request to know your name and business then to ask you and your arguing wives (he laughs) to vacate the premises before I call the city watch."

*Yasir:* "My name is Yasir al-Ayyubi, son of Abdul al-Ayyubi, and I have already stated my business twice."

*Narrator:* The elder guard peers at Yasir. "Abdul al-Ayyubi's son?" A look of recognition crosses his face. "The herder who took too long to pay off his debt.. What proof do you have that you are Abdul al-Ayyubi's son?"

*Yasir:* "Proof?  What proof do I need?  How would I know of him otherwise, and why do you know my father?"

*Narrator:* The elder guard scratches his chin. "Hmm, perhaps I don't need any proof. But for your sake, you'd better be who you say you are, or you've just accrued a stranger's debt. Let him pass Hejrad." The younger guard is reluctant, but his uncle barks at him and the younger guard steps aside. 

Yasir spits at Hejrad's feet as he passes to the door.

*Narrator:* The elder continues, "You may take two men with you. The other two must wait at the door."

Yasir al-Ayyubi motions to Jamul and Shuri.  "Come, before you drive the guards to kill you."

*Narrator:* "Never in all the desert has been born a more ungrateful jackal!" "You make merchants look honest!" Breaking off their argument in the middle the two stare stunned at Yasir and quickly move to follow. The other two caravan guards take the camels and cross the street to a stable.

*Yasir:* ((time for a new map?))

Yasir looks around the inside of the building. "Where is Kara Iskendar?"  He puts his scimitar away for the moment.

*Narrator:* It is a smoky den of scoundrels. The sickly smell of elephant dung is in the air. Several of the beasts are being loaded with large chests. Some of the guards give you the once-over, but no one stops what they're doing.

*Narrator:* Shuri says to Yasir "Oh brave Yasir, be careful here."

Yasir approaches one of the guards. "Where is Kara?"

*Narrator:* The guard shoves Yasir out of the way, "Kara this, Kara that! Can't you see I'm trying to work here! Get lost before I teach you a lesson!"

Yasir approaches the next nearest person, a woman.

*Yasir:* "Can you tell me where Kara is, friend?"

*Narrator:* Working on a record tablet, the dark haired woman looks up, rubbing her hair from her face and leaving a large ink spot across her forehead. "I tell you, I'm not made for this sort of work. You- you're not one of the guards. What are you doing here?" She shifts revealing an embroidered scimitar sheath at her side. 

*Yasir:* "Looking for Kara, it would seem."

*Narrator:* "Assassins, politicians, debtors - they're all looking for my father. Though you're one of the latter it would seem. I handle all my father's accounts. What is your family name?"

*Yasir:* "I am Yasir ibn Abdul al-Ayyubi.  But I am not here about a debt, but about a town in need of water."

*Narrator:* "Al-Ayyubi, eh? I haven't heard that name in quite some time. Sure, you're not here about a debt, that's what they all say. And this town, is the entire place in debt to Kara Iskendar? It wouldn't surprise me, the old bastard is canny."

*Yasir:* "Not to my knowledge; the caravanserai is suffering from a great drought and is in need of water."

*Narrator:* "So you're a water merchant like my father, eh? Well, at least you seem to have greater moral constitution. Yasir you said? I am Jayla bint-Iskendar." She says her family name with particular loathing. "You do realize that paying for what your asking will be astronomically expensive?"

*Yasir:* "The entirety of Zarif will perish if we don't get them water."  He turns to Jamul and Shuri.  "Come here."

*Narrator:* Both join Yasir. "It is as he says, kind and patient woman," says Jamul. "We need a caravan and water to provide the people there until the Caliphate takes greater measures. They are notoriously slow as I'm sure you know."

*Yasir:* "How much will it cost?"

*Narrator:* Jayla scratches her head, "There are about forty people living at Zarif at any given time. Two gallons of water a day, plus the camels." She does some quick calculations in her head. "I will need to consult my father, but I'll need to see proof that you'll be able to pay. He can be terrible in his wrath if his time is wasted, and for your sake Yasir al-Ayyubi I'd rather not see that happen."

*Yasir:* "So send for him.  Shuri, show her the money."

Yasir al-Ayyubi stares impatiently at Shuri before adding, "And make sure you put in a good word for us, Jayla bint-Iskendar.  It will reflect well on your family name."

*Narrator:* Shuri presents a sack of gold -- the collected wealth of the Zarif community. Jayla sighs, "It's not nearly enough, but I will impress upon my father that a healthy caravanserai is good for business. Wait here." She departs.

*Narrator:* Jamul leans near Yasir, "If my estimations are correct, this venture could cost near 1,200 dinari. And Kara Iskendar is known to price gouge. How do you think he afforded this warehouse?" ((1200 dinari is wealth DC 20))

*Yasir:* "How many dinari have you with you, Jamul?"

*Narrator:* Shuri stares at the strange men in the far corner playing dice games. "This is surely the lair of Iblis. Yasir, I did not like how everyone seems to recognize your name..."

*Yasir:* "Neither did I, Shuri.  How many dinari did you bring, friend?"

*Narrator:* Jamul says, "I carry very little, but my name is well known, though I'd be loathe to open a line of credit with one such as Kara Iskendar. He is a merciless usurer." 

*Yasir:* "I'm beginning to think he had something to do with my father's murder.  But I need to know how much we have among us."

*Narrator:* "Perhaps I can offer to trade some silks with him, and agree to show him the routes I know. He just might bring the price down, " offers Jamul.  "And make sure to emphasize that merchants will revere his name for helping the caravanserai," he adds.

*Yasir:* "If you two would like to do the bargaining, that is fine with me.  As long as you do not quarrel with each other."

*Narrator:* Jamul purses his lips, "Yes, yes perhaps that is better. I can barter with Kara Iskendar, he knows me after all. But don't let Shuri get in my way! And stay close at hand Yasir, Kara Iskendar is a man who appreciates...the warrior spirit." And the way Jamul says this last part clearly means "violence and brute force" though Jamul doesn't want to attribute such things to Yasir, who he holds in an elevated position.

*Yasir:* "Very well, Jamul.  You do the talking.  I'll hold my sword."  He waits for Jayla's return.

*Narrator:* As Yasir gazes around the room, he notices several rogues playing dice games. Something glints in the ante pile, a ring which reminds Yasir of his father...

Yasir moves to get a closer look at the ring.

==================================

[A flashback

*Narrator:* Abdul leans hard on the camel. It is the end of the rainstorm. "Son, that is the route we shall take, between those two arches." And as you look down from the plateau you can make out three straggling goats behind the herd.

Yasir looks toward the arches.

*Narrator:* Abdul places a hand on Yasir's shoulder, one of the many gold rings of his family glinting on his finger. "Yasir, you are now a man. There is a tradition in my family of the Five Rings. My great great grandfather received 5 rings from an old hag he knew to be an angel in disguise. As his son grew older, he gave him one ring each year, which his son, my great grandfather, wore upon his right hand." Abdul removes one ring from his thumb. "This is your first ring." And with this he hurls the ring over the plateau. 

*Narrator:* The ring travels an unnatural distance, falling next to the three goats straggling in the soft sand below. "Now, if you can beat me there, it is yours!" says his father with a twinkle in his eye, grabbing the reins about his camel.

Yasir races to retrieve the ring before his father gets there.

*Narrator:* You ride neck to neck, as your camels pound down the steep slope into the soft sand, baying in complaint. "You ride well, my son!" Abdul struggles to keep up.

*Narrator:* You near the pack of goats, who begin to pace nervously and start to run from you.

Yasir keeps his eye on the ground, searching for the ring.

*Narrator:* Yasir spots the ring in the ground, kicked up by one of the fleeing goats. 

Yasir reaches for the ring

*Narrator:* Yasir leans from his saddle, snatching the ring from the sands as he passes.

Yasir puts the ring on the appropriate finger.

*Narrator:* Abdul rides up alongside Yasir. "Well done, my son, but you value the wrong treasure. Remember what our livelihood is: Goats and sheep may not dazzle the eyes. There is no room in heaven for the greedy. When you look at this ring let it be a reminder for you." He gazes with stern love at his son before looking up after the fleeing goats. 

Yasir smiles at his father.

*Narrator:* "Go with God and catch the goats, Yasir."

Yasir goes to catch the goats.

============================

*Narrator:* As Yasir touches the ring on his thumb, he sees that the ring in the rogue's gambling game bears similar markings, and he is certain it was one of his father's rings!


----------



## The Shadow (Sep 26, 2005)

*4: Searching for Water, Finding Lies Instead*

[This is basically the continuation of Yasir's solo adventure.  I played Jamul the silk merchant (and a cameo of Abdul), while Farraj's player and the Narrator divided Shuri between them.  Aaron, the Narrator, had intended to get to the rest of the storylines, but things went in unexpected directions, and then Farraj's player had computer trouble.]

*Narrator:* Wherein begins the evening tale, "Searching for Water, Finding Lies Instead"....

*Narrator:* The sun leaves the sky, the moon rises high, the call for prayer goes out and is answered. A bucket has gone down for water, and it has come up filled with lies and questions. Abdul awaits the messenger from Jamul, who travels with Yasir after concluding the water negotiations. Meanwhile, Farraj chats with the blacksmith as two youths look him over. The night is young in Huzuz, City of Delights, and the sorcerer-in-a-chest plots his treachery. The Forgotten Boys. Cemetery Square. Kara Iskendar. Familiar names which helped Metef keep his sanity in his new accursed form. Perhaps he had a chance to outwit these meddlers, but it would take every bit of cunning the blasphemous sorcerer possessed...before he lost his human mind forever to the bestial nature consuming him.

*Narrator:* Yasir stands back to let Jamul handle the negotiations. Shuri and Yasir, in Yasir's words, "are letting Jamul do the talking and keeping their hands on their swords." And given the constant quarrelling between Shuri and Jamul, this might not be a bad idea. Strange bedfellows are one thing, but their arguing waited on no man.

Jamul stands waiting for Kara Iskendar with an ingratiating expression on his face.  Then again, such an expression is so natural to him it may well have been stamped there at birth.

*Narrator:* Kara Iskendar has just been summoned by his daughter and he enters trailing his gaudy red silk robe behind him, two stout merchant guards flanking him. And his daughter, Jayla, appears to be no pushover either, though her love for her father certainly is in question. Several elephants are being loaded by workers overseen by merchant guards.

Shuri impatiently looks about.

*Jamul:* "Ah!  Esteemed Iskendar, it is good to see you again!"

*Narrator:* "Jamul al-Huzuzi, the silk merchant," says Iskendar with no hidden irritation in his voice. "Have you come on account of a debt I've neglected to collect from you? My memory does fail me at certain moments."

Shuri gives Yasir an exasperated look. People are dying of thirst while these men exchange pleasantries!

Jamul laughs as if Iskendar had just said something funny.  "Why no, though any reason is good enough to see your noble visage again.  I am come on a mission of charity - though profitable enough charity for you, I trust!"

Shuri bites his lip.

Yasir whispers to Shuri, "One wonders how much talk it takes before people can be helped."

*Narrator:* "Indeed," says Iskendar. "I will humour your requests though the meager sum Zarif's representative has brought impresses me not. However, I am a man of the common good, and should a caravanserai perish, it would hurt all business. Tell me, is master Metef still harassing travelers to his caravanserai?"

*Jamul:* "Not at all, noble sir, not at all!  His stepson Mamoun is master of the place now."

*Shuri:* "Mamoun will bring prosperity to the caravanserai, all that Metef would leech."

*Narrator:* "Let me be clear with you, Jamul," says Iskendar walking away from the two strongmen with Jamul while eyeing Yasir, "the sum of money won't cover half the expenses of this mission of salvation. You and those traveling with you would become heavily in my debt." He rubs his fingers through his greasy beard. Being in debt to Kara Iskendar is one of those curious fates that Jamul might fear worse than death; he is said to have half of Huzuz in his debt.

*Narrator:* Yasir notices the group of rogues gambling for the ante (including his father's ring) making a ruckus between them.

Jamul laughs again, with an edge of nervousness this time.  "Good Iskendar, surely you jest.  I am come here to help relieve the poor souls of Zarif.  I am sure that in time they can repay all that you ask.  And what is more, think of the good you will do, for your own business not least!"

*Narrator:* Iskendar arches his brow. "Yes indeed. Of course, Zarif will need to pay me back in one year or I shall be forced to collect on my debt in more direct ways that I'm sure this Mamoun has never heard of. Shall a contract be drawn up?"

*Narrator:* Yasir notices one of the young beggars playing the dice game swipe the ring from the ante pile without his fellows noticing.

======================================

Yasir approaches the beggars.  "How much for the ring?" he asks of the one who just stole it.

*Narrator:* The beggars look up at Yasir, taking him for one of the guards. The young urchin. "Ring?" He stares wide-eyed at Yasir. He produces a shiny piece of glass, "You mean this piece of blue glass?"

*Yasir:* "No, the ring.  You wouldn't want Iskendar to know you were stealing, would you?"

*Narrator:* The young boy motions for Yasir to lean down close out of earshot of the other beggars.

Yasir leans closer.

*Narrator:* "It's Kara. He won't let me leave, thinks I'll get picked up by the watch and say all sorts of mischief, though I'd never do that. It'd ruin my reputation, sahib. If you can get me out of here, I'll give you the ring." He looks at Yasir pleading.

*Yasir:* "Kara is busy now.  I'll distract him further."  He tries to spook one of the elephants.

=======================================

*Jamul:* "I have no objection.  Shuri, are you able to act on behalf of good Mamoun?"

*Shuri:* "What do you ask, that I give you all that you would take?"

Jamul laughs again while his eyes lob desperate daggers at the young man.  "You have such a sense of humor, Shuri!  I am but asking if you can sign a contract on behalf of Zarif?"

Shuri has a sudden idea... "It is fortunate that I have made the acquaintance of one of the Caliph's own scribes, a man of impeccable honesty who would be perfect for brokering such an important contract.  I am sure that with his assistance we can come to an abiding agreement, one that Mamoun will hold as though he had signed it himself!"

Jamul smiles as if humoring Shuri, meanwhile watching Iskendar out of the corner of his eye to see how he takes this.

Shuri nods and smiles. He has no intention of signing away the future of his home-town to this scorpion.

*Narrator:* All of a sudden Yasir trips into one of the guardsmen, and both fall backward, knocking a load of heavy bags from the elephant. The elephant tries to bolt and is held by its chain, but two servants go flying as the large animal thrashes about. "Look out!" comes the startled yell of a stablehand.

Jamul gapes.  "God have mercy!"  He backs away from the elephant.

Yasir steps toward the door to meet the beggar.

Shuri turns towards the ruckus and takes a step towards Yasir when he sees that he is at the heart of the matter.

*Narrator:* Iskendar shouts at the guard, "You oaf!" Quickly his daughter dashes along side the elephant, and grabs a chain, wrapping it about a massive pillar. The elephant rears in terror at the feathers on her head and all the strange people around.

*Narrator:* Yasir meets the beggar boy, but notices two guards blocking the exit.

*Yasir:* (to guards) "Help us!"

Shuri strides towards Yasir at his call.

*Narrator:* The guards grumble and rush to help Yasir with the elephant. 

Jamul cowers like a merchant in danger.  Why not?

Yasir slips through the guards toward the door

*Narrator:* Jayla Bint-Iskendar wrestles with the elephant and gets tossed through the air, landing in Shuri's arms.

Jamul murmurs frantic prayers in a corner of the room.  Perhaps that will help.

*Narrator:* Yasir can't find a way through all the guards - they're closing from every direction. He does notice the beggar boy slip past them though and to the door, where he 
gives one look back before vanishing.

*Shuri:* "You have flown like a bird and picked an unlikely tree to roost."

Yasir tries to run toward the door, unafraid of who sees him

*Narrator:* Jayla blinks at Shuri, "Unhand me this instant!"

Shuri puts her down and bows, smiling.

*Narrator:* Yasir knocks over several guards making a clear sprint for the door. A group of beggar boys shout after him, "Thief! Thief!" 

Yasir heads out toward the beggar boy.

Shuri starts at the commotion.

*Narrator:* Iskendar is distraught at the chaos, and starts barking orders. "Catch that man getting away! Jayla, cut him off. You guards, keep an eye on Jamul and his strongman ((Shuri))."

Shuri steps towards Jamul, things have taken a very serious turn.

Jamul smiles frantically up at Shuri, for once glad to see his face.

*Narrator:* Jayla groans at her father, "Do you think I owe you one thing?" He glares at her, and she sighs, "Yes, but remember this when you start raving about how ungrateful I am next time, father." With that Jayla rushes to a wall and grabs a sheathed scimitar before running out the back.

==================================

*Narrator:* Yasir ploughs through the evening crowd. Soon the call for prayer will go out. He spots the beggar boy sprinting down a back alley.

Yasir follows.

*Narrator:* Yasir spots the beggar boy squeezing through a narrow grate leading to the city's underground waterways. Suddenly a cloaked woman drops down from the roof of a squat building. It is Jayla, daughter of Kara Iskendar. She draws her scimitar, "So, Yasir al-Ayyubi, you are full of surprises. I wonder if you will continue to surprise in your swordplay!"

*Narrator:* She attempts to lure Yasir into a compromising position, but he holds his ground. It would take Allah himself to move the lion Yasir. Jayla takes a quick jab at his belt, hoping to cut his scabbard from his side. Yasir lunges out of her reach.

Yasir swings his scimitar at Jayla, crying, "Woman, get out of my way, or so help me, I'll avenge my father's death on you!"

*Narrator:* Yasir plunges his scimitar deftly under Jayla's guard, grabbing her sword arm as he twists here about, drawing a bright line of blood as he wounds her. Gasping, she collapses; clearly not a warrior of any sort!

Yasir rushes past her toward the beggar boy.

*Narrator:* The beggar boy struggles to squeeze through the grate, but is stuck halfway. Yasir hears him yelling something, it sounds like a swear word. Such language, from one so young! That's what he gets for hanging around a bunch of dirty heretics!

Yasir pulls him out, sword still in hand.  He extends his hand to the boy, saying only "Ring."

*Narrator:* The boy seems relieved when he sees it is Yasir. "Oh it's you! I thought for sure you were one of the guards! Oh, sahib," he continues, growing more distraught, "in my fear I dropped your ring into the waterways. Please sahib," he says, glancing nervously at the wounded Jayla.

*Yasir:* "Get it quickly before I cut off your tongue for lying and your hand for stealing."

*Narrator:* "Yes sahib, right away," says the boy, resuming his squirming and squiggling before slipping into the darkness under the grate.

Yasir peers into the grate

*Narrator:* The boy calls back, "Oh sahib, I cannot find it. It is so dark." Yasir hears guards rushing toward him.

*Yasir:* "Hurry, before I tell them where you are."  He stands ready to meet the guards, scimitar in hand, blood still on his blade and clothing.

*Narrator:* Six guards rush around the corner, and seeing Jayla wounded, draw their swords. Jayla points at Yasir as one of the guards helps her, "He, he and the boy are in league."

Yasir, growing quite irate, "Boy, where is the ring?!"

*Narrator:* No answer comes from within the grate save the sound of rushing water.

==================================

Shuri has taken up a wide legged stance and has eased the first few inches of his scimitar from it's home.

Jamul gets to his feet, feeling much better now that he has a living shield between him and the distressing things.  He knew Shuri was good for something...

*Narrator:* A group of guards have surrounded Shuri and Jamul. Iskendar glares at Jamul, "If this is your doing, old friend, then we'll be negoatiating a new contract soon. What can you tell me about this other man who was with you? Was he really of the Ayyubi family?"

*Jamul:* "Oh noble Iskendar, I am as shocked as you at this turn of events.  Yasir al-Ayyubi is known to me as a great man without fear, peerless in his bravery and generosity.  But what is in his mind in this thing now, I know not."

Shuri nods to Jamul, keep talking...

Jamul obliges Shuri readily enough. "I feel certain that whatever it may be, it is nothing ignoble or base.  But I repeat, I knew nothing of this when I came to you."

Shuri is watching the surrounding guards. He is rhythmically turning his head to catch any movement to his flanks. When he twists his body he moves his feet.

*Narrator:* Iskendar frowns at Jamul and Shuri. "Very well, you have proven honorable in the past, and your name carries weight even here, Jamul. I believe this man, if he is who he says he is, had come to negotiate with me regarding his father's debt..."

*Jamul:* "I believe he did not even know of his father's debt, good Iskendar, until it was mentioned to him by your man."

*Narrator:* Iskendar eases up, indicating for his guards around Jamul and Shuri to lower their weapons. "It is no worry. Soon Jayla and my guards will have this Yasir and the truth of the matter shall come out. Do you wish to contact your scholar friend and have him review this contract for you?" asks Iskendar, presenting a contract to Jamul.

*Jamul:* "Ah... Yes, of course.  My thanks to you, Iskendar."

Shuri turns to Jamul. "Perhaps we should be going, master.  I am sure that Abdul the scribe will return with us tomorrow."

Jamul rather enjoys replying, "Yes, of course, my servant."

*Narrator:* "Very well," says Iskendar cannily. "You may go."

*Jamul:* "A pleasure doing business with you, as always, Iskendar."

*Narrator:* Iskendar grins at Jamul. "Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I look forward to talking to you soon, Jamul, about these matters, and your eligible daughter."

Jamul blanches.  "My, ah, daughter?"

Shuri hustles Jamul right out of there as soon as they have stopped lying and threatening each other.

Jamul struggles slightly against Shuri.  "My daughter?!"

*Narrator:* "Yes of course, your daughter. She is quite the young flower, so I hear." Iskendar continues, watching Jamul.

Jamul laughs weakly.  "Ha ha ha.  Yes, of course she is.  Fatima, my jewel."

*Narrator:* Shuri and Jamul are led from the ominous building of Kara Iskendar's trading warehouse. The sun sets. The call for prayer is going out. Across the street the caravan guards Feyrouz and Jifar tend the camels. Somewhere in the city, Abdul is guarding the sorcerer-in-a-chest. Who save Fate knows where Farraj is?

==================================

*Narrator:* Five of the guards close on Yasir. "Well, young buck. How about facing a man? Or will you come willingly so Kara can come up with a punishment for you?" The lead guard pauses, sizing up Yasir, "Though I sincerely hope you choose the latter. I've no fondness for militant Moslems."

*Yasir:* "She was between me and the thief that was trying to escape.  I cannot abide by injustice."

*Narrator:* "Really?" says the lead guard, drawing closer. The guards are stopped when Jayla says, "Wait! What do you have to say for yourself? And be quick about it before I sic my father's dogs on you."

*Yasir:* "I already told them.  You tried to stop me from bringing him to justice."

*Narrator:* "Are you mad??" She gazes at Yasir with a mixture of bewilderment and hate. "It was you who came here armed to face my father over your family's debt and it was you who stole from him!"

*Yasir:* "Stole what?  If you are going to make accusations, show me proof."

*Narrator:* The lead guard continues, "A ring, a vial, an amber necklace... Jayla, I tire with this fool's lies. Let me gut him like a fish."

*Yasir:* "A what?"

