While Jebel considered his dilemma, the cloth over the doorway was swept back and an um Wadi staggered out, a woman on each arm. He was laughing, and the women were pouring wine into his mouth.
“Take me where there’s song!” the man shouted. He was drunk but not entirely senseless. “This is a night for singing!”
“I can think of better things than singing,” one of the women purred.
The man laughed. “Later. First I want to…” He spotted Jebel and beamed. “Do you wish to join our party, young one?”
Jebel stiffened and turned to leave.
“Wait!” the man barked, spotting the tattoo on Jebel’s shoulder. “You’re one of Rashed Rum’s boys, aren’t you?”
“Who’s asking?” Jebel replied cautiously — it was never wise to reveal your identity to a stranger.
“J’An Nasrim,” the man said, pushing the women away. They yelled angrily, but he ignored them and walked over to grasp Jebel warmly. “Surely you remember your father’s old rogue of a friend.”
“Of course,” Jebel said, smiling. “It is good to see you, sir. I’m Jebel, his youngest son.”
J’An Nasrim and his father sometimes played cards together. J’An was a trader who traveled widely. Rashed Rum enjoyed listening to his tales of far-off lands, even though he always said the pirate’s neck would wind up on his block one day.
“What are you doing in Fruth?” J’An asked. He waved a hand at the women. “On the prowl?”
“No, sir,” Jebel chuckled. “I…” He coughed. “I have business here.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” J’An said, putting his palms together in the age-old sign of goodwill.
J’An Nasrim was on his way back to the women when Jebel spoke quickly. “Sir, I need help. I wouldn’t ask except…” He trailed off into silence.
“Except there’s nobody else around!” J’An laughed. He cast a curious eye over Jebel, then clapped his hands. “Away, wenches. This young um Wadi requires my advice. I’ll track you down later if I can find my way back.”
The women grumbled, but J’An tossed some swagah their way and that calmed their tempers. Wrapping an arm around Jebel, he led him to a quieter square, where they could sit on a warped bench and talk without having to shout.
“So,” J’An said when they were settled, “how can I be of help?”
Jebel wasn’t sure how to start. After a short silence, he blurted out, “I’m going on a quest.”
J’An squinted. “You’re a little on the young side but old enough, I guess. You want me to share a few travel tips with you?”
“No. The quest is… it’s not straightforward…. I mean… oh, I’m going to Tubaygat!” Jebel cried. “I want to petition Sabbah Eid.”
J’An Nasrim blinked. A few seconds later, he blinked again. “Well,” he said, scratching the tattoo of a woman on his left arm. “Tubaygat… I can’t help you with that. Never been farther north than Disi, and that was by boat. Dangerous country, Abu Saga.”
“I know,” Jebel said. “But that’s not what I wanted to ask you about. I’m stuck already. I need a slave, but I’ve no idea how to get one.”
J’An frowned. “Can’t your father help?”
“He doesn’t know,” Jebel whispered.
J’An’s frown deepened, then cleared. “Of course. I heard about Rashed’s announcement. Early retirement so his sons might compete for the honor of replacing him. But the way I heard it, he only spoke of his eldest boys.”
“Word of my humiliation has even made it to Fruth,” Jebel snarled.
“Never underestimate those who serve,” J’An said. “Slaves here often know of city intrigues hours before anybody else.”
J’An leaned back, thoughtfully rubbing a tattooed ear. He was an especially dark-skinned man, but his eyes were bright blue, evidence that one of his ancestors had come from a foreign land.
“You’ll find Sabbah Eid and ask him to make you invincible and strong,” J’An said. “Then you’ll come back, win the mukhayret and earn the respect of your father. Is that the sum of it?”
“Pretty much,” Jebel said uneasily.
“A fool’s quest,” snorted J’An.
“I’m no fool,” Jebel protested. “I have to win back my good name. My father disgraced me, and I want to be able to walk with pride again.”
“And if you die on the quest?” J’An asked.
Jebel shrugged. “At least I’ll die as a proud um Wadi.”
J’An shook his head. “I normally never tell another man his business, but…” He scowled. “No. I won’t this time either. I think you’re mad, but on your head be it. You’re old enough to waste your life if you wish. I don’t have the right to stop you, so tell me how I can help.”
“I need a slave,” Jebel said once more. “I think I can get the permission of the high lord to quest, but I have no one to sacrifice. The trouble is, I’ve no idea—”
“—how to convince a slave to travel with you.” J’An Nasrim nodded. “That’s one of the problems with questing to Tubaygat. I’m sure you’re not the first to struggle with it. Of course, it doesn’t have to be a slave. Have you any close friends who would go with you and lay down their lives on your behalf?”
“No.”
“Then a slave it must be. You know nothing of the world, so you need someone who has traveled and fought, a man of experience and honor, who won’t swear to serve you faithfully then slice your throat open once he’s safely out of Abu Aineh. You plan to quest via Abu Nekhele?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Jebel said sheepishly.
“That’s the safest route,” said J’An. “But slavery’s forbidden in Abu Nekhele. You’ll need a man you can trust like a brother, one with a strong reason not to turn on you and seize his freedom.”
J’An fell silent, considering the boy’s problem. If he’d been entirely sober, he might have marched Jebel back to his father. But wine has a way of making men act like boys, so J’An found himself taking the quest seriously.
“Tel Hesani,” he said eventually.
“A slave?” Jebel asked.
“The finest I’ve ever known,” J’An said, dragging Jebel to his feet. “His father was Um Rashrasha, a trader who spent most of his time in Abu Kheshabah, where Tel was born. Tel’s father had three wives already when he met Tel’s mother, the maximum allowed by his people, so he could only keep her as a mistress. She was his favorite, and he raised Tel the same way as he would have a legitimate son. His wives were jealous of the pair. When Tel’s father died, his widows sold Tel and his mother to slavers. They were bought by different owners, and he never saw her again. He has spent the rest of his life as a slave, but he is a noble and just man, a credit to the memory of his father.
“I traveled with Tel several years ago,” J’An said, guiding Jebel through the muddy streets. “He saved my life in Abu Safafaha. I bought him and his family upon our return and petitioned the high lord for his freedom.”
J’An sighed. “I have more enemies than friends in Wadi. I’ve offended a lot of powerful people in my time. They haven’t been able to have me executed yet, but they conspire against me whenever they can. Since I spend so much of my life on the road or seas, those opportunities are few and far between. One of their chances to spite me came when I asked the high lord to free Tel Hesani and his family. My enemies convinced him to deny my request and to revoke my right of ownership — they cooked up some charge about me swindling Tel’s original owner. The family was sold off to one of my foes.
“Tel’s new master is working him to death,” J’An said bitterly. “Soon his time will run out. When it does, his wife and daughters will be put to work in houses like the one I was coming from when I met you, and his son will be shipped off to Abu Saga to perish down the mines.”
J’An fell silent, his dark, bleak face all but invisible in the waning evening light. The story hadn’t moved Jebel — he found it hard to care about the fate of a slave — but he shook his head glumly and tutted, since he felt that was expected of him.
They came to a large house with small windows and a toilet pit in front. The area around the pit was heavily coated with lime, but the stench was still incredibly foul. Jebel gagged, but J’An Nasrim ignored the fumes and
