“I have some already, my lord,” Jebel said. J’An Nasrim had presented him with a small bag of swagah before leaving to tell Jebel’s father the news.
“Some is good,” the high lord grunted. “More is better.” He filled a pouch with gold swagah and another with silver. Jebel accepted the gifts silently. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Guard the coins carefully,” the high lord said. “Divide them between yourself and your slave. The path to Tubaygat is never easy. Even a small fortune like this won’t ensure your safe passage. Don’t rely on swagah. Keep your wits about you too.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Jebel.
Wadi Alg thought about what other advice he could bestow upon the boy, then decided this wasn’t the time for a lecture. Instead he clapped Jebel on the back and dismissed him. He didn’t wish him luck — it wasn’t the custom.
Jebel retreated with Tel Hesani. Debbat slipped out after them. “I thought you might like to look at me one last time,” she preened, free to act as she liked now that there was no one to see.
“It won’t be the last time,” Jebel said confidently. Then he did something he wouldn’t have dared under any other circumstances — he bent forward and kissed the high maid. Debbat’s eyes widened, but she didn’t pull free. When Jebel released her, he was beaming dreamily.
“I could have you executed for that!” gasped Debbat.
“You won’t,” Jebel smirked.
Debbat glared at him, then giggled. “If you return, perhaps you’ll receive more than a kiss next time.”
With that she swept away, buzzing from the memory of the kiss but not sure if she should tell her friends about it — after all, it was only Jebel Rum, and who on Makhras had ever wanted to kiss
Jebel watched the high maid leave, wishing he could kiss her again. Then Tel Hesani said, “We must make a start, master.”
“It’s still early,” Jebel grumbled.
“We have much to do before we leave. We need to study a map, decide on our route, purchase supplies….”
“All right,” Jebel snarled. “Just don’t forget who’s in charge.”
“I would never presume to tell my young master his business,” said Tel Hesani. “But since I know more of the world than you, I urge you to heed my advice. That is, after all, one of the reasons why you chose me.”
Jebel thought about whipping Tel Hesani for his impudence. But when he gazed into the slave’s eyes, he hesitated. Jebel was certain the slave loved his wife and children and would help the um Wadi for their sake. But slaves were savages at heart. He might forget his vow and strangle Jebel if pushed too far.
“Come on,” Jebel said, nudging ahead of the tall, pale-skinned man. “We have to drop your brood of rats off at my father’s before we leave.”
Tel Hesani didn’t respond to that, just followed with a wry smile.
Murasa and the children were waiting outside the servants’ entrance, and so, to Jebel’s surprise, was Bastina.
“I know what you’ve done,” Bastina said. “I feared you’d do something stupid, so I came here and Murasa told me about your deal.”
“It’s not stupid,” Jebel grunted. He thrust his arm out at the servant girl so she could admire his brand. “See?”
Bastina didn’t even look at his arm. “You shouldn’t have done this,” she said softly. “There were other ways to redeem your honor.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jebel huffed. “You’re just a girl.”
“Maybe,” Bastina said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But I care about you. I know you’re going to die or be captured by slavers. And I know I’ll miss you. I…” Tears overwhelmed her and she had to stop. Murasa put an arm around the girl and hugged her, glaring at Jebel accusingly.
“It’s not my fault she feels that way,” Jebel muttered. But he felt bad, so he reached behind his tunic to where he’d strapped the bags of swagah and pressed three silver coins into Bastina’s hand.
“I don’t want your blood money,” she wept.
“It’s a gift, Bas,” Jebel said. “If I return, give them back to me. If I don’t, you can spend them on a memorial for me — though I think you’d be better off buying some new clothes.” He tugged at her dirty blouse. “You’d attract a husband a lot quicker if you had nice outfits.”
“What do you care… whether I… get married or not?” Bastina gulped. “You’re only worried… about Debbat and what… she thinks of you.”
“I worry about you too,” Jebel said, and it wasn’t a total lie. “I’d like to see you married. You’re not ugly, except when you cry. The trouble is, you cry most of the time — when people are beheaded, when slaves are whipped, when questers set off.” He wiped tears from her face and smiled. “Buy fancy clothes if I don’t return, and try not to cry so much. Then you’ll find a husband in no time.”
Jebel stepped back from Bastina and smiled sheepishly at Tel Hesani. The slave looked at Jebel neutrally, awaiting his command. “Well,” Jebel said uncertainly, “I guess we’d better take your family to my father’s house and—”
“Bas said that she would take us,” Murasa interrupted. “I told her you would be in a hurry to leave. J’An Nasrim will have already told your father of your quest, so there is no need for you to accompany us, unless you wish to discuss it with him before you depart.”
Jebel would have liked to say good-bye to his father and brothers — he felt lonely now that he realized he would probably never see them again — but questers didn’t usually take a detour to bid their loved ones farewell. Besides, he didn’t think they would approve of his decision, and he couldn’t stand the thought of them criticizing him.
“Very well,” Jebel said hollowly. He glanced at Tel Hesani, then Murasa. “Is there anything you want to say to each other?”
“We said all that needed to be said before we left home,” Tel Hesani replied. He exchanged a look with Murasa, then with his children. They all gazed at him silently, fighting back tears. Tel Hesani gulped, then turned and pointed to a street. “I suggest we go this way, to the docks. From there we can follow the path north to where the early-morning traders pitch their stalls.”
“Yes,” Jebel said. “That was my plan anyway.” He smiled at Bastina. Sniffling, she put her hands together and bowed. He nodded at her roughly, then hurried after Tel Hesani, who was already several strides ahead and moving swiftly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was a glorious summer morning, not a single cloud in the perfect blue sky. A breeze blew in off the as- Sudat, cooling those who labored nearby.
Jebel and Tel Hesani had walked all night, arriving at the huge market on the northern outskirts of Wadi a few hours before daybreak. Jebel was fit to drop by the time they stopped, and he dozed until dawn, sitting on a stone bench, head bobbing, watched over by his slave.
As the sun rose and traders set up their wares, Tel Hesani tapped Jebel’s shoulder. Jebel awoke sluggishly, got up, and stretched. His branded arm still felt as if it was on fire, but he clenched his teeth against the pain.
“What first?” He yawned, staring at the rows of stalls. Lots of traders were laying out their goods on tables or hanging them from overhead hooks, but others simply placed them on a mat or on the ground.
“We need to buy a good map,” Tel Hesani said. “Then we can choose our route. It helps to know where you are going before you set out.”
Jebel was too tired to mark the slave’s sarcasm. “All right,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Do you know where the mapmakers are?”