*Narrator:* Jayla, while her wound is bound, glares at Yasir. "Against my better judgment, Yasir, you can go." She holds up her hand at the guard's protests. "You protected me from the assassin in the alley. Alas, he wounded me, but he could not finish me off. I think my father will thank you for his daughter's life and overlook any petty thievery you've stooped to." She looks at Yasir meaningfully, hoping the guards buy her bluff.

*Yasir:* "You heard the woman!"

*Narrator:* The guards clear aside, letting Yasir pass through, amidst their grumbling and glares. As Yasir passes by Jayla, she looks him in the eye, "I'll be seeing you, Yasir al-Ayyubi." In her eyes shines a mixture of anger and respect.

Yasir smiles and walks away.

================================

*Narrator:* As Jamul and Shuri begin to bicker again crossing the street, Yasir runs into them.

Jamul keeps trying to sneak a peek at the contract, but Shuri's words keep reminding him that he needs to be angry with someone.  Preferably someone less dangerous than Kara Iskendar.

*Shuri:* "Oh Yasir, are you well? I thought for sure the water merchants guards had slain you!"

*Yasir:* "I'm fine."

*Jamul:* "Oh come, Shuri!  Have you no more confidence in the great Yasir than that?!  I knew he would be well."

*Shuri:* "Six men to one? Pff! It just goes to show that merchants have no business once the scimitars are drawn. What happened back there, Yasir?"

*Yasir:* "Don't you worry."

*Jamul:* "I will wager that Yasir could take on any number of Iskendar's thugs!"  He suddenly gets a gleam in his eye.  "Saaaaay."

*Yasir:* "What happened is done."

Shuri eyes Yasir. He is a tremendous lion, besting six men at once! And his mysteries are as thick as his mane.

*Jamul:* "Iskendar is rather a man for a wager, I think...  Perhaps we could wipe our your debt and Zarif's at one go, Yasir!"  He carefully does not mention that his daughter might also be left out of account.  "Yasir?  What say you?"

*Yasir:* "I say nothing."

*Jamul:* "You have no wish to rescue Zarif and avenge your father at one blow?"

*Yasir:* "Will he not give us water?"

Jamul admits, "He gave me a contract, though I have not yet looked at it.  Given the way he was smiling, I fear his terms are very dear."

*Yasir:* "Read it first."

Jamul promises, "I will.  We can discuss it over dinner.  Did I mention that my daughter Fatima is in the very flower of youth?  And you are not growing any younger, my friend..."

Yasir looks away.

Jamul smiles ingratiatingly.  Warriors and their foibles!  "It is the evening hour.  Come, eat, and refresh yourself.  My hospitality is of the best."

*Yasir:* "That sounds wonderful."

*Shuri:* "Hark, the call to prayer. Let us pray to God to forgive our enemies!" Indeed the call to prayer goes out again. Shuri reminds the other two, "Do you so quickly forget that a villainous sorcerer is with Abdul?"

Yasir prays.

Jamul sighs at the minor inconveniences of life.  "I will send a servant to summon him to dinner, as I said I would."  He also kneels in the dusty road and prays.

Shuri prays, in particular watching Yasir and attempting to mimic him.  Having finished his prayers, "That's not good enough, Jamul. Or do you not remember how Metef controlled the will of even Farraj and Feyrouz? What if he has subdued Abdul even while we prattled with Kara Iskendar?"

Jamul raises his eyes to the heavens and says, exasperated, "God forfend that I should forget, Shuri!  What measures do you suggest, then?"

*Yasir:* "Let us first see what has become of them."

*Shuri:* "Oh noble Yasir, will you accompany me to visit with Abdul? We can send word to Jamul later."

*Jamul:* "Oh, very well.  But I must see to my servants.  I will send a man with you to show the way."

=====================================

*Narrator:* Abdul has just finished praying in his old apartment. His thoughts are distracted by the recent turn of events. He soon receives Yasir and Shuri, who knock at his door.

Abdul opens the door in relief.  "God be praised!  I am glad you are come."

*Yasir:* "Hello again."

*Abdul:* "I cannot come to dinner, my friend - please give my regrets to Jamul.  Farraj has wandered off, AND I have had distressing news that must be attended to without delay."

*Yasir:* "What news have you, Abdul?"

Abdul sighs.  "If I tried to explain it to you, Yasir, we should be here until morning and all I must do would be left undone.  Suffice to say that a very old friend to whom I owe an incalculable debt is... distressed.  I have waited anxiously for you to come and take Metef from me, for I would not leave him here alone."

*Yasir:* "Where should Metef be taken?"

Abdul sighs.  "I know not.  To Jamul and his dinner, I suppose.  We dare not leave him alone."

*Yasir:* "Let us bring him, then."  He grabs the chest.

*Narrator:* Shuri considers Abdul's words. "I'll inform Jamul's man tha--- What? To dinner? I'm sorry, you can't be serious! I may not care for Jamul, but to put his entire family in peril?"

Abdul sighs. "I am at my wit's end, Shuri!  Have you a better idea?"

*Yasir:* "We must, Abdul is right. Metef is too dangerous to leave alone."

*Abdul:* "In any case, the chest is bound with Ittifaqi Hasanah, and that seems to prevent trouble."

*Yasir:* "With what?"

*Abdul:* "Farraj's silk.  It seems to have some virtue against Metef's powers."

Shuri considered the men. Great men, fearless men, pious men, but certainly not the brightest. Perhaps their time in the cities had dulled their minds; he had always suspected as much. Too much food in the belly. "We might bring it to a qadi now?"

*Abdul:* "We shall have to find one that can resist Metef, and that may take a careful search. Though perhaps with the silk..."

*Yasir:* "It's best to stay close together with it."

*Narrator:* Shuri gnaws his lip. "Feyrouz was a pious man, so too Farraj, yet both of them succumbed to this treacherous wretch! How do we know he won't try his dark magic on one of us?"

Abdul says bluntly, "You don't.  But I cannot stay here, and I cannot leave Metef here to cause mischief upon anyone who passes by, either.  Do you not remember, though, how the silk freed the ferryman?"

*Yasir:* "We must be careful... That is why we should stay together."

*Shuri:* "The sooner we are done with with Metef, the sooner the people at the caravanserai will drink."

Abdul corrects him, "The sooner we are done with Metef, the sooner they will breathe easy.  The water is a separate thing - I hope your negotiations were successful.?"

*Narrator:* Shasti, who is in the room with Abdul, nudges the other pack camel, which bears the chest with Metef trapped within.

*Shuri:* What I mean is that we must dispose of this sorcerer before we can safely find water for my home, ask Jamul how our meeting with his friend went."

*Abdul:* "I will, but for now I must be off.  God be with you, my friends!"

*Yasir:* "When will you return, Abdul?"

*Shuri:* "And with you."

*Abdul:* "If God smiles upon me, by dawn."

*Narrator:* Abdul hears a voice, like a thin smoke, emanating from the chest. "Take me with you, sha'ir......"

Abdul blinks and says angrily, "Cease your lies, Metef!  I have no need of them."

*Narrator:* "*gawk* And you haven't lied, sha'ir? There is much I know of where you are going. I could help you...."

Abdul shoos Shuri and Yasir out of the house.  "Get the sorcerer out of my sight before I lose patience with him."

Yasir grabs the chest and takes it out.

Shuri looks at Yasir.  "Today we have the luck of the fugitive!"

*Narrator:* Yasir leads the camel with the chest on its back from Abdul's house. Shuri leads Shasti, Farraj's favored mare.

Shasti snuggles down in a corner. It will take more than the will of men to move her.

Shuri looks down at the Camel who thinks she is a cat.

Abdul hurries over to one of his less-talkative neighbors, pausing a moment to calm down.  There he borrows an egg and a lump of lard.  As long as he's there anyway, he casually inquires how long Ferej had been staying at his place.

*Narrator:* Offhand, the old shepherdess mutters, "Why no more'n a week, dear. What a nice young man..."

Abdul thanks her and hurries back to his house.  "You're still here??"

*Narrator:* Shasti snorts at Abdul's comment. To think! She is the pride of the desert! Soon they shall bring her cloved apricots and coconut water, surely.

*Shuri:* "It is too bad. We have gone to such effort to prepare your palace, oh great one. But if you would prefer to stay here..."

Shasti hops up and prances out the door.  She gets outside and realises that she has been hoodwinked. SNORT.

Abdul rolls his eyes at the camel, then cracks the egg into a bowl.  Opening his writing case, he takes one of his least-favored brushes, and uses it to "paint" the whites along his forehead, cheeks, and the backs of his hands.  When it dries, it will shrink and make wrinkles.

Shuri follows the camel. "Where to, Yasir?"

Abdul then takes some ashes from the hearth, and mixes it with the lard, making a goopy mess that he smears on his hair and beard, to make them dull, stringy, and grey.

*Yasir:* "We need to go to the dinner, Shuri."  He heads toward Jamul's house.

*Shuri:* "Very well, lead on."

Abdul finally dresses himself in some noisome rags he keeps for such occasions.  Pausing in the inner courtyard, he rubs dirt liberally upon his flesh.  Soon he is the very image of a down-and-out beggar.  Then he slips his way cautiously out of his house and hurries off onto the street, hoping to remain unobserved.

*Narrator:* Shuri and Yasir make their way past the beggar man lurking near Abdul's house and head to the Merchant's District, with its bustling streets, smell of gold plating, and noisy cries from merchant houses. Even at this hour of night, the dull roar of the street is staggering, though it begins to die down as Yasir and Shuri arrive at Jamul's house. Looking at themselves they realize they are in no condition to attend a dinner party - the desert has a way of dirtying men. Their clothes at least. Of course, it purifies their spirit.

Yasir looks for a place to wash up.

*Narrator:* A barber appears to be closing shop not to far from Jamul's house.

Yasir approaches the barber. "May I trouble you to let me wash before you close?"

*Narrator:* The squint-eyed man could easily pass for a beggar, were it not for the jewels he adorns. "Ah, shave and a haircut?"

*Yasir:* "How much?"

*Narrator:* "Well, for you noble sir, I only charge 1 dirham!"

*Yasir:* "That's an outrage!"

*Narrator:* Spreading his hands, the barber explains, "Ah, but I have a most amazing story to tell! Surely that alone is worth the price? May I also point out that all other barbers are now closed at this hour?"

*Yasir:* "Six bits... for the story too."

*Narrator:* "Six bits? Alas, my wife and children will starve! Please have a seat, sahib." Says the barber, waxing his moustache. "What brings you to Huzuz?"

*Yasir:* "Eight, then."

*Narrator:* "Yes, eight, very good." The barber begins trimming away at Yasir's hair, massaging his scalp with scented oils, washing his turban.

*Yasir:* "What's your story?"

*Narrator:* "Well sahib, it is the most stupendous story you have ever heard. There are sorcerers and thieves. And it all occurred in this very city!"

*Barber:* "As I lay there watching the pretty girls go by in the Grand Bazaar, a man came up to me looking like he'd seen a ghost. He said to me 'Oh barber, quickly, you must tell me where to find Rafiqi?' "

*Barber:* "And I said I did not, but the man must have mistaken me for someone else, claiming I was withholding from him, for he had a very important message for this Rafiqi. And thus I went on denying and he went on insisting, until he said: 'Do you know that a fearsome sorcerer has just threatened me should I not tell deliver a message to Rafiqi?'  And I responded that I did not know, and bade him tell me more."

*Yasir:* "And what happened?"

*Barber:* "Well, he weeped and said his lies had landed him in this mess, and that he was thinking about leaving for the Maghrib to evade his master's wrath, but that he must deliver this message to Rafiqi before he left. Thereupon the man revealed he was an unscrupulous rogue who had just feigned being a housesitter for an upstanding scribe, who turned out to be a sha'ir with a speaking chest!"

*Barber:* "There you are sahib! The finest specimen of man I have ever seen! Though a bit morose, I'm afraid I couldn't cure whatever ails your spirit." The barber finishes Yasir's haircut.

*Yasir:* "Thank you kindly, sir."  He gets up and pays the man.

=======================================

Shuri watches Jamul's house, looking to see if anyone else is observing the place.

*Narrator:* Shuri notes two men across the street he recognizes from Kara Iskendar's warehouse. Guards perhaps keeping an eye on Jamul?

Shuri attempts to get closer to the men, perhaps close enough to hear what they might be saying?

*Brute Guard:* "That swordsman was something else, huh? If he could drop Jayla like a hunter drops the sparrowhawk, surely he must be fearsome. And did you see the look in his eyes? Like a madman!"

*Veteran Guard:* "Hmm. Did you see that street urchin that ran out with him? I'm guessing they'll start looking for that urchin soon enough. And that might mean Cemetery Square." Both guards shiver at the name.

Shuri approaches the men allowing them to see him.  Quietly, he asks, "Has there been much movement this evening?"

Brute Guard : "Eh? Do I know you sahib? Hey, the merchant's guardsmen, aren't you?"

*Shuri:* "Let us just say that we share the same master, eh?  I must warn you that Yasir the Lion is coming. He has the eyes of the hawk and will surely see you. You must go home tonight. I will report to our master tomorrow."

*Veteran Guard:* "Hmph. I haven't heard anything about it. What else can you tell me about 'Yasir the Lion'?"

*Shuri:* "He is a fine swordsman and can see through the thickest veil of deceit. Our master has commanded me to find the connection between Yasir and Jamul. You must not speak of me to any others, if you value the skin on your back."

*Veteran Guard:* "Ok, what's the secret code? Just to make sure you are who you say you are..." says the veteran guard in plainclothes, keeping a hand on his club.

*Shuri:* "It is a phrase of course: "The waters flow to the sea.""

*Narrator:*: Both the guards look at one another, the younger giving the veteran a questioning look.

*Veteran Guard:* "No, no, the new password."

Shuri looks exasperated and checks over his shoulder, looking at the barbers

*Narrator:* Yasir is finished at the barber's. The veteran guard follows his gaze. "Is that...Yasir?"

*Shuri:* "Listen up. I am working for our master as a personal informant. I ask you kindly to forget the code phrase I just told you. It is the personal code between our master and myself. *Shuri:* It could be dangerous for you to know it. Yasir will be here any minute. If you mess with his plans you will be turned into saddles. Now go. And fill the world with silence on this matter."

Yasir approaches Shuri without a word.

*Veteran Guard:* The guards exchange a look with each other. Whoever this man is he is a poor liar, to his credit. The veteran guard eyes Shuri up and down. "Right, so we'll just wander down the street to that coffee house. If you need us, just holler the secret password." He winks. The younger brute guard stiffles a laugh. The two guards walk down the street a short ways.

*Yasir:* "Come, Shuri, we must go."

*Shuri:* "Of course."

*Narrator:* The newly groomed Yasir and the grubby Shuri approach the splendid house of Jamul al-Huzuzi. A young porter greets them at the door. "Sahib, " he bows, "Welcome to my master's home. May I take your camels?"

*Yasir:* "Yes."  He takes the chest off the camel carrying it.

*Narrator:* Appalled at this noble man bearing the chest, the porter inquires, "Far be it from me to presume, but may I help you with your burden, sahib? Ah, please remove your shoes here. And bow here. Watch your heads. And bow here again. Right this way, sahib."

*Yasir:* "No thank you, kind sir."

*Narrator:* Jamul's voice, "Hurry up children! My guests are coming soon! Ah!" He nearly runs into Yasir, before embracing him. Seeing the chest, his face loses color, "Good Yasir, the chest? What is the meaning of this?"

*Yasir:* "I'm sorry, friend, we must. I'll keep it close to me."

*Jamul:* "You must bring it HERE?  Amidst my children and wives?

*Yasir:* "I'm sorry.  We had no choice."

Jamul is quite flustered.  "Ah...  Perhaps we can keep some slaves nearby it, so the sorcerer does not seek the souls of my loved ones..."

*Narrator:* Jamul's first wife's voice sounds out, "They sound like beggars, dear husband!" Thanks goodness his second wife isn't here - one is enough to deal with!

*Yasir:* "No.  It needs to stay near me."

Jamul looks back in irritation.  "Yasir is a man nobler than your family, dearest!"

*Yasir:* "Now, now. This is only out of necessity."

Jamul forces a smile. "Of course, of course!  Do come in."

*Narrator:* Jamul's first of three wives emerges from the women's room, clad in a respldent white robe, her face thinly veiled. She is the picture of a mature woman, with as much cunning as Jamul himself. She can see the wheels of her husband's head spinning. "Shall I introduce our children, dear husband?" She looks Yasir and Shuri up and down with disdain.

Jamul says sourly, "Of course, dearest wife."

Yasir waits patiently

*Narrator:* She goes about introducing the seven children, but dotes special attention upon Fatima. "My eldest. Isn't she the gem of her father's eye? Never has Huzuz seen such an eligible young woman." She looks shrewdly at her husband as 14 year old Fatima blushes.

Jamul smiles a sickly smile.  "Never indeed!" he maintains loyally, but his is plainly worried.

*Yasir:* "Lovely."

*Narrator:* The young boy Dawar lunges forward, grabbing Yasir's leg. "Are you the lion my father sent word he'd met? I've been waiting all day to see a lion. I met a lion once, it went RARR! I wasn't scared, but, um..."

*Yasir:* "Yes, Dawar. You'll be a brave warrior some day."

*Narrator:* "Now, now, Dawar, don't intimidate our high and mighty guests," says Jamul's first wife with a thick layer of sarcasm.

*Jamul:* "Yes, son, we must show courtesy to our guests."

*Narrator:* Fatima leads the rest of the children to set out the meal which Bab-al-Sama, Jamul's first wife, lovingly prepared.

Jamul makes interminable small talk to set his guests at ease before broaching any delicate subjects.

*Narrator:* Dawar tells stories of his imaginary adventures to Yasir with great relish, tugging on his leg impolitely whenever Yasir diverts his attention to other topics or...the looming chest. At length Bab-al-Sama inquires, "Honored guest, I must inquire about your chest. How long have you been cursed by djinn with carrying it upon your back?"

*Yasir:* "Too long."

Jamul glares impatiently.  "Oh, cease, woman!  I have told you about the terrifying events of Zarif!"

*Narrator:* "Ah yes, but I thought I'd demonstrate to our guest Fatima's God-given gifts. My husband thinks me too proud, but she is quite the gifted hakima. She knows truth a mile away. I suppose, though, that a husband who lies, should find no solace in her as his wife." She glances at Yasir. "Not that you would need worry about that, honored guest. More yogurt?"

*Yasir:* "Certainly, thank you."

*Narrator:* Fatima rises to clear the table, blushing greatly, aided by her brothers and sisters.

Jamul asks suspiciously, "What sort of demonstration?"

*Narrator:* "Why I thought she might listen to our guest speak of his family. He might throw in a deliberate lie or two to try to catch Fatima, something convincing. She has gotten quite good at it during your latest venture away." Says Bab-al-Sama, somewhat indignantly. There she goes again, getting jealous of Jamul's ventures away.

*Yasir:* "Not I, no."

Jamul grins and leans back, relaxed. "Perhaps we should instead tell the tale of the events of Zarif, to set your mind at ease as to the truth of it all."  He looks entirely too smug.

*Narrator:* Bab-al-Sama stares suspiciously at Jamul. "Please husband, do tell."

Jamul gives a factual account of what he saw at Zarif, greatly enjoying spiting his dubious wife.

*Narrator:* She squints at Jamul. "And what of the coin in the chest?" She demands.

*Jamul:* "Well, what of it?"

*Narrator:* "Is it real?"

*Jamul:* "The coin?  I do not know, but doubtless it was a trick of the sorcerer's black arts.

*Yasir:* "Enough."

*Narrator:* Blanching at Yasir's voice, Bab-al-Sama quickly excuses herself, glancing accusatorily at her husband. She removes their dishes, whispering to Jamul, "A fitting match for Fatima. Good luck." Bab has always been jealous of Fatima, the only child by Jamul's second wife. Bab should have been the one to bear a child to Jamul first, but Fate wasn't so kind.

Jamul looks to Fatima for confirmation of his story.  That'll put Bab in her place.

*Narrator:* Fatima nods to her father. "It is truth, father." She avoids her mother's gaze, finishing the cleaning.

*Jamul:* "Of course it was, my darling.

*Narrator:* Bab grows red before storming off, "I'm going to pray and thank God for your safe return, and that it shall continue to be that way!"

Jamul calls after her smugly, "My thanks to you, most generous wife!"

*Narrator:* Shuri leans forward, "Jamul, did you know you are being watched by Kara Iskendar?"

Jamul suddenly turns gloomy.  "Oh, the man has eyes everywhere!"


----------



## The Shadow (Sep 27, 2005)

*Interlude: The Beggar Who Wasn't (a Tale of Abdul)*

[The good news:  A new update, really soon after the previous one!  A solo adventure by Abdul, played out last night.]

*Narrator:* There are few in Huzuz who don't know the "Tale of the Beggar Who Wasn't" these days, but there are few beggars who know the tale as well as I. Though I have since found good fortune and now wear fine clothes, I shall never forget that fateful day when the Beggar Who Wasn't changed everything. Lend me your ear, and you shall learn how I, a simple pauper, became the luckiest man in the world, all because of one man's heart.

Abdul hurries through the streets of Huzuz toward his ancient haunts:  Cemetery Square.

*Narrator:* Abdul, wrinkled and dirty, moves through the streets, and old memories come back to him. Even as he assumes the role, he remembers telling stories to his boyhood friends, and of panhandling on the streets. All too well he remembers the disgusted stares and avoidance. But here in Cemetery Square, beggars are not reviled, they're merely part of the scenery. Why you can't swing a stick without hitting a waif or handicapped beggar, they say. 

And sometimes, in Knife-Loose Alley, beggars are killed. At least one of the advantages of poverty is that the rich are the first target. 

Abdul pauses to get his bearings;  it's been a long time.  The flood of memories and emotions takes some time to assimilate, as well.

*Narrator:* As Abdul moves through the streets he pauses by a bakery. Though used to hunger, it has been many years, and the smell of fresh bread teases his nose as if he were a boy again. The laughter of boys fills his ears and looking up, he can see the outline of two boys playing in the dark, but soon it fades as they run down the street. Was it an illusion? A flashback?

Abdul shakes his head to clear it.  "Come, Abdul, stay sharp.  I'll need all my wits about me," he mutters to himself.

*Narrator:* Two of the women at the bakery steps chat opinionatedly. "Oh, sister, you put too much faith in this Aqeedah. I have heard he robs just like the rest of the thieves. I should like to think that the guards will catch him, or at least talk some sense into the poor man. Obviously he is a run-away slave."

Abdul puts the chatter from his mind as he makes his way toward the narrow space between buildings which opens up into Leper's Alley.

*Narrator:* Leper's Alley shimmers with smoke from roasting meat, or burning corpses, the smell is indistinguishable. The alley is narrow, and there are many smaller side alleys which branch off. Quite easy to get lost here. The lepers do have a thirst for life which rivals the gypsies however, and music around the firepits goes on even today. 

Abdul makes his way down the alley, eyeing each building carefully as he makes his way westward toward the fishgutter's.  He pauses to give a copper bit now and then to any particularly forlorn-looking souls.

*Narrator:* Charity is hardly commonplace in Cemetery Square, but the noise in Leper's Alley drowns out even the most showering praise Abdul receives for this small donation. Winding through the alley, he gets the distinct feeling he's being watched.

*Abdul:* A hard life has taught Abdul not to let on that he suspects his watcher.  He heads down one of the side-alleys, as if further inspecting buildings, and steps into a shadowed alcove to watch for anyone suspicious passing by.

*Narrator:* Nothing unusual for Leper's Alley - a band of roving musicians and two charity workers pass by. In the alley way he notices a young boy hiding behind a barrel, stifling crying.

Abdul's heart melts within him at the sight.  He heads toward the boy and asks, "Come, lad, what is amiss?"  He speaks in a deliberately raspy, deeper tone than is his wont.

*Narrator:* As soon as Abdul steps through the light the boy looks up startled. Even through the grime and tears it is clear he will grow up into a handsome young man who will rival princes in his grace. Also easily recognizeable to Abdul are the signs of physical abuse. His hands have been thrashed, his eye is black and blue, and he has a large tear in his shirt as if he ran away from his attacker. The boy cries silently.

Abdul sits down next to him, not speaking further, just patiently waiting.

*Narrator:* "Do you have any tobacco?" The boy sniffs. "I was beaten for stealing ice for my wounds. Twice in one day." He sobs again, but tries to regain his composure.

*Abdul:* "I am afraid I do not.  Who is it that beats you?"

*Narrator:* "My father for whistling at the pretty girls. And my older brother for not being honest about my earnings. And the police when I wouldn't tell them about my friend."

Abdul eyes the boy.  "Well, I am sorry that you have been beaten.  But is that all the truth?"

*Narrator:* "Yes, sahib!" He says right away, looking astonishedly at Abdul. "I did whistle at pretty girls, and I did lie about my earnings. I am a miserable wretch aren't I?"

Abdul sighs.  "I am sorry I questioned you, boy.  No, I have known many men far more wretched and wicked than you.  Come, the fact you can say it and mean it says you are not wholly abandoned to sin, eh?  The truly wicked do not see their wickedness."

*Narrator:* Wiping the snot from his nose, the boy starts murmuring under his voice with his hands clasped as if in prayer. He says aside to Abdul, as if not wanting to offend God by opening his eyes and talking to the man next to him. "I am praying I find my father again, and that he forgive me."

*Abdul:* "Find him?  Are you lost?"

*Narrator:* "Oh, not lost, but afraid of leaving. My older brother tells me he'll take me home just as soon as we finish his next job. And even if I did go back I'm afraid my father would just beat me even more...if he even recognized me." The boy looks away. He is no more than 12, a hair younger than Farraj.

*Abdul:* "What job is that?"

*Narrator:* "Why, he intends to steal the necklace which Asfar Chahhad took from a noblewoman. He is the one the police are looking for." Realizing that he has shared too much, the boy looks perplexed. "I- I should get going, my older brother will be wondering where I am." He starts to stand.

Abdul nods, not terribly surprised, although the names mean nothing to him.  "Come, lad, I am not about to turn you in.  I have been around the block a time or three myself, you know.  My name is Abdul.  You?"

*Narrator:* "I...I am called Tayseer." Says the boy cautiously; he is obviously concealing his true name. 'Tayseer' means 'facilitation', and Abdul can guess the name means 'facilitating thievery and mischief.' No doubt given to him by his older brother. "Where are you going?" asks Tayseer.

*Abdul:* "I am looking for a very old friend, who I am told is staying hereabouts.  Perhaps you know him?  His name is Rafiqi."

*Narrator:* Tayseer purses his lips. "Oh yes, everyone in the neighborhood talks about hiding their children from Rafiqi. He's a legend on the streets, almost as much as the Aqeedah. I haven't heard much of him recently; they say he was picked up by the police. He gave me a loaf of bread and some cheese once for making him laugh."

*Abdul:* "Hiding their children?  Why would that be?"

*Narrator:* "Oh, don't you know? Rafiqi's gang is infamous. They've started turning to mugging drunk nobles now and even..." He makes a gesture as if to say 'you know.'

*Abdul:* "Even what?"

*Narrator:* "Mugging evening women too. My older brother hates Rafiqi. It's a rotten way to do business, but he treats everyone in the neighborhood well. He's probably the richest beggar I've ever met."

*Abdul:* "Well.  I would not have thought it of him.  You say he has not been seen about of late?"

*Narrator:* "Not for a couple weeks. I hear he sometimes traveled in disguise, but no one knows where. Are you good friends?"

Abdul says sadly, "I have not seen him in a very long time. ... I am told he has a house behind Hassoud's.  Do you know where it is?"

*Narrator:* "A house?" Tayseer draws a perplexed look. "Oh, you must mean the watering hole. There are some makeshift huts there. It's for animals to bathe, but I've seen lepers there too, even drinking the water." He shudders.

*Abdul:* "Hmmm.  Do you know of boys that work for him:  Dyjer, Pencil, Cricket?"

*Narrator:* "Well I know the Cricket, but he doesn't work for Rafiqi. Someone else, and much meaner. Cricket always complains that his master threatens to break his sitar. He's the best musician I know, and even the lepers say so too. Why sometimes he comes here to play music, and I go with him just for the fun."

*Abdul:* "I am beginning to think I was lied to by a much more deeply-dyed liar than yourself.  A pity."

*Narrator:* "You - you're not from Cemetery Square, are you?" asks the boy. 

*Abdul:* "Many years ago, boy.  Many years ago.  I also worked for someone much meaner.  I know what it is like to be beaten."

*Narrator:* "I'll show you the watering hole." says Tayseer, wiping his face. "Do you ever go to the Warehouse Districts in the north of the city? I would be obliged if you delivered a message to my father."

*Abdul:* "A favor for a favor is a fair return. And who is your father?"

*Narrator:* "His name is Daoud bin-Haroun, the largest smith you have ever seen, with dark curly hair. He has a stall in the Grand Bazaar." Tayseer rises and starts walking toward the alley.

Abdul blinks.  "A smith's son, stealing necklaces?"  He follows, though, offering his hand.

*Narrator:* "Oh no, sahib, I am no thief. My older brother has me appraise all that he finds, and...I'm quite good with locks too, and door hinges." Tayseer makes his way down the street. He is tall for his age; Abdul imagines that in his former life he must have been the jewel of his mother's eye. As you pass a cart full of slaves, Tayseer hops aboard, motioning for Abdul to do the same. "The driver doesn't mind, even if his mule does!" Two slaves offer Abdul a hand up.

Abdul hops up easily enough.  "Tayseer... how long has it been since you saw your father?"

*Narrator:* He recites precisely, "One year, one month, and six days." Uncomfortable discussing his father, Tayseer asks Abdul, "When were you last in Cemetery Square? Before the Madrassah?"

*Abdul:* "I did not even know there was a madrassah here.  A welcome change."

*Narrator:* "The jeepney drivers deal with non-Moslem slaves, but there's more Moslems in these carts than they let on, just those that don't speak the language. But they're good men, Abdul."

*Abdul:* "I believe it.  Tayseer, how did you come to be in Cemetery Square?"

*Narrator:* "I ran away from my house, and my older brother found me. He taught me how to live in the Grand Bazaar, and the two of us moved here for his first job."

Abdul sighs deeply. "I thought as much."  He shakes his head.

*Narrator:* "For several months it was rough, we lived hand-to-mouth, and he beat me too often, but then we started doing better. The other boys accepted me, and my older brother became successful. And then he started getting afraid, and I mean of everyone. Now I can barely talk to him without getting interrogated about what I know nothing of."

*Narrator:* Tayseer says, "Here we are!" And jumps off the jeepney, waving to the slaves who wave back.

Abdul hops off the jeepney as well, intent on the boy. "Tayseer... Whatever your true name is.  Listen to me."  Abdul's voice is raw with emotion.

*Narrator:* Tayseer looks up at Abdul, startled.

Abdul grips the lad's shoulder and holds his eyes.  "Do you have any idea how lucky you are? Any idea at all?"

*Narrator:* Tayseer is taken aback, "Sahib, I am very lucky to have met you it is true."

*Abdul:* "No!  Not because of me.  You are lucky because you have a place to go home to!  A mother and a father who must be frantic for you!  Do you know how few boys in Cemetery Square can say that?  What in the name of all that is holy keeps you from going to them?"

*Narrator:* He looks away, ashamed. "If - if I leave, my older brother has no one. He has no home or family except for me. And my father scorns me for my looks."

*Abdul:* "Listen.  Rafiqi was my 'older brother'.  And I was and am grateful to him, because I had no place else to go.  He was the only family I had.  But you, you have been taken from your family.  From the place you belong. ... I know not what your father holds against your looks, though you are a handsome lad indeed.  But I feel quite confident that he will be overjoyed to see you.  He must have given you up for dead by now!"

*Narrator:* Tayseer squints, biting his lip. "Maybe I belong here. I think that if I am dirty enough then no one will see the face my father hates."

Abdul embraces the boy fiercely.  "You must know what is truly right, or you would not say such stupid things.  Come, am I wrong?  Your heart has already decided, has it not?"

*Narrator:* The boy stifles a sob, clinging to Abdul. Abdul hears someone approaching from behind him.

Abdul holds self-preservation above even comforting troubled youngsters.  He whirls, a hand dipping into a fold of his rags.  He keeps one hand on the boy.

*Narrator:* A dark cloaked young man gazes at Abdul from underneath his hood. Something about the man is hauntingly familiar. "I see you've met my younger brother."

*Narrator:* Abdul hears Rafiqi's voice from underneath the cloak, though the man stands and acts nothing like Rafiqi. "Come Tayseer, I've missed you." He says, a hint of neediness creeping into his voice, as he extends his hand. As he does so, Abdul makes out the hilt of a jambiya in his cloak.

Abdul asks in wonder, "Rafiqi!  Is that you?!"

*Narrator:* "Why have you taken my brother from me? Don't you know Leper's Alley is dangerous at night?" asks Rafiqi's voice.

*Abdul:* "Taken him from you?  I found him weeping and beaten.  But you - how can you not know me!  I was your brother long ago!"  Abdul takes a step forward, only a little doubtful.  He still keeps one hand on Tayseer.

*Narrator:* "You mistake me for someone else," snarls Rafiqi's voice. "Come Tayseer, I have found some ice for your wounds. Forgive me, I was hasty and afraid."

Abdul begins to look confused.  "But...!"  His voice has lost the artificial tone he gave it.

*Narrator:* Tayseer clings to Abdul, uncertain of his older brother's true intentions. "Have you really brought ice for me?"

*Narrator:* "Yes," laughs Rafiqi's voice hoarsely. "Stolen from the very ice house of Al-Fareed himself, just for you, boy. Beggar," he says, addressing Abdul, "do you not have a charge of your own to look after that you must go fishing in other men's pools?"

Abdul says stiffly, thoroughly put off now, "I am not 'fishing' at all, sirrah.  Perhaps you are."

*Narrator:* "What is your name, beggar?" asks Rafiqi's voice, becoming more gravely.

*Abdul:* "Who wishes to know?"

*Narrator:* Suddenly the man's voice switches to Akim's, and Abdul feels his body cringe. "The boy's older brother, Fareed."

Abdul's muscles tense, but he can see that this man is far too young to be Akim.  "I know not by what cheap trick you change your voice so, sirrah.  But it does not impress me."

*Narrator:* "Then perhaps we should look face-to-face?" says the young man before removing his hood and Abdul stares straight into the face of his childhood adversary Akim, his sunken eyes and split lip, his wide ears and sun-burnt wrinkled forehead. "You're one of the Forgotten Boys, aren't you?"

Abdul gapes, his heart pounding.  "You... are not Akim."  He says it almost doubtfully at first, then his voice firms up.  "Akim does not know any arts of _sihr_.  Akim does not recruit boys personally.  And I have never heard of any 'Forgotten Boys'."

*Narrator:* "No, I'm not Akim, you're right. I am Fareed, proud older brother to Tayseer here. But you do recognize his face, which few in Cemetery Square can claim anymore, and you do know Rafiqi, so you've been around the block." The man gazes at Tayseer now. "Come, the ice will melt soon. If you won't let go of this beggar, then bring him with us and we'll eat together."

*Narrator:* Tayseer gazes up at Abdul, "Will you come with us?"

Abdul asks gently, "What is the desire of your heart, bin-Daoud bin-Haroun?"  He is not speaking of something so small as a meal.

*Narrator:* "I- I can't abandon him. I wish my father would take me back in with him." He says earnestly, looking at Abdul with wide-eyes.

Abdul sighs deeply.  "Perhaps.  I do not know.  But he certainly will not do so unless you ask."  Then, "Fareed.  These arts of sihr that trick the eye - they will work you ill in the end.  As you say, I have been around the block.  More than you know.  Take it from one who has seen much."

*Narrator:* "I can't ask him, not face to face...you do not know my father, how much I've hurt him..." Tayseer looks away.

*Abdul:* "Then I will go with you."

*Narrator:* Arching his brow, Fareed, if that's even his real name, raises his cloak hood again. "You're right, they've done others much harm, but then again in Cemetery Square justice comes here only when dragged kicking and screaming. I did not get the pleasure of your name, beggar?"  His voice becomes that of a young man, faintly familiar to Abdul, but unrecognizeable at the same time.

*Abdul:* "I do not speak of the sort of justice that comes from qadis.  I do not even speak of the justice you will face before God on the Last Day.  The very nature of things means those arts work ill on the one who uses them."

*Narrator:* "Very well, I shall call you the 'Theologian' then." Fareed motions for Tayseer to lead the way, which the boy does willingly. He seems to be in his element dealing with others and negotiating his way through the city streets. "So does the blacksmith's furnace char his face, crack his hands, his lips, and even mangle his fingers and wreck his back. But are not his works beautiful?"

Abdul follows, keeping a hand on Tayseer's shoulder if the boy will let him.  "Any beauty his works have come from within him, from the beauty that is in his soul.  But sihr withers a man's soul and makes it ugly in the end."

*Narrator:* "Well, Theologian, your words are certainly illuminating. Would it surprise you to learn that I am no sorcerer?" He eyes a group of beggar boys talking amidst themselves, who glare at him nervously. "The Almighty himself has blessed me with the gift to present men the face which they keep closest to their hearts...whether in love or spite."

Abdul blinks.  "I have never heard of such a thing.  But if it is so, then I have wronged you.  I apologize."

*Narrator:* Chuckling in a raspy voice, the young Fareed rubs his chin. "But I do wonder about God's intentions sometimes. How is it, Theologian, that you know so much about magic and Cemetery Square? One would think the two things antithetical."

*Abdul:* "That is a long story, Fareed.  A very long story. I imagine some hereabouts might remember a part of it, though."

*Narrator:* Pushing through a series of old rusted gates that barely hang on their hinges, Tayseer leads you to a burned out building, using the outside stairs to ascend to the third floor. Within the chipped stucco and drifts of ash, Abdul is astounded to find a room suited to any prince! Fine vases and elaborate rugs, golden incense holders and bowls of dates and other candies. Of course, the crumbling ceiling, empty wine jug, and thieves' tools hanging on the wall give away its true nature.

*Abdul:* "I must say, you are quite an accomplished thief."   It is a neutral observation, neither admiring nor condemning. "I imagine that being able to look like those men love and fear serves you well."

*Narrator:* "Every man has his gifts, and what Fate giveth, she also taketh away," says Fareed, moving swiftly to a wrapped bundle in a bowl. Breaking off a piece of ice with his knife, he crushes it and wraps it before handing it to Tayseer. "When you've finished, keep us safe." He says before tossing the boy's hair playfully. Fareed turns to Abdul, "Wise Theologian, care to join me on my palace's veranda overlooking this fine city?" He says majestically.

Abdul eyes the man just a bit warily.  "If you wish it."

*Narrator:* Stepping through a silk curtain, he looks down upon Leper's Alley. "If there is anything you wish to say to me, say it now and let me decide whether to hang you or to serve you."

Abdul thnks for a moment, then says, "Rafiqi was my 'older brother'.  I am seeking him.  As for bin-Daoud... I have told him he is luckier than all the boys of Cemetery Square for having a family to go home to, and I spoke the truth to him.  I never did."

*Narrator:* "Earlier, when I called you one of the Forgotten Boys, I meant those who worked for Akim, who still had integrity, before the thugs started moving in, but those in uniform and out of it. You're right that Tayseer is lucky, but not in the way you think." Fareed removes his cloak tossing it over the railing, before rubbing his eyes so hard he almost appears to be clawing them out. "His family sold him into slavery just before he ran away from home. I intercepted the slavers and brought him here. He has nobody else to turn to, so quit putting these ideas of a happy family reunion into his head."

Abdul says coolly, "Well, you certainly give me something to look into."  In a more normal tone, he adds, "As for the 'Forgotten Boys', if that is what such are called, I hope I am one of them. I believe I had some integrity then, and I know that Rafiqi did."

*Narrator:* Abdul spots Tayseer down in the streets, winding his way through the crowd, tracing the exact route they traveled to get here from the watering hole. Fareed gazes hard at Abdul, "Rafiqi is one of the few good men in Cemetery Square, but he has many enemies. And I hear that Akim is looking for him now, all because of this Asfar Chahhad, this Yellow Beggar, who stole a necklace."

*Abdul:* "I know nothing of any Asfar. And you must already know I am not seeking Rafiqi to do him harm.  Would any such speak as I have done?"

*Narrator:* "If you wish to find him, you will go to the old fire station and wait till you hear a crow call. At least, that is how he used to communicate with his brothers. As for Tayseer, don't cross me about him. Tayseer and I are only here long enough for my next job. However much you may be opposed to it, thievery feeds many bellies. Now, Theologian, will you join me for supper or is your appetite conflicted by morals?" 

Abdul sighs. "You already know I worked for Akim.  I cannot look down my nose at any man for theft.  But may I ask you a thing?  Did you grow up here?"

*Narrator:* "And if I did?"

*Abdul:* "Well, speaking as one who did also, I can well understand that one who did might have much to learn of love.  I have heard the need in your voice when you speak of the boy.  I do not doubt you care for him, but ask yourself if you always seek his good."  He pauses, then says, "And my name is Abdul.  The other boys called me 'Hakawati' * back in the day." ((* street storyteller))

*Narrator:* "Hakawati, eh? Did you know a poor thief named Mehdi? He was very dear to me."

Abdul groans.  "Good Dar-Al!  I remember him well.  Poor lad.  Please tell me he is well."

*Narrator:* "Sadly, he was picked up by Al-Fareed and other secret police, purportedly working for the Caliph. I do not know what has become of him." Fareed has a distant look in his eyes. "Tell me of your first job for Akim, Abdul."

*Abdul:* "My very first?  I was so young - three years old.  I scarcely remember.  Given my age, they probably used me as the 'monkey' - you know, the one that eyes are upon while others do their work."

*Narrator:* "Three years old? And still begging these days? You seem far too educated to be a beggar, unless you've donned rags to find your older brother?"

Abdul chuckles. "I see I have not lost the arts Rafiqi taught me.  Though the egg-white trick was of little use to ones so young as us!"

*Narrator:* Fareed laughs, pausing to look at Abdul, before laughing so hard tears come to his eyes. Tayseer calls from outside as he ascends the stairs. "Our rice is finished cooking. I should think you could even fool Akim with your disguise."

Abdul laughs also, then his mood darkens.  "Let us hope for his sake it does not come to that."

*Narrator:* Tayseer says a quick prayer over the meal of roasted figs, rice, sheep's cheese, and sardines. Fareed lights two candles religiously while Tayseer prays, then pauses, and digs around for a third candle and lights it too before sitting down. "For your friend Rafiqi," he murmrs.

Abdul pauses to pray also.  "Indeed. How do you know so much of Akim's boys, Fareed?"

*Narrator:* "There is someone who might be able to help you, Abdul, a man named Zayid who runs the madrassah. He is tracking down your old friends, and would know far more than I."

*Abdul:* "I will be certain to speak to him."

*Narrator:* "As for the rest, the only other I know by name is Ashquar, and only because he tried to drag me into his turf battles with Rafiqi. Ashquar sold out a group of boys to the authorities." He gazes at his meal, his eyes darkening. "Maybe even Mehdi."

Abdul's knuckles go white on the table.  "I would not have thought it of him.  He was a good brother, long ago."

*Narrator:* Fareed gazes at Abdul over the candle. "Everyone has a price, my guest."

*Abdul:* "For some men, the price is too high for any to pay."

*Narrator:* Tayseer asks Fareed, "Brother, do you remember how we'd use to play in the old chicken coop? It's been so long since I've had chicken, I can scarcely remember what they look like. I'm afraid I'd try to eat a rat and think it was a chicken." Tayseer laughs to himself as Fareed gazes intently at Abdul.

*Abdul:* "Speak your mind, my host."

*Narrator:* "Yes, I remember Tayseer. Father never approved of us, did he?" Fareed smiles at his younger brother. Looking back to Abdul he asks, "What has brought you to seek out Rafiqi?"

*Abdul:* "I am only just returned.  Come, you surely must have had heard the tale of Hakawati.  It was dramatic enough."  He pauses as he looks at the two of them.  "Wait, the two of you are brothers by blood?"

*Narrator:* "Of course," says Tayseer to Abdul, "or did you think I called him 'older brother' by jest only?" Fareed gazes at Abdul impassively, "Please tell us of the Hakawati."

Abdul starts laughing.  "I thought..."  He can't stop laughing.

*Narrator:* As Abdul laughs, a thought sends a shiver down his spine. Tayseer did not react at all to Fareed's face and voice changing; either the youth has grown used to it, or else Fareed's ability plays on the mind and is an illusion. In which case, who does he look like to Tayseer?

Abdul's face drains of color and he stares at Fareed over the table, as the candles flicker.

*Narrator:* Tayseer laughs at Abdul's face, "Oh, brother, this shall be a great tale!" Fareed pats his brother's hand. "Yes indeed." He gazes at Abdul, his eyes seeming to morph into Akim and Rafiqi's eyes at once almost subconsciously.

*Abdul:* "Fareed...  I think you are a better man than I thought before.  But remember what I told you of love."

*Narrator:* A weak smile, but an authentic one, forms on Fareed's face. "Abdul, what is the most ridiculous thing you can think of Akim doing? Something that would make him seem nothing more than a palace fool to you?"

Abdul blinks.  "Eh?"

*Narrator:* Tayseer rolls over on to his stomach, propping his chin up with his hands. This is not a household where people rush to clean the dishes, apparently. Fareed gestures impatiently. "If you were the puppeteer what would you have Akim do that he would never do? Something that would make you laugh....and isn't too humiliating for me, preferably."

Abdul says stiffly, "I am not going to ask you to play the fool for my sake, my host.  And indeed, I have no desire to look on the man's face again."

*Narrator:* "Very well," he says glumly. "I only wished to entertain you." Tayseer immediately moves to comfort his brother.

Abdul sits for a moment in silence, then says with a certain quiet savagery, "Hakawati was a dreamer-boy who listened to stories and told stories and dreamed of a better life - though any life would be better than the one he had.  Akim called it 'prattle'.  Well, one day one of his stories came true, and he was carried off by a jinn.  The end."  He is very tense.

*Narrator:* Tayseer is silent, uncertain how to react. Fareed gazes into the candle. "And did he forget all about Akim and his beating and live happily with a beautiful djinni wife in a jewled palace?"

*Abdul:* "Not at all.  Akim haunted his dreams to this very day.  And he was very lonely, for while the jeweled palace was fine, there was nobody in it but jinni.  But he learned much, and grew, and it was indeed a better life than any he had dreamed of, and for that he was thankful."

*Narrator:* "Is that what I am, a jinn? An empty man in an empty palace?" Fareed asks the question his voice very distant, his eyes glazed over. Snapping from his trance, Fareed smiles weakly at Abdul, "Your story is also incomplete it would seem, but perhaps another time?" He looks over at Tayseer whose eyes are at half-mast. 

Abdul meets Fareed's eyes.  "I do not know what you are, Fareed - except that you are not a djinn so far as I can tell.  Look within yourself, for only you can decide what you are.  But the thieving is beginning to pall a bit, is it not?"

*Narrator:* "It always has, Abdul," he retorts, easing Tayseer's head onto a pillow. "You know where the fire station is?"

*Abdul:* "I do.  Will he be here tonight?"

*Narrator:* "I do not know, but some of his boys will be, and they can tell you more. If you visit Zayid at the madrassah, it is in the old de-licing center for the textile factory."

*Abdul:* "Do you know of a Ferej?  He tried to trick me, saying he worked for Rafiqi, though he lied about everything else."

*Narrator:* "Ferej? No, I don't. Though I wonder why someone would lie about working for Rafiqi? How are you feeling?"  Suddenly, Abdul feels very light-headed and the room starts to swim.

Abdul bolts to his feet at the oddness of that question and the feeling in his head.  "You traitor...!"

*Narrator:* "My apologies, Abdul, but you wouldn't want to remember how to get here. It's for your own good..." Abdul scrambles toward the door and falls over. Blackness swims about him with images of Akim and Rafiqi, and of Tayseer, and splintered bits of his conversation with Fareed....

*Narrator:* ...Abdul jerks awake in a side alley off of Leper's Alley. His eyes swim in a haze, and his entire body is paralyzed for a minute before he can move and see once again. What in the world happened? 

Abdul concentrates for a solid minute, using the esoteric centering techniques Nakhlouf taught him long ago.  His head doesn't hurt...

*Narrator:* Abdul's spatial senses have been seriously scrambled. He is not exactly sure where he is right now (though he's sure he's in Cemetery Square). He can't remember where Fareed's hideout is, or where he found Tayseer.

Abdul gets to his feet, growls with frustration, and restrains himself from punching the wall.  "The candles!  Ach!  I am a fool."  He pauses a moment to pray, to collect himself. Finally, he shrugs and heads into Leper's Alley to get his bearings again.

*Narrator:* Abdul finds the watering hole quickly, which at this hour of night is populated only by sleeping beggars in their makeshift huts.

Abdul hurries down the alley back to the place he first entered it.  He definitely does not want to go down Knife-Loose Alley.

*Narrator:* Backtracking, Abdul fights off the last remnants of the drug that had so disoriented him. At first, his steps are awkward, but he quickly regains his composure. Abdul nears the old fire station. This part of the neighborhood looks like it has suffered from violence. Too many widows' black shawls line the shop windows. 

Abdul moves cautiously, stealthily, into the old building he remembers so well.

*Narrator:* The building has clearly suffered from disrepair, and doesn't look like it sees much use anymore. The same hole in the back that Abdul used as a boy is still there. It's a squeeze, but he enters the basement. Piles of buckets are gnawed at by rats. The sound of dripping water can be heard. Quickly he finds the old well that once was in the basement; by the looks of it the old well has dried up.

Scattered around the floor near the well is granular salt in a perfect circle, though some sandal prints can be made out having long since trampled the salt.

*Narrator:* Abdul feels two competing memories tugging at him. One of playing games in the old fire station with his boyhood friends, and nursing his first wounds from Akim. The other of a book in Nakhlouf's library entitled "Circles & Symbols of the Almighty's Protection", which described a ritual for frightening away evil spirits with salt thrown over the shoulder or placed in a circle.

Abdul frowns down at the salt.  Carefully, he tries to spread it back out into an unmarred circular shape.  It passes the time while he's waiting for a crow call.

*Narrator:* Abdul is unsure of what time it is - he has felt a gap since awakening in the alley after Fareed's treachery. Most likely near or after midnight. Suddenly he hears some shapes moving through the hole in the back of the cellar, and just then the crow call goes out, piercing the night.

Abdul stage-whispers, "I am here, brothers."  He knows well that whispered voices are hard to recognize.

*Narrator:* One of the boys says to the other, "See? I told you he moves like the wind!" There are at least two boys in the darkness. One presents a basket of eggs, the other a pouch of coins. Abdul notices a third shape slip in behind the two boys unnoticed, lingering in the shadows.

Abdul waits for the boys to enter and recognize him, holding out his hands placatingly.  "Do not be afraid, lads.  I am looking for an old friend."

*Narrator:* "You're not Rafiqi!" says one boy, drawing a knife on Abdul. "Did Akim send you?"

*Abdul:* "Never him!  I was one of his too, long ago.  It is Rafiqi I look for, as I have missed him sorely."

*Narrator:* The other boy looks Abdul up and down, "How can I know to trust you? And Rafiqi isn't here - He's left us."

Abdul smiles.  "I think you mean he is behind you. At any rate, someone is.  But as for how to trust me, surely he has told you of his brothers in Akim's days?  How many others would know their names?"

*Narrator:* "I'm listening," says the rail thin boy. If ever a boy deserved the nickname 'Pencil' it is this boy. 

*Abdul:* "Other than Rafiqi himself, there were Lightfingers, and Kerif Twigtoes, and Ashquar, and Mehdi Dar-Al and Hakawati.  Shall I go on?"

*Narrator:* The figure in the background stirs, limping forward, "Not Rafiqi, but I know him well." The voice is vaguely familiar to Abdul. "I am Lightfingers."

Abdul studies the man carefully, to make sure of him.  Though it has certainly been many years.

*Narrator:* It's hard to tell. The Lightfingers Abdul remembers was a wastrel youth with stringy brown hair, an awkward gait, and long agile fingers. This youth before you is only slightly younger than Abdul, sporting the beginnings of a moustache, and has his hair closely cut to his head.

Abdul takes a step forward, hesitantly.  "Brother.  Do you recognize me, under the egg-white?"

*Narrator:* The two youths jump when Lightfingers unveils himself; apparently this man is quite good at concealing himself. Though Abdul feels he can never be too cautious around confirming other's identities this day. Lies have been flowing like water, after all. Peering closely at Abdul, Lightfingers eyes widen. "Yes, you do look familiar to me...Were you one of Akim's old crew?"

*Abdul:* "I was.  Which of them ... disappeared, suddenly, amidst laughter?"

*Narrator:* "Laughter?" He raises his hand shakily to feel Abdul's clothes. "We, we thought you'd died! Or been kidnapped by djinni....and here you are alive and well...with egg whites on your face..." Tears stream down Lightfingers face, as he clutches Abdul's clothes in disbelief.

Abdul embraces Lightfinger tightly.  "Oh, brother!  It is so good to see you again!"

*Narrator:* Lightfingers sobs in Abdul's arms. "Oh that Rafiqi were here to witness you!"

Abdul sobs also, but sighs in relief.  "So he does not seek my ruin, then.  I did not think so.  A liar told me such."

*Narrator:* "A liar?" Lightfingers takes a deep breath. "Too much deceit these days - it would break your heart to learn what has become of the others. These are Rafiqi's boys Dyjer and Pencil." The two youths wordlessly nod.

*Abdul:* "I have already heard about Ashquar and Dar-Al, though I do not know if the tale was true.  Hello, lads.  I am Abdul, who was called Hakawati. Surely Rafiqi has spoken of me."

*Narrator:* "Oh yes, sahib," croaks out of Dyjer's mouth, but other words seem to catch there.

Abdul frowns slightly.  "Out with it, lad.  I will not be angry, though it be good or ill."

*Narrator:* "Rafiqi has made something of a legend of you, Abdul!" grins Lightfingers, wiping the tears from his eyes.

*Narrator:* "C- can you really cause tapestries to talk and show your tales like a desert mirage?" asks Dyjer, on the tip of his toes.

Abdul laughs.  "I am afraid not.  Though I can do many interesting things indeed!"

*Narrator:* Lightfingers looks at the two boys, he splits the eggs evenly between the four of you and gives the pouch of coins back to the boys, "Keep your catch tonight. Now leave us to catch up on old times."

*Abdul:* "One moment, please. Before I forget, do any of you know a man who calls himself Ferej?"  He describes the man.  "He told me lies of Rafiqi, but he got your names right, interestingly enough.  He may be an enemy of Rafiqi's as well as mine."

*Narrator:* Both boys shake their heads. Abdul is getting the distinct impression that "Ferej" was a working name.

*Abdul:* "Ah well.  Run along, lads, and I hope to know you better soon."

*Narrator:* "Goodbye, Hakawati. Salaam!" The two boys rush out to spend their hard-earned cash.

Abdul turns to Lightfingers, still just glorying in the man's presence.  "I hardly know where to begin. Except, where is Rafiqi?"

*Narrator:* "You make a good impression on them." Lightfingers sighs. "Rafiqi has a high-class lover. I'm sure by now they've secretly engaged or some crazy notion. I tell you, Rafiqi has become the most lovesick man I've ever seen, and after all his talk over the years about how he would never love a woman. Ha!"

Abdul laughs out loud.  "How absurd, and how delicious!  Who is she?  And is he undercover now, due to her family's anger?"  He rubs his cheeks until the egg-whites peel off as he talks.

*Narrator:* "Well, Rafiqi would kill me for telling you, but I followed him one time. After I joined his gang we became much closer, but he always hid the secret of his beloved from me, so one night I followed him. I don't know her name, but I do know she is the daughter of a high-ranking Persian bureaucrat named Namvar al-Qadi. For all I know Rafiqi and her have eloped! He left me no word where he was heading."

*Abdul:* "Namvar al-Qadi!  Tell me - is he truly as just as they say?

*Narrator:* "For Rafiqi's sake, I hope not!" Lightfingers laugh. "There! It is good to see your face clearly now."

*Abdul:* "How long has he been missing?"

*Narrator:* "About two weeks."

*Abdul:* "Most strange, most strange.... Hmmm.  Tell me, has he ever worked for a scribe? Rafiqi, I mean."

*Narrator:* "A scribe? Not that he told me, but I know he worked for someone when he went out on his forrays, as he always returned with a fat purse. I doubt he got it all from thieving and conning, but you never know. He could fast talk a camel out of its humps!"

*Abdul:* "Indeed he could.  Ach!  There is such a web of lies surrounding him and me of late that I hardly know how to unravel them!  But enough about the present!  Tell me of yourself, and I shall try to do the same."

*Narrator:* Lightfingers sits at the edge of the well, dropping a stone down. "After I left that bastard Akim I tried to find out about my parents for some time. All I know is that my mother worked at the whorehouse, and people swear my father must be a Persian because of my face. After a few months I gave up and decided what did it matter? I began doing odd jobs for a man people call 'the Crescent', thievery, but always of the rich and the wicked. Eventually, Rafiqi told me of his gang and I joined up faster than you can say 'hakawati.' We've gotten into a few fights with Ashquar, but nothing serious. And, I've been visiting Twigtoes, remember him?"

*Abdul:* "Of course I do!  The two of you were always so close.  I should love to see him."

*Narrator:* "He does menial jobs at the whorehouse now. His body is quitting on him, and he has been afflicted with tuberculosis. I try to get him medicines, but they are so expensive. Abdul, I fear Kerif hasn't much longer among us."

Abdul sighs, and straightens his shoulders. "Well, I will see what I can do.  I am a man of some little means, now... I should be able to afford some sort of doctor for him."

*Narrator:* "Bless you. I am afraid that beating Akim gave him damaged his mind and spirit. He is a broken man, Abdul. He grows more deluded with every visit I make - he thinks the whorehouse is a princesses' palace and the whores goad him on." Lightfingers sighs looking at his hands. "He is my greatest friend in all the world, and I can do nothing for him."

Abdul grips the man's shoulder. "Nonsense, my friend.  You have given him your love, and that is a great gfit.  He is probably alive today because of it.  But what should I call you?  It seems strange to use the name 'Lightfingers' now!"

*Narrator:* "It is the only name I have, Abdul, and it fits me well. Without my hands, I wouldn't know what to be called."

Abdul nods sadly.  "Very well."  He pauses.  "My own story is... strange.  I hope it will not alarm you."

*Narrator:* "The wonders of what befell you are welcome if they shed light on the darkness of my days in Cemetery Square."

*Abdul:* "Well, you remember how fond I was of the story of Aladdin.  A shiftless boy finds a magic ring that calls a jinn, and suddenly he is rich.  Except that I, Abdul, well, I was not shiftless!  I would not make the stupid wishes and make the stupid mistakes he did.  You remember."

*Narrator:* "Yes, you told that story so well."

Abdul sighs. "And I used to dream about my family, too, how rich and powerful they were.  I still know nothing about them... except that they bound a jinn to the family line by his name."

*Narrator:* Lightfingers' jaw drops. Abdul's story is truly wondrous.

*Abdul:* "I stumbled upon that name, quite by accident, that night.  Suddenly a jinn was right before me!  Ten and a half feet tall!! ... I didn't know what to say or think.  All the fine wishes I had thought up quite fled my mind.  And he looked so fearsome!  What if he were angry?  I knew that I did not wish to be stupid, though, so I told him I wished to learn and become wise.  He... well.  He carried me off to Jinnistan, where I was taught many things.  I served as a page in a noble house of Jauherabad."

*Narrator:* Jinnistan. Jauherabad. These are names of myth to Lightfingers, who knows only the cold taste of biting a stolen coin to check its worth, and the sweaty palms of running from the authorities. His is a world of dirt and grime, and it is hard to swallow these legends made real. "You're not making this up?"

*Abdul:* "As sure as Akim's rod, Lightfingers, it is all truth."

*Narrator:* Lightfingers chews his fingernails. "Why in God's name did you ever want to leave, Abdul?"

Abdul sighs. "Many, many reasons, my friend.  I was lonely.  I was not like the jinni boys.  And... I wanted to help you others, too, though I cannot say truthfully that was often at the forefront of my thoughts.  In any case, I thought I would be able to come back and return as often as I liked, but my lord was angered and exiled me back here with nothing but the clothes on my back.  I have spent a couple years establishing myself as a scribe."

*Narrator:* "How you could ever be lonely surrounded by djinn at your command and jewled towers is beyond me, but I know nothing of such things. Though I have seen many lonely wealthy men, so perhaps there is truth in what you say." Lightfingers scratches his head. "So that's why you've come back, to visit us and Rafiqi?"

Abdul laughs weakly.  "Djinn at my command?  Only the one, and he, while dear to me, has not all the power the stories claim.  As for the rest, I was more at their command than anything: I was a page. ... Yes, that is why I am returned to Cemetery Square - to find all of you, and especially Rafiqi, of whom I have been told so many lies of late."

*Narrator:* "I should like to go there one day," says Lightfingers, looking at his feet. "This world has left a sour taste in my mouth."

*Abdul:* "O my brother, every world will do that, if a man's heart be bitter.  I am still learning to overcome the taste of our youthful suffering."  He embraces Lightfingers again, more gently this time.

*Narrator:* "Thank God for your safe return, Abdul." Lightfingers is relieved to see his old friend well and alive. "I am nearly bursting with joy at seeing you, but should I stay quiet about it for now?"

*Abdul:* "Hmmm.  That is a good question.  It seems clear that I have enemies in Huzuz, and I am told that Rafiqi has many as well."

*Narrator:* "If you want to find Rafiqi I'd talk to the qadi's daughter - though I think he has two, so you'll have to figure out which one has become smitten by old Rafiqi."

Abdul chuckles. "That should not be hard for one trained in wiliness by the best, eh?"

*Narrator:* Lightfingers sighs, wiping tears from his eyes again. "Abdul. In the flesh. I still can't believe it. And I shall be discreet with who I share this good news with."

*Abdul:* "Yes.  Though doubtless Dyjer and Pencil are already chattering."

*Narrator:* "Yes, well, at least I hope word doesn't reach Akim or your other enemies."

*Abdul:* "Akim?  What could he do to me now?  He may be feared in Cemetery Square, but he is scarcely a power in larger Huzuz.  The man never did have any imagination."

*Narrator:* Lightfingers snorts. "He's deeply in debt now to the al-Jazandri family. And I hear the authorities want him for questioning about Asfar Chahhad. I've just heard whispers today that the whorehouse has stopped accepting his money after they were visited by a Nubian slave they call Aqeedah. Akim is a relic of the past, but he blames all his misfortune on you. It's sheer madness, but he is terrifying to hear, ranting and raving. I know I'll sleep better once he is buried."

*Abdul:* Wheels begin turning in Abdul's brain.  "Is that so?  Most interesting.  And who IS this Asfar Chahhad, of whom I hear so much?"

*Narrator:* "One of Akim's young blood - a pack of scorpions, the lot of them. Remember the Beggar's Code we wrote behind the slave auction? I'd be surprised if even one of those rats has even heard of it. Anyhow, Asfar is an albino, and some say his parents are wealthy merchants from the Pearl Cities. He stole a priceless necklace, so goes the rumor, and Al-Fameed has been working to get it back, either for himself or for the bragging rights most likely. A qadi has issued a warrant for Asfar to be picked up along with Akim."

*Abdul:* "I wonder why this generation of brothers has gone so bad.  But at any rate, this means that Akim will be lying low. All to the good!"

*Narrator:* "What will you do next Abdul?"

Abdul sighs. "I have other responsibilities at the moment.  You will scarcely credit this, but I need to arrange a trial for a wicked sorcerer - Namvar al-Qadi may be just the man, if you can tell me where he lives.  And I am to present my calligraphy to the Caliph, and there seems to be a scribe who wishes to prevent this.  And a young friend of mine has gone missing, along with everything else.  If you should see him, or hear tell of him, please take him in hand."  He describes Farraj.

*Narrator:* Lightfingers sympathetically offers, "Perhaps life was simpler as a beggar?"

Abdul laughs.  "Simpler, but far less interesting.  And you, brother - it is not too late for you to learn another trade."

*Narrator:* "Maybe. I have always wanted Rafiqi to teach me the art of saddle-making which was his family trade. I fear that I've been spoiled by the streets though - I'm really good at what I do."

*Abdul:* "Nonsense, brother.  A man can always change, though the road may not be easy."

*Narrator:* "When will you next come back to Cemetery Square?"

*Abdul:* "As soon as I can.  How can I leave you word?  And as for me,"  he describes his place on the Street of the Learned, and which of his neighbors can be trusted to deliver a message.

*Narrator:* "Dyjers and Pencil are often near the old fire station, and you can always lead word at the whorehouse, as I check on Kerif every day."

Abdul nods.  "Know that you can count on me, Lightfingers.  Always."  He holds out his hand.  "You lads are the only blood I have."

*Narrator:* Lightfingers takes Abdul's hand. "I've got your back, Abdul, remember that. You are my brother in this world and the next."

Abdul grins. "And in Jinnistan too!"

*Narrator:* So ends my tale, gracious listener, but it is in truth the very beginning. For I, who was called "Tayseer" among the streets, would be reunited with my family once the lies of my treacherous friend Fareed were revealed. The day the Beggar Who Wasn't walked into my life was the day I first thought of my freedom and reconciling with my father. So these things did come to pass, in the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate.


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## The Shadow (Sep 27, 2005)

So, the extra update was the good news.  The bad news is, Farraj's player is moving, in addition to having computer troubles, and a couple weeks from now the Narrator will be moving as well.

So we've decided to put the game on hiatus for a month, to let things settle down - as we can't even imagine doing the game without Farraj!   We're all eagerly awaiting to play it again - it's been magic!

And if anyone wants to comment on the game, I'd sure like to hear it.  I know people are reading it...


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## The Shadow (Nov 8, 2005)

Just an update to let people know, we aren't quite ready to start back up yet.  Farraj's player doesn't have reliable access yet, and I'm busy beyond belief at my job.  (Which is one reason why _Chasing the Stars!_ isn't back yet either.)

Look for a new ep sometime in the next few weeks, if all goes well.


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## The Shadow (Jul 21, 2006)

*Son of the Worthy:  The First Night*

[Well, the other players (including one new one) are still having trouble making it to the game, so rather than get Abdul further ahead of the group, the Narrator and I decided to fill in some of Abdul’s backstory. There’s a number of things we wanted to know more about… So here’s Abdul, age 10. We’ll continue the story whenever we get the chance and the others aren’t available.] 

*Narrator:* Wherein begins the 1st Night of the evening tale, "Son of the Worthy".

*Narrator:* Far from me to boast of my hand in the youth's upbringing, but an oath taken is an oath that must be kept. Thus, you who know not of Abdul al-Jann shall be enlightened forthwith. He was a young boy, not too small, but neither possessing any great qualities save these three things: Cunning, a kind heart, and extraordinary luck. Kings wish they were so fortunate as Abdul al-Jann that day he met that humble servant Aqisan...
*Narrator:* ((as narrated by Old Nakhlouf))

*Narrator:* Ice is not needed to tend the cruel beating of Akim that winter night, such was the chill in the air. The streets of Huzuz never see snow or ice, but the chill which comes through the streets is said to be the spirit of Death itself. That night, as frost rolled past the full moon overhead, Abdul held a whispered conversation with his bosom companion Rafiqi.

Abdul snivels a bit, one eye almost bruised shut. "I'm sorry, Rafiqi. I'll do better tomorrow." He looks around at the other boys, begging them to understand. "I just... I don't know."

*Narrator:* Rafiqi eases Abdul to sleep, wrapping him in a rotten wool blanket. "Better days are ahead, Abdul, you'll see..." As Abdul lays down to go to sleep, he hears the other boys sobbing and tending their wounds. Many nights had passed this way before, but never one so cold. "Abdul, remember all those great heroes you tell us of? What were their names? Aladdin..." 

Abdul sighs, aware he is being cheered up. "Aladdin, Sinbad, Ahiqar. Hassan. Many others."

*Narrator:* "Yes indeed, and what would they do when they were defeated?" asks Rafiqi, reclining against the wall, looking up at the stars.

Abdul shrugs. "Pray. Fight. Think of their beloved. ... I don't have a beloved yet, Rafiqi. ... Sometimes they would almost give up... But always they would receive some sign of hope." He grips Rafiqi's hand. "From a friend, maybe, or a brother."

*Narrator:* Rafiqi looks tenderly on Abdul, but there is an edge in his eyes, a viciousness that Abdul hadn't seen before. "Think of them, Abdul. Think of them as often as you can. I'll let you in on my secret..."

Abdul props himself up on an elbow. "Secret?"

*Narrator:* "There's a thought that keeps me going. Once I stole an emerald necklace from a noblewoman. Now, if I had known I could have sold it and bought myself an apprenticeship right then and there. I hid it from Akim, afraid he would take it from me. But day after day I had a dream... I dreamt I would put the necklace around my beloved's neck..." Rafiqi fishes around in his pocket, and pulls forth a bit of string with a cheap piece of turqouise on it.

Abdul admires the turquoise. "It's pretty. But Rafiqi, you've always said you'd never love a woman. It's just a waste of time, you said."

*Narrator:* "Listen Abdul. Long ago, I returned the emerald necklace. I left it on the doorstep of the noblewoman, for my conscience had plagued me....*cough* as it is wont to do. Now, I know I said that I'd never love a woman, but, well, when you get to be my age you'll understand, Abdul."

Abdul asks humbly, desiring enlightenment, "Well, if it isn't a waste of time, what is it then?"

*Narrator:* Rafiqi holds the turquoise in his hand. "I made this piece of turquoise to remember what my dream was. That's what my beloved is, she is my dream. You've given a gift to these boys, you've given them more dreams than they've ever had before. I watch them as they sleep, Abdul, and more than a few go to sleep with Sinbad's adventures on their lips. You must find your own dream, for no one can find it for you, and no one can steal it from you."

*Abdul:* "But Rafiqi, I think too much. Everyone says so. I can't keep my mind on my work, and ... and... my brothers get hurt because of me. How can I bear that, Rafiqi?"

*Narrator:* Rafiqi silently gazes at Abdul, "Go to sleep, Hakawati. It is too late to think of such things."

*Abdul:* "All right, Rafiqi. Good night."

Abdul snivels a little more, repeating the names over and over. "Ahiqar. Hassan. Sinbad. Aladdin..." He begins to drift off.

*Narrator:* Rafiqi smiles faintly, and rises, padding off silently into the night.

Abdul murmurs, just on the verge of sleep, "Aqi... san."

*Narrator:* Wind fills the alleyway and then dies down. Abdul feels himself become wide awake. The scent of dates fills the air. And then the laughter comes, from every corner of the alley, a booming contagious laugh in time with a beating drum.

Abdul looks around, bewildered.

*Narrator:* Dark-skinned, thickly browed, shining eyed, muscle-bound, with two canine teeth like knives, and yet with a voice of practiced eloquence was the man that stood before Abdul. He came from nowhere, suddenly appearing in the corner of Abdul's eye. "What is your bidding, O my master?"

Abdul gasps. He pinches himself, to check if he is dreaming. "Are you... are you... are you... r-real?"

*Narrator:* "I am as real as the bruise on your eye, young master, as real as the cat's cry in the evening sky, as real as the constellation of Orion, as real as your umbilical cord now buried beneath a sycamore. Or do you test me as is the wont of your ilk, young master? Sugared dates? A roaring fire? What is your bidding?" The vast man, towering above Abdul, holds a large frame drum and beater in one hand and with the other he gesticulates as he speaks. His hands are bigger than Abdul's head!

Abdul creeps forward and pokes the man's shin, just to be sure. "My... ilk?"

*Narrator:* The man's shin is warm and quite supple. "Surely you did not summon me forth to play such cunning tricks, O my young master! As the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so have I, Aqisan of Ar-Uryer, risen when you called my name."

Abdul's teeth are starting to chatter. "S-summon? ME?! But... but..." A word finally registers on him. "Did you say... master?!"

*Narrator:* Arching his brow, Aqisan strokes his beard. "Tell me, how many summers has it been since you were in your mother's arms?"

*Abdul:* "I never knew my mother. She must have died bearing me, they say, as the brothel wouldn't keep me."

*Narrator:* The man's eyes go wide. "Surely, you were given a name before the ill omen of your mother's passing?"

*Abdul:* "I'm Abdul..." Abdul is starting to recover his wits. "Did you really say 'master'?"

*Narrator:* Aqisan straightens his back and then snaps his fingers. Immediately, Abdul begins to feel warmer. He can see the winter chill in the air like ribbons of slow-motion smoke drifting about him and the large man. "Bid me, and I am bound, for the oath was sworn in the name of God the Almighty, and if there is honor in the keeping of it then it lies with God the Almighty who has watched over this humble servant. Food? Riches beyond your wildest dreams? There is nothing that is beyond my reach strengthened by your earnest request, but that it be straightforward and true."

Abdul's eyes fly wide. He opens his mouth, but the words die on his lips. Akim killed? But, no, that would be wrong. Food? A home? ... The stories returned to him. Wishing was dangerous. "I..." He swallows hard. "I..." He struggled to recall the way heroes talked, then said, "O mighty djinn, I do not doubt that you have the power to bring me dainty food, riches, and fine clothing, as in the story of Aladdin. But I... I don't have the wisdom to know what to ask for, or to use those things in a way pleasing to the Almighty. So I ask as the great Prophet Suleiman asked: To be wise. For what are all those other things, if wisdom is lacking?" Heart pounding, he waited for the man's reaction with his heart in his mouth.

*Narrator:* The great man smiles, a smile of comprehension as much as pleasure. Thus, Aqisan speaks these words, and with a sort of fierce pleasure, for in truth, his favorite part of obeying summons had always been the journey through the starry veil: "Your wisdom is a lamp, O son of the worthy, and your answer pleaseth me greatly. Hang tight, young master, for traveling to my lord's court may frighten you out of your mortal wits."

Abdul's heart pounds. "Hang... tight? I'll try not to be afraid. But... what about my brothers?"

*Narrator:* With that, Aqisan places a satchel of dates on the ground beside Abdul's bed and whisks Abdul onto his shoulder. "They will be here when you return." Thereupon, Aqisan claps his hands and Abdul feels himself begin to spin, or is it the world around him? The midnight sky begins to loom closer. Aqisan begins playing his frame drum and laughing as they rise into the sky. Abdul is spun round and around so many times that the faintest stars become whirling points of light. The great man plays his drum, the drum beats reverberating in Abdul's chest to the rhythm of his heart. And yet it did not seem strange or uncomfortable, only a distant dream just now remembered. Laughter filled his bones and tousled his hair, so much laughter it hurt, laughter drumming everywhere.

Abdul prays frantically, as best he knows how. "Please don't let me die yet, please don't let me die yet, please don't let me die yet."

*Narrator:* Then there is stillness and the whirling points, like string wrapped around a spool, unwind themselves. "No, young master, the farthest thing from death!" ays Aqisan, yet he is no longer a great man, but a great eagle with red-tinged wings and a black face and a white crest.

*Narrator:* Abdul feels himself floating high in the night sky on the eagle's back, so high that he can see each minute glimmer of the stars, and they seem so close he could reach out and touch them.

Abdul finally manages to pry his eyes open. "It's beautiful..."

*Narrator:* Aqisan - the eagle - speaks, "The celestial bodies, young Abdul, the mufariqat. They are imbued with divine intelligence since the dawning of time. Each one blesses children who enter Jinnistan who have the eyes to see the blessing. Do you have eyes, son of the worthy?"

Abdul looks carefully on the lights, as he is bid. What does a blessing look like...?

*Narrator:* One star sends out a bit of light and it grows into a glowing snowflake which seems to hover miles away and right above his head at the same time.

Abdul smiles widely. "I think I do see it!"

*Narrator:* "It is not enough to see, you must make it your own!" Says Aqisan.

Abdul starts to let go of the eagle's neck, which he has in a death-grip. "Um. It... likely isn't wise to look down, is it?"

*Narrator:* "Hahaha! Timid youth, down is the most interesting part yet!" The snowflake begins to drift away as Aqisan the eagle begins his descent.

Abdul reaches up toward the gleaming flake of light, placing his trust in Aqisan. He beckons. "Won't you come to me, blessing?"

*Narrator:* Growing bright again, the snowflake comes to rest on Abdul's fingertip, no larger than a marble. Abdul watches it unwind until it matches the lines on his finger. A sense of wellbeing and safety washes over Abdul.

Abdul says with happy almost-surprise, "God is good!"

*Narrator:* Aqisan the eagle looks over his shoulder perplexed, "You seem to take to Jinnistan quite easily, O son of the worthy, have you not ventured here before?"

*Abdul:* "Never, sir, never. Except... It reminds me of a good dream." He hesitates, then confides, "I dream a lot, even when I'm awake. Akim thinks I'm stupid, but I'm not. I just... can't be there all the time."

*Narrator:* Slowly the night sky turns a dark shade of green and everything feels closer, more intimate, like the universe has become intensely focused. Suddenly Abdul sees a version of himself reflected in the night sky flying on a magic carpet instead of a great eagle. 

Abdul is drifting more and more easily into an accepting, trusting frame of mind. It IS like a dream. "Can you be a carpet too, sir? I see us over there too."

*Narrator:* The reflected image of Abdul's double winks at Abdul before vanishing as Aqisan looks over. "Ah...a markeen. Know that those born with a gift for the domains of magic have a djinni double, born at the same instant. The markeen will never be seen in the real world and are only visible in reflections for they lack the will to take on substantial form." As Aqisan slows down, Abdul realizes that they are in a vast canyon of dark green rock lit by tiny pinpoints of light that appear almost like stars. 

*Abdul:* "Me? Born with a gift for magic? But... isn't magic bad? Does that make me a bad person?"

*Narrator:* "Hardly, O son of the worthy. Each of these points of light in this canyon is the soul of a slumbering child with the gift for magic, those who dream deeply, whose prayers and dreams are indistinguishable." As Abdul looks at the pinpoints of light he sees the face of Mehdi "Dar al" in the core of a star.

*Abdul:* "Mehdi! Sir, can't we go fetch him?!" He points. "He's my brother!"

*Narrator:* "Alas, I cannot, for it is forbidden to interfere with those who slumber, and the distance is quite far, young master." As Aqisan slows down, Abdul spots a flock of glowing sea-gulls approaching; however their reflctions reveal that they are noble djinni youths!

*Narrator:* Below a vast canyon made of emerald stone glitters through openings in the patches of mist.

Abdul takes it all in his stride by this point. He waves at the "gulls".  He has a sudden thought. "Was *I* in one of those stars until now?"

*Narrator:* "Yes," says Aqisan solemnly.

*Narrator:* The gulls quickly approach, and begin teasing Aqisan. "Royal Drummer, fast as you can drum, your looks are quite atrocious, and thus you'll go unsung, while me and my brothers, us twelve noble sons, shall beat you through the hydra's arch before the rising sun!"

*Abdul:* "Neat! I never knew I was a star!" He pats the feathers. "Beat them, won't you?"

*Narrator:* "What's this, a challenge from you again, Nusoum? Very well, my lordship, it would be my solemn duty to ensure that one of your noble plumage not be scathed by the hydra even if it means teaching you a lesson in speed! Hang on young master!" With that Aqisan the eagle dives through the mists as the seagulls race to catch up. 

Abdul giggles and hangs on tight. He sticks out his tongue playfully at the lead gull.

*Narrator:* Distorted images of Abdul glitter in the emerald rock face, and the reflection of the eagle reveals Aqisan's true form. Looking back at his rivals, Aqisan lets out a laugh, "Persistent are the young sons of al-Shisas! They havent a hope of winning, though! So, what do you say, shall we take the easy route or the hard one?"

Abdul waves a hand nobly and says archly, "I leave it to your best judgment." He can't help but giggle a bit, though, which spoils the effect.

*Narrator:* "A wise choice, son of the worthy," laughs Aqisan, veering to the left. Ahead, Abdul makes ouf a large glittering archway with a massive carving of a king's head with a gaping mouth over the arch.

Abdul drinks everything in, eyes shining.

*Narrator:* "Be careful here, young master, for the hydra sees everywhere," whispers Aqisan, entering a glide. The seagulls divide into two groups, one goes to fly up and over, and the other smaller group follows Aqisan's route.

*Abdul:* "What do you fear it seeing...?"

*Narrator:* Suddenly, Abdul feels a sharp pain in his finger and then magic words around the archway flare to life and a powerful wind fills the canyon, a mighty hissing wind. Abdul sees something moving inside the mouth of the carved king's head.

*Narrator:* "The hydra stirs!" cries out one of the seagulls behind Aqisan.

Abdul says faintly, "Please tell me this isn't the easy way. If it is, I don't think I want to see the hard one!"

*Narrator:* A great sucking wind comes from the carved king's mouth, threatening to pull Abdul into it, but he fiercely clutches Aqisan's feathers and you fly through the arch. Turning to look back behind him, Abdul sees the two seagulls nimbly dodge giant serpentine heads that lunge from the mouth at them as they pass. Aqisan laughs, "And how do you like your Royal Drummer now?"

*Abdul:* "I wonder if he is the one to teach me wisdom!" Abdul laughs shakily, then realizes something. "Wait - royal?! Are you saying I am..."

*Narrator:* "No," replies a seagull, catching up to you, "you are far too small to be nobility. What manner of spirit is this, Aqisan? Not a human boy?"

Abdul says indignantly, "Well, of course Im human! And what does size have to do with it, anyway? Even the Caliph was a little baby once!"

*Narrator:* "None other, and I shall take him to your father, " replies Aqisan. Almost offhand, he adds, "He is a summoner."

*Narrator:* "Well, it certainly sounds like a human," chimes in another seagull.

*Narrator:* "A...sha'ir?" blanches the seagull named Nusoum. "And he summoned you?"

Abdul says in a mysterious voice, "Oh yes! I did indeed! And the way I did it is so secret, I don't even know it myself!" He winks.

*Narrator:* Aqisan sighs, "It would not be the first time I have responded to summons, my lordship." Aqisan laughs at Abdul. "And who knows what this mighty summoner might do next, eh?"

*Narrator:* The seagulls laugh nervously.

Abdul nods. "None but the Almighty. And He isn't telling."

*Narrator:* A vast minaret, then three, then six are visible in the distance,and soon Abdul witnesses a massive city built into the side of emerald mountains, with rivers of gold-colored water and pomegranate trees growing on windswept ledges. Below a flock of sheep follow a herder who waves a cudgel, and a dove suddenly appears next to you. "A summons for Aqisan, who has greatly angered his grace the Khedive al-Shisas: Return at once and make ready your olive branch." With that the dove flaps its wings and turns to fire then air.

Abdul blanches and whispers to Aqisan, "Is that bad?"

*Narrator:* "Shall we escort you to the palace gates? After all, I wouldn't want to miss *this* even if *three* mortal boys were to appear!" squawks one of the seagulls.

*Abdul:* "Am I as frightening as all that?"

*Narrator:* "Not bad, alas I was taken from a conversation with young Diwanis, daughter of the Khedive, Opalescent pearl of the evening, mistress of the full moon, she who is worthy of the praise of pomegranate nectar."

*Abdul:* "Pomegranate nectar can praise people?"

*Narrator:* Aqisan adds, "To quit her presence so suddenly as I did will need some...sigh...obsequiances..."

*Narrator:* Aqisan blinks at Abdul, "Why of course it can! You have much to learn, O son of the worthy."

Abdul has no idea what any of that means, but just nods.

*Narrator:* Alighting upon a checkered blue and white marble floor, Aqisan resumes his true form, strong and fearsome, as do the seagulls, becoming a gathering of handsome dashing noble djinni a bit tousled from their hard play.

*Narrator:* Nusoum squints at Abdul, "Well, sha'ir, you're not quite as fearsome as....say....Aqisan, but I'll keep my eye on you all the same. Why the stories---"

Abdul says cheerfully, "I love stories!" He looks sidelong at Aqisan. He IS a bit frightening...

*Narrator:* The Khedive appears, and Abdul knows right away it is the Khedive. His eyes are twin pools of storm, he carries a sceptre shaped as a lightning bolt, and his mere entrance causes the hair on Abdul's head to stand on end.

Abdul decides it would be prudent to kneel at this point. He gulps.

*Narrator:* Aqisan bows and begins to make his apology, but the Khedive pounds his sceptre and thunder booms in the hall. "Silence! You have gravely insulted my daughter who has hidden from all, even her own father, and refuses to make herself seen. I am wroth with thee, Royal Drummer, whom I took into my household with all grace and kindness."

*Narrator:* Abdul hears Aqisan swallow, which isn't very comforting.

Abdul starts appealing to a higher authority: Praying quietly. His heart is pounding again.

*Narrator:* "But, against my better judgment I will forgive thee, for my daughter finds you pleasing to have in my court, and in truth, I have great need for a herald of your skill." Turning to Abdul the Khedive, his dark hair perpetually moving in a miniature cyclone, narrows his eyes. Abdul feels the attention of the entire court shift to him.

Abdul offers, "Uh... hi? Your Majesty."

*Narrator:* The Khedive's eyes widen at this audacity, lightning storms forming within his pupils. "Young summoner, by what magic did you call forth my servant?"

Abdul gulps. "I, I, I... don't know. Your Majesty."

*Narrator:* "You don't know. And have you designs on becoming a member of my court for your own gain?" asks the Khedive pointedly.

*Abdul:* "I, uh, I don't understand. Your Majesty. A member of your court?"

*Narrator:* "You don't understand," the Khedive's voice is like the echo of thunder in the heavens. "Have you ever willingly made compact with the Ifreet?"

*Abdul:* "What's a compact? But I've never met an ifreet. Your Majesty. Unless, uh, Aqisan is one? He's the first djinn I ever met."

*Narrator:* "You've never met one." The Khedive says incredulously. "Knoweth your family of your decision to abandon mortal kind?"

Abdul is considerably bewildered by this point. "Abandon?"

*Narrator:* Aqisan whispers into the Khedive's ear.

*Narrator:* "Ah," says the Khedive. "No family? Alas, such is the way of mortals. Well then, who raised you? What is the day of your birth? Don't be bashful, speak up!"

*Abdul:* "Um, Rafiqi found me and helped me. Then Akim took me on. Your Majesty. I don't know what day I was born."

*Narrator:* "Well, that is a forgiveable offense," laughs the Khedive, "neither do I!" The rest of the court laughs at this in-joke. Clapping his hands, the Khedive summons forth four veiled djinniyeh (female djinni) who materialize from the four braziers in the throne room. "Dressing djinniyeh, bathe this wastrel youth and bedeck him as befitting one of my court!" With a wave of his hand, the Khedive dismisses Abdul. Aqisan winks at Abdul as if to say everything will be ok.

Abdul surrenders to the moment, but he's still thinking hard, and muttering to himself the word 'Abandon'.

*Narrator:* Whisked away by the dressing "women", Abdul is led down a twilight path - for the sun has not yet risen - lit by torches of smokeless flame to a series of sparkling gold waterfalls. At this point the eldest of the dressing "women" warns Abdul to wait there and to face the forest and not to look over his shoulder while they bathe.

Abdul obediently does as he is told. Not like he wants to see a naked girl anyway. Yuck.

*Narrator:* The earth rumbles a bit no sooner than a minute has passed. Abdul notices a wisp of golden smoke flow down the stairs and up into the trees, whereupon beautiful faint flute music graces Abdul's ears.

Abdul laughs and points. "What is it?"

*Narrator:* Suddenly the music stops. Abdul thinks he can see a small person in the tree, but he's too far to tell.

Abdul takes a step forward to get a better look.

*Narrator:* In the top of a weeping willow is a young djinni girl, apparently Abdul's age, she stifles a sob, and upon noticing Abdul grows very afraid. She looks from left to right, but sees no easy way down.

*Abdul:* "Hello. I'm Abdul. Why are you crying?"

*Narrator:* "I play yet the man in the trees does not come with his gifts of basbousa (a popular dessert of nuts, oil, and fried dough), nor does he teach me how to play music. I play the song he taught me, for I have learned it so well, by devoting myself to practice till the evening suns fell."

Abdul thinks, then offers, "Well, it could be worse."

*Narrator:* "Really?" sniffs the djinni girl, looking up.

*Abdul:* "Does anyone beat you for not begging or stealing enough money?"

*Narrator:* Whimpering, the djinni girl begins to cry, but this time it's not stifled sobbing but real loud wailing. As she cries, her tears fall on the golden flute. A flurry of leaves dances around Abdul's ankles and then darts up a tree next to the djinni girl. Looking up, Abdul sees a long-armed man, slightly monkey-like in appearance, caked in dried mud - his bright green eyes shine down on Abdul. "Who makes my Minatra cry? The weeping dove's tears have touched my flute, as those of my love once did."

*Abdul:* "I only told her it could be worse."


----------



## The Shadow (Jul 21, 2006)

[A continuation of "Son of the Worthy", Abdul's background story. We'll likely get to continue further next week, and then there'll be a drought for a while again.]

*Narrator:* "Kings die. Nations are ruined. But the pain of separation is the most unbearable. Have you not loved so deeply, that the separation was a knife in your own heart? Or are you a callous wind?" asks the Man in the Trees, leaning on a branch that shouldn't be able to support his weight. The branch bends so that the mud-caked green man sways above young Abdul.

*Narrator:* "Ah, but you're no djinn's son..." He peers close to Abdul, and within his eyes Abdul can make out his pupils which appear to be the silhouettes of upside down trees lit by lightning behind storm clouds. "You've come from Dar al-Ins...Are there more of you?"

Abdul shrugs uncomfortably, not wholly understanding. "I didn't mean to make her sadder. What's Dar al-Ins?"

*Narrator:* Sniffling the djinni girl seems to be relieved by the presence of the strange man in the trees.

*Narrator:* "I...I don't honestly know," muses the man in the trees. "I suppose I should be the one to ask you." Seeing that Abdul doesn't have a malicious bone in his body, the strange man eases himself down, sitting cross-legged in a nest of branches that rises from the earth before you. "Have you prayed today?"

*Abdul:* "Well, of course! I may be only a beggar-boy, but I try to be a good Muslim, sahib, inshallah."

*Narrator:* "So be it," chortles the man in the trees. Raising his hands high, he faces the deep forest and begins his prayers. Abdul wonders how he knows which direction holy Huzuz is, but follows suit, as does the young djinniyeh.

Abdul prays devoutly, his stomach rumbling before he's done. Rising to his feet, he says a bit faintly, "I don't suppose you have any of that basbousa about you, sahib? I... haven't eaten today, except a crust Rafiqi gave me hours and hours ago."

*Narrator:* Resuming his seat in his nest, the man in the trees smiles, "No basbousa, young ins, but my wife is preparing a fine shawrbat 'adas majroosha [pureed lentil soup], and she loves company." His nest is swooped up above Abdul's head by the branch, and he extends his hand towards the deep forest. In the distance Abdul hears the washing djinnieyh calling for him.

*Narrator:* The young djinnieyh smiles, "Oh yes, I should like to meet your wife! What is she like? Will she have basbousa?"

Abdul sighs. "I would love to, sahib, but the dressing women are calling me, and his Majesty said I was supposed to go with them. Goodbye! And goodbye, Minatra!"

*Narrator:* Minatra waves and vanishes into the forest.

Abdul turns and heads dutifully back to the dressing djinniyeh by the waterfall.

*Narrator:* Thereupon, young Abdul finds himself surrounded by three veiled djinniyeh, armed with coarse brushes, tinctures of rose water, toothbrushes of horse hair, and a bowl of shaving lather. "So there you are!" says one of the djinniyeh, teasingly. "Get in the water, boy," beckons the eldest, who is knee deep in the slow flowing stream.

*Narrator:* As Abdul nervously edges near the water, he notices that the two young djinniyeh seem disheveled, their veils are slightly skewed, their kohl [eye-liner] is running, and their hair is poorly combed. The elder djinniyeh waits patiently, with a look of smugness that looks as if engraved at birth.

Abdul furrows his brows at the djinniyeh and folds his arms, curling his lip stubbornly. (He would be greatly chagrined to know how adorable he looks doing this.) "You didn't want me to watch when YOU bathed. Why should I do it in front of you?"

*Narrator:* "Young boy!" says the grandmotherly djinniyeh, pointing at Abdul. "Come here this instant!" All at once, young Abdul feels his body begin to become stiff. The djinniyeh's eyes seem to loom large as the water ripples outward from the djinniyeh.

Abdul sputters as he feels himself going numb. "Vixens! Harlots! Harridans! You only want to get me naked so you can unman me!" He almost certainly doesn't know what those words mean, but it sounds like something a hero would say.

*Narrator:* Abdul is bodily dragged an unseen force toward the djinniyeh, who eyes him warily. She leans close to Abdul and whispers testily, "If only you knew. Now, can you clean as well as you can curse?" With that she places a sponge and bar of soap in Abdul's hands, and sloshes her way out of the water. With that, Abdul is immersed, falling into the stream.

*Narrator:* Abdul also notices the fourth djinniyeh appear from behind the waterfall, tying her veil back on as she slips along the stream's edge to join her sisters.

Abdul washes contentedly. After a time, he feels contrite enough to call out, "I'm sorry I called you names. I was scared."

*Narrator:* The younger djinniyeh sigh at Abdul's sincere apology and whisper to each other, but the matron is unimpressed. "I have been called worse names by grown men! Surely you shall grow up to become just as they are. Clean yourself some more, boy." Her eyes narrow.

Abdul says humbly, "Yes sayyida," and does as he is told.

*Narrator:* "His majesty, the Khedive, wishes to have you dressed as one of his court before he presents you, and that means you shall not be smelling like you rolled from a pig sty. Make sure to wash behind your ears. Every month the entire court gathers and the Khedive issues his commands and introduces visitors from distant Amberabad, from Krak al-Majlis even, and I'll not have you looking like some wastrel. Gargle and clean your mouth out. Now there are some clothes for you on the far shore of the stream. Well, get swimming!" She snaps, though it is clear she enjoys being called 'sayyida.'

Abdul repeats, "Yes, sayyida." He swims over and dries off. His jaw drops at the clothes. "Are these... are these... really for ME? Surely there's some mistake?"

*Narrator:* Fine silks of ochre dun and honeydew, embroidered with real gold about the collar and cuffs lie atop a rock. Beneath is a pair of rose colored pantaloons, and at the base of the rock is a pair of pale blue slippers encrusted with crystals in the shape of a swan.

*Narrator:* "Don't flatter yourself," admonishes the matron, "they were once the belongings of a minor courtier in the Khedive's court. Now then, how do you look?"

Abdul gets dressed in a daze. "Sayyida, I don't know from courtiers, but I've never had anything like this before!" He isn't quite sure where everything goes, but he does his best.  "They're so soft!"

*Narrator:* Getting the pantaloons on the right side front, Abdul finds himself with the predicament of crossing the stream to reach the rest of the djinniyeh. "Yes, yes, now we must get back to court. The Khedive is expecting us."

*Abdul:* "Um. How do I get across without getting wet?"

*Narrator:* Sighing, the matron waves her hand, and Abdul finds a path of wide lotus pads buoy up from the depths of the stream. Abdul estimates they'll hold his weight, at least for a moment - enough to get across perhaps.

Abdul skips across gaily. He's still pretty much taking things in his stride like a dream.  Abdul does remember to say, "Thank you, sayyida!" though.

*Narrator:* "You are welcome, Abdul," says the matron with what passes for a smile on her aged face. She admonishes the younger djinniyeh to fix their outfits, and she leads Abdul up the stone stairway lit by fireflies now that it has turned to dusk.

Abdul trots along, secretly happy that she isn't mad at him any more.

*Narrator:* The Khedive's Palace is deceptive in its appearance. Before Abdul's very eyes, the dark towers, partially obscured by fog rolling over the mountains, are lit from within. As each brazier is lit, windows (and doors) flicker to life, fires lighting the castle in a luminous spiral. A procession of djinni approach the vast gate by way of an arching bridge overseen by two armored djinn. Following the sound of a beating drum, Abdul sees Aqisan in the background playing upon his drum.

Abdul walks along, eyes shining, drinking it all in.

*Narrator:* The matron chirps, "Now this way Abdul, these are nobles of the Jinn court, though pay no mind to any peries among them - they're apt to unman you if you take my meaning." Despite her sourness, the matron winks at Abdul, half-friendly, half-frightening.

Abdul nods solemnly. "I'll remember that, sayyida. What's a peri?"

*Narrator:* "A husband-stealer who can take the form of a ringdove. If you--" All at once the matron is cut off as the rhythmic drum misses a beat and stops. The sounds of conversation and laughter filter in, and then Abdul realizes that a palanquin is being paraded across the bridge. Aqisan stares with dumb wonder as a veiled djinniyeh peers at the crowd as she is carried through. Abdul is certain her eyes meet his, and feels his heart skip a beat.

Abdul smiles and waves shyly.

*Narrator:* The matron tugs Abdul to his knees. "Psst! Kneel!"

Abdul does so, resigning himself to not comprehending anything until later. "Who is it?"

*Narrator:* "The daughter of the Khedive, Sitt Ninya, who resists the hand of all who seek her in marriage." Though the matron dared not look up while kneeling, now she looks after the palanquin with bitterness, "She was once my student."

Abdul says politely, "I'm sure you taught her well, inshallah."

*Narrator:* Mutely, the matron leads Abdul into the gates. As Abdul passes Aqisan, the great drummer winks at him and begins drumming a familiar tune that Abdul recalls from his childhood, a tune merchants would play in the souk. It sounds like a conversation between a chirping bird and rumbling lion.

Abdul sighs happily to himself. It's good to have something familiar amidst all the strangeness. "May I ask you a question, sayyida? Besides this one, I mean."

*Narrator:* "No you cannot talk to her. Yes, you must bathe daily. Yes, you must speak before court." The matron rattles off these answers as if she has done this before.

Abdul blinks. "Well, I'm sure those are good answers, but they don't go to my question. I guess I just wanted to understand something His Majesty said earlier."

*Narrator:* "What's that, Abdul?"

*Abdul:* "Something about 'abandoning mortalkind'. I didn't really understand it, and he seemed to think I'd already asked for it, but I hadn't."

*Narrator:* "Ah," says the matron, watching Abdul carefully while guiding him through the gathering of djinn. Stopping to direct some servants who turn into whirlwinds and vanish upon receiving their commands, the matron leads Abdul to a small alcove. Thereupon the matron recites two of the names of God, the Most Merciful. "A pocket created when the palace was erected. Several like it exist. We are completely invisible and inaudible to all who pass so long as nothing crosses this boundary," she indicates a groove in the floor separatingt he alcove from the main passage.

Abdul nods. He is trying to look and sound casual, but he's really rather nervous and fidgety.  He probably doesn't understand what "inaudible" means, either, but he isn't about to ask.

*Narrator:* "Now boy...Abdul, tell me what is bothering you." The matron sits in a small stone chair carved from the wall.

*Abdul:* "Well, Aqisan told me I'd be able to go back and visit my brothers soon enough, but then the Khedive asked me all about my family and decided I was gonna 'abandon mortalkind' and that doesn't sound good and while this is a beautiful place, I guess I just wondered, um, what he meant by that and all."

*Narrator:* Wistfully looking past Abdul, the matron sighs. "The Khedive has no children, so you are very precious to him, as are all children who enter his court, but you in particular because you are a human boy. You will come to understand what makes you special when you grow older."

Abdul says hopefully, "Well, my brothers need a home too, and I'll bet they'd be just as precious to him as I am!"

*Narrator:* "Yes, Abdul, but think about this: How many brothers do your brothers have? Would you bring them all here?"

*Abdul:* "None of us have any families, sayyida. It's just the six of us. And Akim, but he really really really doesn't count, honest!"

*Narrator:* "It cannot be, Abdul. Other courts might abduct mortals out of high-mindedness, but the Khedive has no such pretensions. That means he won't do it because he thinks it's wrong. You, on the other hand, came because of a wish, and that is a sacred thing enshrined in our laws."

*Abdul:* "But at least I can go back and help them, right? So they don't get beaten by Akim every day and have things to eat and maybe apprenticeships or something? I can make wishes about that too!"

*Narrator:* Smiling gently, the matron shakes her head, "Until the terms of your wish are fulfilled you cannot leave or the honor of the Khedive would be forfeit. I can show you your brothers when you wish, however, so that you may know what becomes of them."

Abdul's face drains of color. "But I didn't wish for this! I wished for wisdom!"

*Narrator:* "And so you shall receive it," says the matron rising. "Now prepare yourself to audience with the Khedive."

Abdul looks quite shell-shocked. He's chewing his lip, his eyes are watering, his breath coming hard... a woman as experienced at the dijinniyeh surely realizes the tears are coming soon.

*Narrator:* The matron's demeanor becomes cold once more. "I know what I need to. You may stay here as long as you wish and console yourself Abdul. No one will disturb you." With that she wraps her skirts about her and vanishes in puff of smoke.

*Abdul:* Alone and bereft, Abdul sobs once. But, the veteran of a thousand beatings by a man who hated tears, he thrusts it down and wipes his eyes. He looks around, dazed, not sure what to do now.

*Narrator:* Abdul hears a whispering voice through a small grate in the rock wall above him.

*Abdul:* Not having been taught the social niceties, Abdul has no qualms about putting his ear to the grate.

*Narrator:* "...Dear God, help me to be strong *sniff* The sayyida will not let me marry Ishna, the one I love, and everyday she takes my wicked sisters to perform their foul rites unbeknownst to the Khedive. *sob* And even the Khedive hates the work I do and belittles me for every effort so now I am afraid to act at all... *sniff* Please, forgive me, for tonight I will leave..." All at once the voice grows quiet, as if the djinniyeh speaking knows she's being listened to.

Abdul squints through the grate to see who it is.

*Narrator:* Immediately Abdul recognizes the youngest of the washing djinniyeh, the one who came from behind the waterfall. All at once, he is eye to eye with her as she peers through the grate. "You??" She says in shock.

*Abdul:* "Um, yes? Hi."

*Narrator:* "What are you doing eavesdropping on me? And how do you know about the hidden spaces? And...why...why are you crying?" She asks, growing softer. Indeed, Abdul had not realized it, but a tear was running down his face.

*Abdul:* "I heard you praying. The sayyida took me here. And, um, I'm not crying." He wipes furiously at his cheek with his sleeve.

*Narrator:* "Oh, my mistake, it-it must have been a shadow," she says cleverly. "So, what did the sayyida tell you?" She asks sarcastically.

Abdul swallows hard. "That, that, that I'm not gonna see my brothers again." Now he IS crying.

*Narrator:* "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry. The must be such nice boys for you to cry like that. Here, take this," she presses a handkerchief embroidered with a feather through the grate. "Here."

*Abdul:* "They took me in and showed me how to live and now I'm in nice clothes and stuff and they're hungry and getting beaten by Akim and I made the wrong wish and I can't DO anything about it!"

*Narrator:* As Abdul receives the handkerchief, the djinniyeh turns to a mist which flows through the grate and forms into the shape of a woman by Abdul, slowly rematerializing into the djinniyeh as she places an arm around Abdul's shoulder. "They are fortunate to have a friend like you, thinking and worrying about them even from so very far away."

Abdul quickly soaks the handkerchief. "I don't know about fortunate. I've 'abandoned mortalkind' without even knowing I was going to, and can't help them and they won't know what happened to me!"

*Narrator:* The djinniyeh strokes Abdul's hair, then looks out the "curtain" which keeps them hidden from the outside world. "You-- you could come with us if you like. With Ishan and I tonight while court is called. We have a horse, the finest mare I've ever seen, named Bint-al-Dawra [Daughter of the Wind]. We plan to ride to Amberabad and seek refuge in a peri's court, where my love and I shall be wed. There are others of your kind in the City of Amber, you know, even sha'ir. Perhaps they could help undo your wish there?"

Abdul sighs. "I d-don't know."

*Narrator:* Biting her lip, the djinniyeh frowns. "You won't tell anyone about this will you? Oh, say you won't. I am already afraid sayyida Zianah will find out, and she makes no idle threats. She doesn't know about your wish does she?"

*Abdul:* "I don't know who sayyida Zianah is. Is she the one who was with you three at the waterfall? Then yes, she does."

*Narrator:* "Oh, I wish you hadn't said so. She surely seeks to bewitch you. Once she boasted that she could turn a wish inside out if she wished, and sayyida, well, she makes no idle threats. I don't think you are safe here. Are you sure you won't come with us?"

*Abdul:* "Won't that make His Majesty really mad at me?"

*Narrator:* Pressing her finger to her pursed lips, the djinniyeh servant raises her finger, "Think how mad he'll be when he learns that one of his sons has run off with a simple servant!"

Abdul sighs hopelessly. "Well, that'll make him mad, I guess, but it IS his son, and you know people and things and live here and all. I don't know anything!"

*Narrator:* Abdul can hear a trumpet blast twice. "The summons to court! I must away. Here, take this key," she says, pressing a copper key into Abdul's hand. "If you change your mind, come to the Khedive's stable by midnight. Oh, good luck to you." She lingers a moment, reaching for Abdul's cheek before vanishing into mist.

Abdul blinks, looking down at the key. He tucks it and the handkerchief in a pocket (awkwardly - he's not used to them) and says to himself, "I guess I'm supposed to go to court too. But where is it?" He steps across the groove in the floor and shyly asks anyone nearby for directions.

*Narrator:* Aqisan intercepts Abdul. "Ah, son of the worthy, there you are. The Khedive was beginning to worry. I take it you've prepared a speech for the gathered nobility? No? Well then we'll have to improvise..."

Abdul just looks at Aqisan bleakly. "You told me I'd be able to go back and visit my brothers shortly."


----------



## The Shadow (Aug 6, 2006)

*Narrator:* Apologizing profusely, Aqisan gently guides Abdul through the myriad ranks of jinni courtiers - feathered plumes of red, yellow, and violet, scents of ambergris and sweet ash - as they approach the Khedive's audience hall. "Son of the worthy, indeed you shall, and you shall go back with wisdom. How many men are so fortunate?"

Abdul will not be put off. "But when! When I'm old and wrinkly? You didn't tell me I wouldn't be going back!" 

*Narrator:* Aqisan arches his brow wearily, "You did not seem concerned before our departure about such trivialities. What has changed your disposition?"

Abdul narrows his eyes at the enormous jinn and says imperiously, "If a 'triviality' is something bad, then I'm mad at you. And just why does everyone think that 'wisdom' means 'abandoning mortalkind', anyway??" 

*Narrator:* Several young jinni laugh nearby, invisible, when an old sour-faced jinniyeh reaches out and grab's one's ear, compelling it to become visible. The jinni youth becomes visible along with his fellows, all floating in the air, surrounded by electrical winds which die down as he is lowered to the floor. More djinni move by Aqisan, who walks rather slowly, bearing his massive drum upon his back with equanimity, their ranks include jewel bedecked women, all veiled, thirteen in number, of astounding grace. Whispers follow after the robed women. Aqisan stops, forcing traffic to a near standstill such is his size and the narrowness of the entry passage.

*Narrator:* "If you had known what wisdom meant before asking for it, would you have asked?" Aqisan inquires with a smirk on his face. "Son of the worthy, I shall endeavor to serve you as best as I am able till my hands no longer can drum, but I am no scholar. You need to talk to Old Nakhlouf, he'll have the answers you seek."

Abdul visibly and manfully forces down tears again. "No, I wouldn't have. I thought you were a good jinn. But I don't think a good jinn would make fun of me when everything's going wrong." Chest heaving, he might go on, but is too upset. 

*Narrator:* Aqisan leans down to put a massive calloused hand on Abdul's shoulder. "You shall learn Abdul just what sort of a jinn I am." The words reverberate solemnly, as if Aqisan were swearing his life to young Abdul. Sighing, he raises his finger to point out a stainglass window. "See there?" He points up to an image of a winged lion protecting a baby boy, the stars faintly visible even through the glass. "How many blessings are among the stars that are never found? Why, your blessing found you! No, son of the worthy, you are living in the best of times, and it is my pleasure to see them with you."

Abdul looks up at Aqisan, one eye still bruised shut. "But my brothers get no blessing at all. They're hungry and beaten every day. How can I be happy when I know that?" 

*Narrator:* Aqisan smiles gently. "They haven't gone hungry today at least. Perhaps this is a piece of the wisdom you are seeking?" Several djinni are beginning to jostle Aqisan and grow irate with him blocking the passage; in return, Aqisan bows low to the nobles and squeezes out of their way. "There is a tradition in the village I was born in, I would have you know, son of the worthy, and a wise tradition too. Every time a mortal babe is...ah...rescued...a bag of the finest honeyed cinammoned dates is left in his stead....his weight's worth to be precise. And I'd say you're oooh," he looks Abdul up and down dramatically, "about a goat's worth of dates, eh?"

*Narrator:* _You get the sense that "rescued" in that context meant something not so nice._

Abdul says dourly, "Akim will just take it away from them." 

*Narrator:* "Will he now?" Aqisan frowns. "I'll have you know that these dates might give him complications...of the bowels." He winks.

Abdul adds acidly, folding his arms in his 'stubborn' pose, "Well, as long as I've been ... 'rescued'... I may as well give a speech they'll remember a long time."

*Narrator:* A flicker of pain shows across Aqisan's face, before resuming his normal stoicism. "Very well, son of the worthy. I shall announce your speech when the Khedive requests you come forward. In the meantime, sit nearby me." With that, you enter the vast council chamber.

Abdul finally unbends and looks around a bit. It IS a fascinating place. He whispers to Aqisan, "What's a 'rite'?" 

*Narrator:* Leaning over (ALOT) to whisper to Abdul, Aqisan explains, "You're about to find out. Where did you hear this word?"

*Abdul:* "Someone said the sayyida does 'foul rites' every day by the waterfall. She seemed nice to me, though."

*Narrator:* Banners of gold trimmed in maroon emblazoned with the Khedive's crest hang from the seating upstairs. Braziers burn in every corner of the chamber, and the room is positively luminescent as the thirteen veiled djinniyeh seem to give off their own brightness. A contingent of guards stands at the ready, their pointed helms glistening, various tokens tied to their spears; they whisper amongst themselves in jest. Aqisan takes his place among the commoners - though at their forefront suiting his post as Royal Drummer. He whispers to Abdul, "_Sihr_ - dark magic."

Abdul hesitates, then joins Aqisan. "Wow. Like a wicked witch? But would a witch be nice?" 

*Narrator:* A distant memory seems to flash over Aqisan's eyes, and he looks into the distance. "Only if she wanted something from you." Returning to himself, Aqisan looks intently at Abdul, "Were you talking to Zianah, the washing djinniyeh?"

*Abdul:* "Uh huh. Actually, she wasn't very nice to start with, but was later. Um, someone said she might try to hurt me."

*Narrator:* "I wouldn't trust her, son of the worthy, for she is a most cunning fox who has makes trouble in the Khedive's court, and has damaged his name on several occasions. After all, why do you think she is bound to the braziers in the Khedive's throne room? To keep an eye on her, naturally." Aqisan is interrupted by the sound of trumpets, and the entire room is awash in color. Khedive Shisas emerges, eyes flashing with storm clouds, bearing his royal scepter. The gathered assembly bows before him, intoning the words, "Hail the rightful Khedive of the Court of Rising Winds, may he enjoy the fruits of peace and prosperity. Insha'allah."

Abdul repeats piously, "Insha'allah." 

*Narrator:* The Royal Herald and Poet clears his throat, and an enchanting voice ripples through the air like a scent of sweet pollen on ocean breezes. "Gathered nobles, great djinni, jann, marid, and peri. Today we celebrate a great boon that has been laid at the door of the Khedive. Come forward with your gifts now, for this rarity will not be easily surpassed. Know that no gift is too small in the Khedive's eyes. Why once he received--" The Khedive coughs, and leans over to the herald, cutting him off. "Without further ado," the herald countines, blushing slightly, "may the fine and exquisite representative of the jinn of Jauherabad come forward and present their magnanimous gift for the Khedive's perusal, if you be so pleased, as it pleases the Khedive, Insha'allah." He bows several more times, at which the Khedive rolls his eyes.

Abdul asks Aqisan nervously, "What am I supposed to give?" 
*Narrator:* Aqisan whispers to Abdul, "Whatever is in your heart to give. Don't worry, this takes ages, so you'll have time to think about it."

*Abdul:* "But I don't have anything at all, except for my clothes!"  After a moment he adds practically, "And they aren't even mine, I got them just now."

*Narrator:* A tall austere jinn garbed in glorious silks approaches the throne, bearing a small object covered in cloth. Setting them down before the Khedive, the ambassador raises his hand with a flourish and lifts the cloth, revealing a crystal ball. "The Eye of Malik Sayoun!" Severl courtiers gasp, and the Khedive's daughter Sitt Ninya faints.

Abdul whispers, "What's a Malik? And why is everyone so excited?" 

*Narrator:* Aqisan is about to reply to Abdul, when seeing Ninya collapse, he flies across the floor, alighting at her side. Several royal guardsmen bristle at this, placing their hands on their weapons, but the Khedive waves them away. An elderly white-haired jinn, blue eyes gleaming like the vast heavens, approaches Aqisan. "Give me a hand down to her, will you? My age has robbed me of my strength." Aqisan does as the elder bids him. Holding a cord of sometihng to the djinniyeh's nose, the elder smiles. She starts to come to. "There you are, as good as new." All at once the elder looks up and sees Abdul, at which his face goes white and he looks quite frightened.

Abdul looks a bit alarmed and waves slightly, trying to look innocent. 

*Narrator:* Seeing Abdul's good-naturedness, the elder smiles broadly and winks, before whispering into Aqisan's ear. Aqisan looks over at Abdul and nods. They both help Ninya up to her feet. Relieved that his daughter is well, the Khedive nods to the jinni ambassador. "Tonight we shall hold council on the matter of the Eye. I commend those souls who were lost to retrieve it, may their sacrifice merit great reward, for the Almighty is oft Merciful and Kind."

Abdul listens, concentrating to understand the bigger words. Plenty of ideas for stories in all this, after all! 

*Narrator:* Next, the ambassador from the jann comes, bearing a gift of the Travishes'sanni - a sparkling speck of sand which shines as bright as the sun. After the jann comes the marid ambassador, bearing the Harp of Ascalon - carved from a petrified sirene. The last of the nobility to present their gift are the peri, whose thirteen ambassadors come forward and release ringdoves throughout the hall, a magical song of delight filling the air, carrying all woes aloft for a short while, easing every heart. Abdul feels as though he had found peace with his troubles for a brief moment.

Abdul smiles beatifically and whispers a prayer in thanksgiving. 

*Narrator:* The Khedive wipes a tear from his eye, as do many of the courtiers. Then the Royal Herald calls forth the gifts of those living at the Court to present their gifts, and a long line forms. Aqisan is utterly enchanted by Ninya, and his eyes linger after her as she joins her father's side, clutching her head.

Abdul carefully watches the gifts that are given, trying to think of something. 

*Narrator:* Leaning over to Abdul, Aqisan whispers, "Sitt Ninya, the Khedive's daughter, opalescent pearl of pearls. And that old fool is Nakhlouf, the Royal Librarian. Gathered are the Khedive's sons...Tivoun, the eldest, Roushaet, Qadroun, Seovar, Rajhouren, and Minfoud - those who've just returned from battle against the shaitan - the middle son Vasraoul is not present alas, for he had a falling out with the court, then there are Jawaroud, Nusoum, Eshrouman, Ajhoun, and Mehouz. Ah, and young Fajhoul."

Abdul zeroes in on the word 'librarian'. "There's books here? Will anyone read them to me?" 

*Narrator:* "The Khediva Musherah, there, attending her daughter Ninya while Diwanis, her sister, looks on. The one nearest the Khedive is Darkalas, his elder brother." With the whirlwind description of the royal family, Aqisan awaits his turn, just ahead of Abdul. "Books? Ah...I suppose Old Nakhlouf will, for he runs the Royal Madrassah, though only the Khedive's sons are taught there, at least officially. Old Nakhlouf won't turn anyone who wishes to read."

Abdul nods eagerly. The Royal Librarian is sounding better by the second. 

*Narrator:* Being his turn to present to the Khedive, the massive Aqisan steps forward, dramatically pulling out a sharp ivory blade from his belt. At this the guards gasp, and place their hands on their weapons, but then Aqisan smiles cannily and presents the gift to the Khedive, "A gift from the rhinoceros, I fashioned this from its horn."

*Narrator:* The Khedive touches the stylized jambiya, "Beautiful..." Sitt Ninya looks perturbed, "You didn't hurt the rhinoceros did you? Not after lulling it to sleep with your song?"

*Narrator:* "Of course not," says Aqisan, bowing low but looking up and waggling his brows. Licking his hand, he smooths back his hair. "On the contrary, the rhinoceros wished to inform the Khedive that it has found far tastier acacias in the valley of the Qaf mountains, and will no longer threaten your grace." He bows again.

*Narrator:* The courtiers whisper at Aqisan's strength *and* charm. Sitt Ninya seems to look at him with new eyes. The Royal Herald calls forth Abdul.

Abdul says nervously, "I, uh, don't have anything to give, your Majesty, except that I tell stories. Maybe I could tell you one sometime?" 

*Narrator:* The Khedive chortles, "And what stories would you tell that impress me?"

*Abdul:* "I dunno. I don't know what impresses you yet. I'm sure there has to be one."

*Narrator:* "Oh? You seem confident that it is so..." The Khedive arches his brow, apparently intrigued.

Abdul gets more animated as he talks about something that interests him. "Well, sure! A story is like another place you go to - lots and lots of different places. There has to be a bunch you haven't been to yet.." 

*Narrator:* "I suppose..." The Khedive muses, then gets a twinkle in his eye. "Might I request a story of you?"

Abdul says solemnly, "I have one all planned out for my speech. Do you want it now or then?" 

*Narrator:* The Khedive laughs out loud, thunder clouds gathering outside, the chamber booms with wind, and Abdul feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "A story! From a mortal boy brought by the winds of Fate!" At this the chamber goes quiet. "Now that you have the attention of everyone here," says the Khedive quietly, "you may proceed without interruption." Abdul can't tell whether the Khedive is trying to intimidate him or not, but that's a lot of onlookers.

Abdul closes his eyes, imagining the familiar faces of his brothers, hanging on every word. He launches into the story of Aladdin, "Because I feel like Aladdin right now." For his age, the boy is a masterful, spellbinding hakawati, and he makes the story come alive. He makes one small but vital change to the tale: A mysterious condition is attached to the djinn's magic, that Aladdin must never return to his old house, nor see his mother again. At first the feckless youth, tired of his mother's nagging, agrees readily; but by the end, his victory is bittersweet and tainted by regret. The story ends in wrenching questions, rather than answers and a happy resolution - questions all the more powerful for only being hinted at, rather than stated openly... Where does Aladdin's true happiness lie? With his kin in poverty, or with his beloved in luxury? 

*Narrator:* The assembly is mute with awe. Aqisan beams with pride, and Abdul feels as if he had just grown a half foot taller. Surely they have heard the story before, but not this story. The Khedive has placed a finger over his lips, resting his head in his palm as he listens, spell-bound, to Abdul. "Allah al-Din, what becomes of him? Does he reside with his mother or stay in the palace?"

Abdul bows to the Khedive and says with all the cunning of Shahrazad, "That is a story for another night, your Majesty." 

*Narrator:* Abdul can hear the other ambassadors whispering (with envy?) as the Khedive rises. "Young Abdul, you shall be a page to my court, waiting on our tables and cleaning our dishes, but so too shall you receive an education rivaling those of the mortal world. You shall learn the beauty of the word, how to read and write, how to recite the Qur'an, the Hadith, and the Sunnah, and also to recite the great works of jinni poetry. Hither, page, and stand by me."

Abdul steps forward as if in a dream. "I'm going to learn to READ!" he whispers, more than loud enough to be heard. 

*Narrator:* "And write! With such a voice as yours, it would be a crime not to immortalize it. Abdul, you shall serve as page to this court until you reach this high (he indicates 5 feet), at which time I shall evaluate whether you are ready to become one of my trusted farisan [holy warriors]. Serve well, and you shall be rewarded well. Here in Jinnistan, Aqisan is my subject and he is bound to serve none other than me; however, because he has brought you to my court he shall serve as your guide and protector."

Abdul beams. "Oh, thank you, your Majesty!" 

*Narrator:* Addressing Aqisan, the Khedive bids him come forward. "Take young Abdul to Old Nakhlouf so that he might be taught courtly etiquette." Facing Abdul, the Khedive smiles. "At the end of the month, young Abdul, you shall take a ride with me and I shall make my decision final. He claps again and Aqisan ushers Abdul away.

Abdul follows Aqisan in a daze. 

*Narrator:* As Aqisan clears a way through the assembly for Abdul, whispers surround the uprooted beggar boy. "A Son of Adam!" "Is he a sha'ir plotting trickery?" "Nay, he is a precious gift." "He seems so somber." "Where did he come from?" "How odd, that a boy so small has a servant so large!" "It is because he is large of heart." "What a beautiful story...and what a storyteller." "A page to rival all others." "The Khedive must be very proud indeed."

Abdul hardly even notices, though he remembers the words later. He is in his own world, the world of Story. 

*Narrator:* In his daze, Abdul is lead by the hand to Old Nakhlouf, who peers over his glasses at Abdul. "Well, you're ready to learn to read then?" His eyes twinkle with mirth, and at the same time look deep into Abdul's soul.

*Abdul:* "Oh, YES, sahib!  I hope you have a lot of books, because I'm gonna read them ALL!"

*Narrator:* "Oh?" Old Nakhlouf walks with Abdul at his side, Aqisan trailing behind them listening intently. "Even I haven't read them all, my boy."

*Abdul:* "Well, I'll give it a good try, anyway!"

*Narrator:* "We shall begin where I started, with poetry which gave birth to the Arabic language. From there you will learn Djinnti, which is unsurpassed in beauty, and you will read the Khedive's own works. Latin too, and Pahlavi." Old Nakhlouf begins rattling off languages that Abdul has never heard of, all the way to the madrassah. By the time they arrive there, Aqisan is nowhere to be seen. Old Nakhlouf looks around puzzled for a moment.

Abdul nods determinedly. "How do I start?" 

*Narrator:* "By making papyrus of course," smiles Nakhlouf, squinting at Abdul. "There is a bucket out that door full of mashed pulp. Go step on it for an hour until it has broken apart and the water turns murky. When you've finished," he says leading Abdul out the door, "pour the contents through this strainer, collecting the water in the bucket below. I'll take care of the rest after that. After all, there'd be nothing to read is there wasn't papyrus. Of course, sages use paper now, but not all of them. And before papyrus there was cuneiform, but we'll wait until you're older to tackle that. Little steps for little fish!"

Abdul does just exactly as he is told. He's going to learn how to READ! 

*Narrator:* As Abdul labors, Old Nakhlouf comes back an hour later, "Ah, did you see where I put that copy of _Liber Argent Arcanus Benevolentiae_? I seem to...ah have misplaced it?" He pats around on his robes absently.

Abdul says humbly, "I don't know what that is, sahib. Um, what should I call you?" 

*Narrator:* "Nakhlouf, of course! What else would you call me?" Raising his finger, his eyes light up. "That's looking good, let's strain it out shall we?"
*Narrator:* "Do you know your Arabic alphabet?" he asks, helping Abdul carry the bucket.

*Abdul:* "Well, you're my teacher and all, but whatever you want, um, Nakhlouf." He pronounces the strange name clumsily. "I'm Abdul.  No, I don't know the al-pha-bet."  Whatever that is, his careful pronounciation suggests.

*Narrator:* "Very well, Abdul. I teach every day, except for the Holy Days and the Khedive's birthday, which is something of a celebration here. The madrassah is open to any once the sun goes below the horizon, but before then it is absolutely prohibited to all but the Khedive's sons. Is that clear?"

Abdul nods. "Yes, sahib! Um, I mean, Nakhlouf." He cringes ever so slightly every time he does something 'wrong'. 

*Narrator:* "Sahib is my father, Abdul, I'm only...4...or is it 5?" He counts on his fingers. "Well, we'll start with the alphabet tonight. The clase is studying very hard, for we are planning to go to Batil Peak and consult the riddling Xargosi, who will teach the one who answers his riddle for 40 days and nights. Xargosi's riddles are always about the alphabet, or at least they have been for centuries. Though he may change one of these days. At any rate, that means you'll need to study hard to catch up to the other jinni."

Abdul looks bewildered. "I'll work as hard as I can, sahib - I mean, Nakhlouf - but aren't you older than five?" He then cringes again when he realizes he dared to question something his teacher said. 

*Narrator:* "Why you're quite right, I'm 7...ah...792! I didn't get to my age by being sentimental. Now where is that book? Look around those unshelved books and see if you can spot it - a cover of white oak bark." Nakhlouf looks intently through the shelves.

Abdul looks around diligently for the book. 

*Narrator:* While looking through the unsorted books, Abdul knocks one to the ground. Picking it up, he is drawn to the cover. Though he can't read it there is a symbol in the background, something vaguely familiar. In fact he has seen this same symbol on the pendant that Aqisan was wearing.

Abdul opens the book, filled with an inexplicable curiosity. 

*Narrator:* Abdul hears voices approaching, when suddenly a great wind comes in through the backdoor and Abdul feels a presence behind him. "Evil Sha'ir, I've found you now!" Gleeful cackling follows.

Abdul closes the book with a bang and squeaks, "Evil?! Me?!" 

*Narrator:* A wide-eyed handsome shaggy black-haired young jinn, about Abdul's height, watches him with a glint in his eyes. In the young jinn's hand is an olive branch. Adopting a fencing pose, the young jinn makes an en guarde salute. "You may have trapped my brothers in your magic bottles, but I know your secret is in that book! Give it to me or taste my blade!"

Abdul cringes reflexively. "I didn't mean it, honest!" He makes himself as small and inoffensive as possible. 

*Narrator:* Grabbing for the book, the young jinn tries to wrest it from Abdul's hands. "Give it here!"

Abdul lets go. "You can have it, sahib, there you go!" 

*Narrator:* Taking the book, the jinn looks at it upside down at first then gets it right side up, turning to the page Abdul was looking at. A complicated diagram is revealed with the picture of a djinni in the center. Suddenly the jinn's eyes go wide and he takes a step away from Abdul. "Y- You really are a sha'ir?"

Abdul says plaintively, "No? I don't think so. I really really don't know how I summoned Aqisan, honest!" 

*Narrator:* He squints his eyes. "I don't know. I'll need some proof..."

*Abdul:* "P-proof?"

*Narrator:* "Say something magical, say ' I summon Khedive Shisas of the Rising Winds Court.'" He looks at Abdul nervously.

*Abdul:* "Ummm. I'm the Khedive's page. I don't think I ought to do that."

*Narrator:* "Aha! So you're a real sha'ir! Well, you don't seem that evil....for a sha'ir, and all. Wow! Wait till I show you to my brothers. Do you want to come meet them?"

Abdul is utterly bewildered now. "Will the sahib - I mean, Nakhlouf - mind?" 

*Narrator:* Nakhlouf cries out. "I've found it! Now what are you doing, Abdul? Oh. I see you've found Fajhoul ibn-Shisas. What are you doing with that olive branch, young Fajhoul?"

*Narrator:* "Uh, nothing. But you can't have it," answers Fajhoul testily, then adds. "I wanted to show him to my brothers - he's a real sha'ir isn't he?"

Abdul stays mute, not wanting to draw attention to himself. 

*Narrator:* Nakhlouf looks at Abdul, then at the book in Fajhoul's hands, and back to Abdul. "Well, are you an accidental summmoner, young Abdul?"

Abdul whines, "I don't KNOW! All I know is that I woke up and Aqisan said I'd called him forth and that I was his master. Or something. And I don't know ANYTHING!" 

*Narrator:* Nakhlouf smiles. "The first sign of a wise man is admitting his ignorance. Now, run along and play, but don't be late. Remember, class starts at sunset."

Abdul stares at Nakhlouf in astonishment. 'Run along and play'? What kind of trick IS this? 

*Narrator:* Fajhoul grins. "A real sha'ir. You'll be on my side. Ah, can we borrow this book?" He asks Nakhlouf, who grabs the book out of Fajhoul's hands. "You most certainly may not!" replies Nakhlouf. Looking glum, Fajhoul turns to Abdul, "You don't need to do any magic, we'll just pretend. It's a game we play. One pretends to be the sha'ir and makes wishes of the others...you'll see."

Abdul gets a little of his courage back. "Well, maybe it's pretend and maybe it's not. We'll just have to see, hmm?" 

*Narrator:* Fajhoul nervously laughs, then looks at Abdul out of the corner of his eye. Mortal boys were sure not as scary as sha'irs, but the Royal Drummer obeyed him. Why, Fajhoul had tried numerous times to get the Royal Drummer to do favors for him, and not once had he succeeded. That fact alone made his father's new page someone to be reckoned with and excellent competition.


----------



## The Shadow (Sep 9, 2014)

[Apologies for resurrecting a long-dead thread, but I left a couple sessions off, and they're necessary background for a PbP game about to start.]

*Narrator:* Wherein begins the tale of "Between a Box and a Hot Place"

*Narrator:* I do not trust any merchant farther than a scimitar, but Jamul was a generous host and, as it was a late hour and we had done commiserating Zarif's plight, he invited Yasir and I to stay in his guest room. Not wishing to offend our host, and weary from travel, we acquiesced. That night, my fears of the sorcerer proved true, and all that dark magic which I longed to forever banish from my life came back to haunt me. Only this time, I had several unlikely friends at my side

*Narrator:* Tired yet brimming with hope, Abdul winds his way through the stalls of the Grand Bazaar, hoping to beat the looming rain clouds to his home. His face is clean of the egg whites, though he still wears the clothes of a beggar, and his eyes twinkle with light from the lightning that blasts in the heavens in the distance. Wind over the desert surrounding Huzuz, wind over the coast of Huzuz. Then, one jagged flash of lightning and Abdul sees it. The gold-chased chest housing Metef strapped to a camel. Shuri is there, his face numbed over as he follows a large Maghrebi man with long braided black hair and a staff. Just as soon as the vision appears, than do they vanish into the crowd, the night, and the first drops of rain.

Abdul gapes for a moment, then casts about in the crowd, making for the place he saw the good Shuri. He evades people with a beggar's practiced deftness.

*Narrator:* Following the street he thought he saw them go down, Abdul dodges a kick from a mounted noble. "Yield, beggar!" shouts the noble as Abdul ducks past and into a busy alley of blacksmiths. The camel with Metef-in-a-chest is outside the shop, Shuri standing guard over it, a dark look on his face. The Maghrebi is under the awning of the smith's shop and is haggling for something.

Abdul moves to up to Shuri, wariness hidden in his heart. "Spare alms for a poor man, sahib?" He looks directly into Shuri's eyes, more directly than a beggar would.

Narrator: Shuri absently places a dirham in Abdul's palm, apparently not recognizing him. "Be safe young man," says Shuri, a pained look on his face.

Abdul is deeply suspicious by now, but he does not let it show in his voice. "You look troubled, kind sir! May I return your generosity by listening to your troubles?"

*Narrator:* Shuri heaves a deep sigh, chancing a glance over his shoulder at the Maghrebi, who gesticulates wildly with the smith. Wiping his sleep-weary eyes, Shuri looks at Abdul, "You remind me of a wise scribe I know. Are you able to deliver a message? Do you know where the Street of the Learned is?"

Abdul can't help but chuckle. "Surely you speak of the great Abdul al'Jann? I know him so well, he might as well be standing before you!" With this, he winks.

*Narrator:* Blinking dumbly, Shuri stifles a laugh before quickly silencing himself. "God himself has smiled upon me in the hour I thought I was done for. Listen, Abdul, this Maghrebi has cursed me - it was years ago - and he's after Metef about something. He speaks in riddles and rhyme. "A vow" and "buried treasure." I'm not sure what he wants, but I cannot disobey him, and find the slightest bidding he gives me more compelling than a virgin's bed."

Abdul's face darkens. "He and Metef are indeed foals of the same litter, it would seem! Tell me more of this curse, my friend, that I may know how to help you."

*Narrator:* The Maghrebi's negotiations seem to be going poorly, and suddenly he shouts at the shopkeeper, "Never in my life have I been so insulted. May God deprive you--- Ah, come, you are not worth it!" The shopkeeper yells at the Maghrebi, who gives him a rude gesture.

*Narrator:* "Quick, Abdul, you'd better hide yourself," whispers Shuri.

*Abdul:* "Hide? You are speaking to a beggar, remember?"

*Narrator:* Shuri brightens when Abdul says this, and pretends to clean his thick beard. Walking over the Maghrebi calls to Shuri, "Come, fool Bedouin, the day is young and there's grave work to be done." The Maghrebi is a tall man with pocked skin, perhaps the result of a bout with the pox as a child. He wears various fetishes befitting a gypsy fortuneteller. Over his shoulder is a drum. Eyeing Abdul, he makes a ward against the Evil Eye. "Beggar boy, do you know how to find the graveyard they call Cemetery Square?"

Abdul rambles ingratiatingly, "Cemetery Square, sahib? Why, I grew up there and know it like the back of my hand! But that's no place for such a great gentleman as yourself, sahib! Terrible, murderous place it is, full of thieves and cutthroats. Why, it's enough to make strong men piss themselves, sahib, begging your pardon, sahib."

*Narrator:* "Did you hear that?" says the Maghrebi, a delighted expression on his pocked face. He knocks on the chest with a devious grin. "Then how fitting that the ashes of my cousin, a notorious crook, be buried among his kind. Two dirham for you to lead us to Cemetery Square."

*Abdul:* "Powerful dangerous it is, sahib. Two dirham is a small price for a man to take his life into his hands! Don't you agree, sahib?"

*Narrator:* "Very well, four dirham, but not a dirham more! But you must also summon a blacksmith once we arrive there, agreed?"

*Abdul:* "I've always been impressed with the generosity of such fine gentlemen as yourself, sahib. But you do know there's ghosts there, and those as call 'em up. I'll be wanting two of those dirham now, begging your pardon, sahib."

*Narrator*: "Fine, fine, you silver-fingered beggar boy!" says the Maghrebi testily. He snaps a look at Shuri, "Well, get hopping you, and grab the camel's reins."

Abdul pockets the cash. "That's a mighty fine camel you have there, sahib. Good color, fine hair." He prattles incessantly about this and that.

*Narrator:* As Abdul chatters and brown-noses the Maghrebi, he catches a young woman out of the corner of his eye following behind Shuri; a frightened looking expression passes over the young woman's face and she ducks behind a building. Oblivious, the Maghrebi kisses a lucky rabbit's foot about his neck. "Today is a good day, time for R'Akibum's luck to change, methinks! Beggar boy, what do you know about the tombs of Cemetery Square? Have you heard of Sitt Kalilagh?"

*Narrator:* Sitt Kalilagh was the original owner of the "Graveyard Mosque", the whorehouse where Abdul was born, some fifty years ago.  Her ferocious temper and ruthless disposition are legend.  She was also famous for her extreme obesity;  they had to enlarge her tomb to fit her inside.

*Narrator:* Darting from building to building, the young woman dressed in the garments of a merchant's daughter, tries to avoid the heavy rain starting to fall as well as being seen.

*Abdul:* "Sitt Kalilagh? Oh, she was a mean one, sahib! Almost as mean as my mother's three sisters! I heard the tale of her while they dandled me on their knees, and I still have the bruises, sahib!"  He starts adjusting his rags to show off the alleged bruises.

*Narrator:* Shuri stifles a laugh, and the Maghrebi glares at him.

Abdul laughs inanely with Shuri. "He's a funny one, is the young man you have with you, sahib!"  Meanwhile he is leading the group vaguely toward Cemetery Square, at a less than rapid pace.

*Narrator:* "A foolish Bedouin who spends what he does not have, and steals what is not his," says the Maghrebi disdainfully, "though he's quite a good memory. He remembered me after all these years, didn't you Shuri?"

*Narrator:* "Oh yes, R'Akibum, all too well," quips Shuri dourly, covering his face from the rain.

*Abdul:* "Well, you're certainly a memorable gentleman, sahib! I'll be sure to tell my grandchildren all about you! 'Course I'll have to be married first. I've considered marrying Farida, you know. If only she didn't have the pox..."

*Narrator:* "Yes, yes, we all have marital troubles, but you're barely a man. Now how much further?" groans the Maghrebi irritably.

Abdul draws himself up to his not-very-tall height, stopping his movement. "I'll have you know I'm a man grown, sahib! I may be a poor beggar, but I have enough fingers and toes to count my years! I'm nearly twenty, sahib, and that's God's truth. They say cyphering is a skill of the wise and intelligent, sahib. Do you think I'm wise and intelligent?"

*Narrator:* "Whatever you are, it's anything but taciturn," says R'Akibum sarcastically.

*Abdul:* "Tac-i-turn?" He makes the sign against the Evil Eye. "Don't be usin' no spells on me, sahib! My mother told me all about those magickers. And hit me, too, so's I'd remember."

*Narrator:* "Yes, yes, and you have the bruises to show it too. Now, wouldn't a wise and intelligent boy want to earn his living and .....guide....us....to....the....graveyard?" says R'Akibum.

Abdul looks blankly at the man. "Graveyard...? OH! You mean Cemetery Square! Are you sure you want to go there, sahib?"  He starts ambling lazily in the direction of the infamous slum again.

*Narrator:* "Boy," says R'Akibum his dark skin turning a shade of red, "I have frightened Beelzebub himself with my magic, and would make your mama's beatings seems like feather-play if you keep up this snail's pace. I am not some chump patrician who will fall for your ploy of getting more money for how long it takes us to get there!"

*Abdul:* "Ploy, sahib? No sahib, not me! A deal's a deal, and sacred in the eyes of God. Says so in the Holy Qur'an. Or so my mother told me."

*Narrator:* "Your mother seems an interesting woman, a whip in one hand and a holy book in the other." R'Akibum keeps his sea-green eyes on the chest. "Would you like to know about my cousin in the chest?"

*Narrator:* Shuri says with a barbed edge to his voice, "It's not like you haven't told me that story, or some variant, three times in the past hour..."

Abdul picks up the pace just a bit. "Oh, my mother couldn't read, sahib. She was told it by a holy man once. Or so she said. Much as I hate to say it, sahib, I do believe that sometimes she was inclined to be less than truthful. Of course I'd like to hear about your cousin. I love stories."

*Narrator:* "Then I shall tell you a story the likes of which'd make a ghost pale...once we get to Cemetery Square."

Abdul sulks visibly. "Well, all right. But could I maybe hear some stories from this funny young friend of yours as we go? Meaning no offense, sahib, you being such a fine gentleman and all, but I'm a keen judge of character, and I have the impression you're in a bad mood, sahib. I don't know why, sahib, since I've always been told I'm a well-spoken fellow, for a beggar."

*Narrator:* "Hmph. He is a donkey and son of a donkey," says R'Akibum off-hand about Shuri, to which Shuri, growing hot in the face places a hand on his scimitar.

*Narrator:* Seeing Shuri growing rash, R'Akibum storms up to him, waving his cudgel in Shuri's face, "Remember the terms of the arbitration, rash Bedouin! Or does the wind blow so hot in your head that you forget your place?" R'Akibum raps Shuri on the top of the head with his cudgel. "How much farther, beggar boy?"

*Abdul:* "Donkeys are powerful useful beasts, don't you think so, sahib? Why, they can carry a load that'd break a man, for nothing more than a carrot! Yep, nothing for carrying a burden like a donkey. Unless it's a mule. Or a horse, maybe. But who'd load up a horse with stuff? Terrible thing to do to a horse. Then there's elephants, I suppose..."

*Narrator:* "By God the Almighty, your rambling is incessant! You are almost as bad as Metef!" roars R'Akibum, his face a fine shade of crimson.

*Abdul:* "Metef? Is that the name of your camel? Camels can be stubborn beasts, yep, sahib. This one's a fine one, though. Good color, nice hair."

*Narrator:* At first R'Akibum looks like he's going to burst, but then he lightens up. "Haha! Yes, he is a fine sort of camel, in his own way. Spitting at everyone he sees, and contributing nothing but dung. Are we getting close?"

*Abdul:* "Oh, but dung is powerful useful stuff, sahib! Nothing like camel dung for a cough, 'specially if it's got maggots in it. The odor clears your sinuses right out, sahib. You just spread it on your chest. ... Oh! and you can burn it too!"

*Narrator:* Abdul senses Metef trying to reach into his mind. Whispers begin to gather from the falling rain. "O young beggar...."

*Narrator:* Abdul shakes the voice out of his head, hearing Shuri voicing his concerns to R'Akibum about the rain. "I understand you have a vendetta here, but couldn't we get some shelter from the rain first? I'm freezing."

*Abdul:* "Ven-detta?" He makes the sign against the Evil Eye again. "You magickers and your spells!"

*Narrator:* Realizing that his fingers are turning quite cold in the winter rain, R'Akibum grins at Shuri. "A shame you didn't dress for colder weather, Bedouin."  Then, to Abdul, "That is no spell," says R'Akibum with a quirky smile, "Why if you wanted to see some real magic, I could show you the likes of which'd burn out your eyes in their skull."

Abdul says dubiously, "That doesn't sound like much fun, sahib. I'm pretty sure that the Holy Qur'an says you shouldn't ought to be burning people's eyes out. Says so in black and white, sahib! Or so my mother told me."

*Narrator:* You draw near Cemetery Square. Why it seems like just yesterday that Abdul was here... [Yes, the Narrator has a sick sense of humor at times. ]

Abdul leads the way fearlessly into Knife-Loose Alley, prating and rambling away a mile a minute.

*Narrator:* "Finally, we reach your doom, Metef," hisses R'Akibum to the chest.

*Narrator:* Unlike other sections of Cemetery Square which are quite exposed to the rain, Knife-Loose Alley is partially covered, so that curtains of water fall only at gaps in the covering, like a smooth scimitar stroke. Beggars and murderers huddle in the nooks and crannies of the alleyway, eager for a job to walk by.

Abdul says a bit louder than really necessary, "You'll want to be careful here, sahib! A fine gentleman like yourself... Like I told you, sahib, there's cutthroats about.  And the Aqeedah, too, or so I'm told!" His teeth are starting to chatter from the cold.

*Narrator:* Shuri shoots a questioning glance at Abdul, as if to ask 'are you sure you know what you're doing?' R'Akibum begins to notice the thugs who are gathering nearby, eyeing your odd group. Suddenly, something catches their eyes, and the thugs push past you. Abdul makes out the faint image of a young woman taking a sharp turn down an alley behind them, followed by the thugs.

Abdul blinks and points. "They're going after that young lady! We should help her!"

*Narrator:* Shuri wheels around, while R'Akibum turns around slowly with an irritated expression on his face. "It's not our problem. Young women shouldn't be out at this hour anyhow," says R'Akibum heartlessly.

*Narrator:* Shuri looks at R'Akibum pointedly. "You just try and stop me."

*Abdul:* "Well, sahib, if you care to find your way without me with all these cutthroats about, it's your lookout. The funny young man and I are gonna do something!"

*Narrator:* Cursing his fate, R'Akibum collects himself and grudgingly follows along, guiding the camel himself.

Abdul hurries after the young woman, shouting, "Mind yourselves with this one, lads! She's al'Fameed's cousin's wife!"

*Narrator:* Abdul catches up with one of the thugs, who looks vaguely familiar to Abdul. "Buzz off, youngling, this one's a goose served for dinner on a cold night." His fellows have surrounded the young woman and are taunting her.

*Narrator:* Shuri lurks in the shadows behind Abdul, his scimitar drawn. R'Akibum stands at the entrance to the alley, not wanting to get involved.

Abdul stamps his foot. "It's your lookout, sahib, but I'm telling you she belongs to al'Fameed! I'll prove it!"

*Narrator:* "How so?" asks the thug, holding back from his fellows to evaluate Abdul.

Abdul holds out the three dirham he just 'earned', plus all the copper bits he has on him. "I'm so confident that al'Fameed will reward me for rescuing this young lady, I'll give you my whole day's take of my own free will. When've you known a beggar to do THAT, hmm?"

*Narrator:* Arching his brow the thug looks at Abdul incredulously, "Y-you're not joking?"

*Abdul:* "Not a bit of it! Tell him, young lady!"

*Narrator:* The young woman is utterly silent, apparently quite chilled, but her eyes shine with something Abdul can only describe as pleading. One by one the thugs begin to back down. The thug that Abdul gave his "catch" to thanks him for looking out for the gang. "Are you one of Akim's boys?" asks the thug.

*Abdul:* "Was once. Have no use for 'im now, old bustard."

*Narrator:* "He is that," muses the thug. "Here, keep your catch. None'll trouble you down the rest of the alley, I'll see to it."

Abdul is utterly astonished. "A thousand thanks upon you, sahib, and God's blessings upon you!" He salaams deeply.

*Narrator:* As if rooted to the spot, the thug doesn't seem to want to leave, but he abruptly tears himself away making off down the alley. The young woman begins sobbing and Shuri goes to wrap what little extra clothing he has about her. "This is my former host's daughter. We need to get her warm."

Abdul can't contain himself. "Ashquar?! Can it be you?!"

*Narrator:* The thug stops stunned. "How in the devil---?? Nobody has called me by that name for years!"

*Abdul:* "Are you not my brother? Did we not swear to the Code together?" He steps forward hesitantly, face shining. "Do you not know me, brother?"

*Narrator:* "Hakawati? But you-- They say you were murdered. Are-are you a ghost?" Ashquar tentatively comes forward while edging away at the same time.

*Abdul:* "No! Not at all. You must have heard the laughter..." Abdul suddenly remembers who is listening. "We have much to speak about."

*Narrator:* R'Akibum whistles, "For a beggar boy, you have a princely heart!" Walking up to the group, R'Akibum rests on his cudgel, giving Ashquar the Evil Eye. "In my country do you know what they do to men who attack unarmed women? Gelding, without anaesthesia."

Abdul adds reprovingly, "That's not the Code, brother, and you know it. BUT! This man is not in a position to talk! He is a thief, and the man he has stolen this camel and chest from will pay you in gold for their return!"

*Narrator:* R'Akibum glares at Abdul, "Why are you speaking of what you know nothing about? What sort of scam are you in here?" He asks, suddenly becoming very suspicious. Shuri, with the young woman under his arm, stands behind R'Akibum with a concerned expression on his face.

*Narrator:* Ashquar strives to keep his head up, despite the shame he obviously feels at Abdul's admonition. He keeps a sharp eye on the Maghrebi, however. Stories of this rascal have gotten around Cemetery Square. Ashquar keeps an inquisitive look, but doesn't make any action toward R'Akibum either way.

*Abdul:* "I mean that chest was escorted on that camel from Zarif by Yasir al'Ayyubi. I know he did not give it to you of his own will. Do you dare to deny it?"

*Narrator:* Arching his brow, R'Akibum sniffs indignantly, "Ah, now I know who you are. I saw you once, in a dream that Chango sang in my ear. A trickster scholar! Ah, but we have not been formally introduced yet..."

*Abdul:* "Yes, permit me to introduce myself!" Turning to Shuri, he speaks liquid syllables in a language going back to Father Adam: "Shuri, son of Razan, be loosed of your binding!"


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## The Shadow (Sep 9, 2014)

*Narrator:* Rain fell on the canvas above as I heard the name I was given at birth. Shuri, son of House Razan. The words resonated in my inner ear as loud as the words of my kinfolk when I was exiled, but this was a calling back, not a separation. It was a remembering and a birth through the waters of creation. Until that day I had lived in fear of magic, but Abdul al-Jann had put a wedge of doubt in my mind. Could good come from a sorcerer's hand?

*Narrator:* The answer was a resounding "yes."

Abdul slumps under the burden of the magic, but his face is filled with triumph.  "Never underestimate a scholar's 'tricks' or the grace of God, R'Akibum!"

*Narrator:* Gaping in awe at the display before him, Ashquar stared wide-eyed at Abdul's God-given language, and the sudden sharpening of Shuri's eyes. Supporting Fatima bint-Jamul in one arm, Shuri glares at R'Akibum, "Give me the box or so help me, I'll send you to the afterlife."

Abdul leans against the wall, his face haggard, but his eyes remain fixed on the geomancer.  "What shall it be now, hmm?"

*Narrator:* R'Akibum flinches, his thick fingers tightening around his cudgel. "In all the hells of Aksum, the foulest is reserved for meddlers! Trickster scholar, you test the limits of patience!" raves R'Akibum, his hair leaping wildly about him as he works himself into a frenzy. "What do you know? Who is your mother?" Spitting on the ground, he gets so red Abdul can make out steam rising from his back where the rain strikes! 

*Narrator:* Shuri inches toward Abdul, positioning himself to defend the "trickster scholar" should R'Akibum try anything.

*Abdul:* “A meddler, am I?  It takes one, as they say, to know!  As for my mother, if you know truthfully who she is, I should be obliged if you told me!  Go, R'Akibum.  There is nothing more for you here.”

*Narrator:* Grabbing the chest from the camel, R'Akibum throws it to the ground in front of him, uttering foul curses. "Blackest of birds! This is your doing!" Heaving the chest into the air he brings it smashing into the alleyway wall with all his might.

Abdul lurches fully upright from the wall, eyes widening as the chest falls.  "Fool of a Maghrebi!"

*Narrator:* Stronger than he appears, R'Akibum bashes the chest against a sharp rock jutting from the wall, sending pieces of wood flying past Abdul and Shuri. As the box shatters, the raven Metef bursts forth, ominous black clouds tearing the rest of the box apart in R'Akibum's hands. Enraged, R'Akibum throws the handle of the box to the ground and lunges for the raven. "You will tell me or I'll strangle you to death!"

Abdul makes quick passes with his hands in the air in front of him, ‘drawing’ an arcane sigil.  "Fajhoul, come ready!"

*Narrator:* A blinding flash fills the alley as R'Akibum grapples the slippery raven Metef in all his hideous glory. Shuri pulls Fatima to the ground, shielding her from whatever may come. Ashquar has grown terrified out of his wits and darts down the nearest alleyway. Steam becomes light, light becomes air, air becomes thunder. A blast of wind rushes down the alleyway and Fajhoul appears hovering off the ground, scimitar in hand. "Behold, I am Fajhoul, 13th son of Khedive Shisas! Tremble and recognize your doom!"

*Abdul:* "My lord, that raven is a wicked sorcerer who must not escape us!  As for this man," he indicates R'Akibum, "He also is a sorcerer, who seeks the raven's death and must not have it!"

*Narrator:* "My ill dressed Abdul, the raven shall not have death today, yet neither shall he get away!" Flying high into the sky, Fajhoul gestures to the clouds, drawing on strong winds which drive back Metef and prevent him from flying above the alleyway. Shuri clutches Fatima, uttering a prayer with his eyes clenched shut. R'Akibum has lost his grip on Metef, who gets knocked into the wall by Fajhoul's winds. The raven Metef flaps around awkwardly, trying to get its bearing and fight the wind.

Abdul laughs wildly as tension is released.  Raised in Jinnistan, he cannot but glory in the stylish display of power...  "Is it not said that clothes do not make the man, my lord?  Oh, bravely done!"

*Narrator:* Fajhoul's winds cause the canvas tarps above to come loose, sending a sheet of water cascading between Abdul and the grappling sorcerers.

*Abdul:* "It is over, R'Akibum!  Bow your head before the will of God and leave us now!"

*Narrator:* "Djinni be damned!" yells R'Akibum.  Abdul sees the Maghrebi gesture overhead.

Abdul sighs sadly, his hand dipping into a fold of his rags and emerging with a knife.  "So be it!"  His face still looks haggard and drawn.

*Narrator:* Laughing like the wind over the minarets, Fajhoul drops down on to R'Akibum. No sooner than Fajhoul makes to grab him than Fajhoul cries out. Abdul feels his skin crawl and begins to make out the images of tortured spirits in the falling water, glimpses of shadows in the corner of his eye. Fajhoul backs away from R'Akibum, dropping into a defensive stance.

*Narrator:* The raven Metef, freed from the chest which had been his cell for the last four nights, finds shelter from the winds in a crack in the alleyway wall.

Abdul's eyes widen at this turn of events in alarm.  Suddenly, the Providence of God directs his eyes to the silk rope that had tied the chest, coiled randomly upon the street.

*Narrator:* R'Akibum seems to be attacking something invisible nearby him in a rage, yelling out loud, "By Chango, once I get you Metef, there'll be no place for you to hide." He swipes to the left and to the right with his cudgel.

Abdul lunges for the silken Ittifaqi Hasanah, crying out in the language of jinni, "My lord, catch up this rope with your winds and wind it about the sorcerer!"  He tosses the rope into the air.

*Narrator:* The sash travels through the air into Fajhoul's free hand. "Which sorcerer?" shouts Fajhoul, his eyes darting back and forth in fear.

Abdul points at R'Akibum.  "HIM!  I will deal with Metef!"

*Narrator:* Ittifaqi Hasanah flies through the air as Fajhoul casts it before him, colorful silks whirling about R'Akibum. Crying out, R'Akibum strains against the silks which bind him fast. The growling shadows vanish as quickly as they came, though Fajhoul does not seem to be much comforted by this turn of events, and he levels his scimitar between R'Akibum's eyes. "Surrender or see how much of a damned jinn I can be."

*Narrator:* Fajhoul draws menacingly close to R'Akibum, who seems to be terrified out of his wits by the djinni's threat. "Powerful and mighty djinn, have mercy!" cries R'Akibum. 

*Narrator:* Metef squirms deeper into the crack.

Abdul makes his way to the crack.  "Hear me, Metef.  It is my mercy or R'Akibum's, and I think you already know which one is tenderer!  Or, if you must fight rather than face justice, consider that while you may be able to overcome the defenses of a sha'ir, so also I grew up catching pigeons for my supper.  Do you care to chance that a raven will do better in these winds?"

*Narrator:* The raven is so far in the darkness that the only sign of him is the glint in his beady eyes. His croaking voice answers Abdul, "Seeking justice before the scales are weighed, are you? If you would eat me completely, then you are twice a fool. Once for treating me as a mere pigeon, and twice for not looking to your servant!"

Abdul sighs.  "If you bind Fajhoul, I will loose R'Akibum.  How is that an improvement for you, eh?  I do not desire your death, Metef, whatever you may think.  I want justice - but I cannot let you fly free, either.  Will you not surrender?  There has been enough tonight for us all."

*Narrator:* "I appreciate your sentiment, sha'ir, but find the prospect of a qadi cutting off my tongue unattractive. However, R'Akibum has stolen a talisman important to Zarif, and since he found me and Shuri I have been trying to goad the information from him. As you can see, he has a tendency for losing his cool. Might I suggest a compromise? Allow me to 'escape' so that I may learn where the talisman is buried and then I shall consent to the qadi's justice."

Abdul weighs that.  "Loose Fajhoul as a sign of your good will, and I agree."

*Narrator:* The raven's eyes seem to grow small for a moment, the darkness around it separating. All at once Fajhoul, who had adopted a fiercely threatening stance toward R'Akibum, becomes much more carefree. Jesting, he wags his finger before the bound geomancer. "For someone who seems to hate spirits so much you keep odd company."

Abdul calls out warily in Jinnti, "Is all well with you, my lord?"

*Narrator:* "I should very much like to cook that raven, but I am fully myself, every bit your superior, young Abdul," responds Fajhoul.

Abdul chuckles faintly.  "I would not dream of doubting you, good my lord."  He steps away from the hole.  "The raven and I have a bargain.  For now.  Stay wary;  we need information from this other sorcerer."

*Narrator:* "He seems like a surpassing bore to me, but I refrain from laying a hand on him. Both seem to be skilled with hexes. So what don't you want them to know such that we speak in the True Tongue?" inquires Fajhoul, circling the bound R'Akibum, scimitar still in hand.

Abdul bows a sweeping, courtly bow to the hole, his eyes blank.  "Come forward and give your commands, O my master."

*Narrator:* Pausing behind R'Akibum, Fajhoul muses, "All creatures have a gift, and it would seem this one's is cursing, whether it is in word or spell."

*Narrator:* Metef tentatively hops forward, keeping a wary eye on Shuri, who is looking up at Abdul in amazement and dismay.

Abdul winks at Shuri from an angle R'Akibum can't see, as he holds out a hand for Metef to perch upon.

*Narrator:* Metef emerges from the hole, "You have done well, my apprentice," says Metef, taking Abdul's offered arm. 

Abdul blankly bears the bird of ill omen toward the bound geomancer, his posture stiff and courteous.

*Narrator:* R'Akibum gapes in disbelief. "Impossible! You a servant of this foulest of birds?"

Abdul says placidly, "I have only just now been enlightened to the truth and goodness of my master, sir.  I obey him in all things. You would be wise to do the same."

*Narrator:* "Ah, more of your mind trick mojo, eh Metef?" inquires R'Akibum cannily. "But there is a wind that serves the man who serves the bird. And I have made it a cursed wind. If I do not release your servant then he shall perish before a fortnight. Are you more inclined to question your loyalties now, you trickster scholar?"

*Abdul:* "I, have a servant?  I who am but a slave?  I do not understand.  But be silent and listen to what the great Metef would say to you."

*Narrator:* Staring into R'Akibum's eyes, Metef the raven croaks, "Look at me and tell me your secrets R'Akibum. Tell me of the emerald talisman, tell me of your betrayal..."

*Narrator:* R'Akibum squirms as the muscles in his forehead spasm and he begins to breathe heavily. "Damnable....bird....gah!"

Abdul waits patiently, but his eyes take in everything that occurs.

*Narrator:* Abdul notices that Metef makes a great effort to build up his magic before he actually uses it, possibly a sign of arrogance, but possibly something else. Suddenly, a spasm shakes R'Akibum's entire body. "Ah yes, tell me more, my Maghrebi..." R'Akibum mouths the words "Al-Akara...Weeping Shrine."

*Narrator:* "As I suspected..." says Metef, the tension of the psychic struggle ending. R'Akibum simmers in silence, a look of utter defeat coming upon his face.

*Abdul:* "What have you learned, O my master?"

*Narrator:* "The talisman is buried in the Weeping Shrine of the Al-Akara Mountains," says Metef in a measured voice. "Weak minds yield to those of us with the will, is it not so, Abdul?" Metef looks at Abdul with a menacing light in his beady eyes.

Abdul meets the bird's eyes unflinchingly.  "I would not know."

*Narrator:* Metef chirps to himself. "Not yet, perhaps."

*Narrator:* "Forgive me, effulgent and poorly-dressed one," says Fajhoul in Jinnti, "but my father beckons me in the style he is most wont to - that is, angrily. Have you any more need of me to dangle a sorcerer from a minaret? Or perhaps to give you fashion tips?" he adds jovially. Fajhoul appears to be in his element when in a struggle or battle of some kind, and with the conflict's resolution comes his nonchalant and perpetually bored demeanor.

Abdul replies in the same language, "If you can stay but a little longer, it would be well, my lord.  Tell me, does this one speak true of the curse, or does he lie to save his skin?"

*Narrator:* "Alas, every word of it is true," says Fajhoul, though there is a look of adventure in his eyes. A far cry from the uncharacteristic terror Abdul had seen just moments before. "A curse in the hands of spirits of the jungles of Nog the likes of which I have never seen."

*Narrator:* _It is common parlance among adepts and those who know about curses to describe a curse as having an owner. Typically this refers to the adept who inflicted the curse, but it may also refer to a person who accidentally brought a curse down on themself or somebody else through their arrogance._

Abdul's demeanor changes and he tells R'Akibum, "You have erred in one important respect, R'Akibum.  Well, several, truly, but one that is most vital to your welfare at the moment."

*Narrator: *"Was it my hiring you as a guide, trickster scholar?" asks R'Akibum sardonically.

*Abdul:* "No, you have erred in describing Lord Fajhoul as my servant.  I have no hold over him save old acquaintance.  So you see, since you have cursed him to death, I have no means at all in preventing him from turning the tables.  Have you ever been to Ghulistan, R'Akibum?  Or perhaps the hidden cities of the shaitan and the deevs?"

*Narrator:* "Do you think I'm an idiot, whatever your name is - Abdul?" asks R'Akibum angrily. "I have made a gift of his curse to the Three Sisters of Nog, who hold the tail of his curse now. Only I know how to find their ancestral dwelling place, and so, that djinni devil has nothing to gain by killing me, and much to lose."

Abdul reminds him gently, "You have said that you have the power to release him.  Do so, and I am sure he will show the mercy for which his family is most renowned.  Is it not so, my lord?"

*Narrator:* Fajhoul leans over to Abdul, whispering in Jinnti. "You know all too well my father's 'mercy.' I fear he was merely bluffing before. Though I know little of such things, I saw the spirits for a moment."

*Narrator:* R'Akibum glares at Abdul, "Do you know nothing of the foundations of the art, you who break a curse with a word? His curse is no longer mine to lift."


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