He studied the geography of the tent and the routines of life inside the fraction that saw use. He learned that most staff lived outside. They did almost nothing when out of sight of their supervisors, who did not themselves much care if the staff kept busy.
Much of the complex was in worse shape than the trash space where Haroun hid. Several vixens had denned up in one eastern area. They and their kits squabbled constantly.
The staff knew about them al . They knew about the rats and mice and camel spiders, too, and ignored them. Al they did was keep the rouge on the old woman’s cheeks by maintaining what could be seen from outside.
These people had abandoned El Murid’s dream.
They stole from him, too. Mostly food, now. Traffic in salable trinkets had dried up because there was so little worthwhile plunder left. Haroun suspected that the staff payrol s included some family ghosts, too.
The court of the Disciple was swamped in corruption.
Come nightfal Haroun was free to do as he wil ed. He ran into no one even when he pilfered food. He eavesdropped when he could. He had nothing else to do but wait.
In time he would feel safe going out again, as someone new.
He could kil the Disciple. That would be easy. But it would put him on the run again, with nowhere to hide. And the result might not be positive. El Murid’s religion had become locked into an inward-facing stasis. His latest genius war captains defeated al external threats but no longer insisted on converting the world.
The movement was old and tired and befuddled, like its founder.
Kil him and someone competent might step in.
Assassination could wait until God Himself could be framed for it.
He wished he could slip the old madman some opium. One fat dose would undo al the good so many had achieved.
Even by day the people who worked in the tent never left the smal occupied stain behind the entrance.
Haroun enjoyed himself the first week. During the second he grew more active because he felt more driven. During the third he began crafting schemes.
...
Yasmid greeted Elwas unhappily. “You have brought me nothing again.” “True. The ghost has not returned from the spirit world. And we did agree that we would leave him there, some time ago.”
“Yet you kept looking.”
“I did. For your sake.”
“And?”
“No one has seen him since that night. People remember him on the coast. People remember him coming through the pass. He came here, then he vanished.”
“I real y do have to let go.” Talking to herself, not Elwas. “I want to talk about al-Fadl. He has given up the names of the
people who sold him some of the more unusual properties we found at his place.”
“You’re about to tel me something I’d rather not hear?” “I am. About bad people in places where we want only the best to
abide. Barking Snake was rich. He got that way sel ing stolen goods.
Most of those came from your father’s tent or from the shrines. Barking Snake’s business has been bad lately.
Your father had been robbed of everything smal enough to smuggle out of his tent. I talked to the guards. They check everyone going in but no one coming out. The need never occurred to them. I don’t think they were involved.” “My father’s servants stole from him?”
“It wasn’t organized.
It was individuals seizing opportunities.” “Elwas, I despair of humankind. The best man in our world, chosen by God Himself, has been surrounded by rogues and thieves, like flies around dung, since the first day he preached. I wish God would put patience aside and destroy the evildoers.”
“That wouldn’t leave many of us to deal with the corpses, Lady.” “No doubt. Any suggestions about how to deal with the thieves?” “Let them know that they’ve been found out.
Punish the most egregious. Let the rest be, but with a never another chance warning.” “Accept their vil ainy?”
“Your father doesn’t tolerate change wel . The swami worked a miracle, getting accepted as quickly as he did.” True. Meals with her father were a regular event, now. He did not recognize her or speak to her yet but the Matayangan insisted they would get there soon.
She saw some improvement herself.
Phogedatvitsu said most of the indifference was stubbornness donned for the occasion.
“Can we recover any of the stolen goods?”
“Some, but, unfortunately, what the criminal stil had is of little value.”
“Find out who was the most flagrant vil ain. Have his right hand cut off. Then have someone who knows how look at their accounts.” “Very wel . Wil you cancel the next dinner?”
“No. Where is Habibul ah? It is a beautiful morning. I’d like to go walking.”
“It is a fine day, indeed. Unfortunately, Habibul ah is sick.
He has whatever has been going around among the old men. He’l be back in a few days.”
It was a fierce sickness—if it was not poison. One ancient imam and several elderly Invincibles had expired. Several other imams were not expected to recover.
Could someone be eliminating them?
Two more imams and another Invincible died. Habibul ah recovered.
Stil so weak he needed help walking, he took his place opposite Yasmid next time she dined with her father.
Just they two were there. Elwas was outside removing a thief ’s stealing hand.
It said much about El Murid’s attendants that none had fled despite al-Fadl’s arrest.
Elwas came late to his seat beside Habibul ah but the Disciple was later stil . Phogedatvitsu showed up long enough to say, “There wil be a delay. This is the anniversary of an encounter from which he barely escaped death at the hand of a Wahlig of el Aswad. He thinks he saw the man’s ghost this morning.” He did not use his interpreter. Habibul ah told Elwas, “There was a raid soon after Nassef captured Sebil el-Selib. Yousif and his brother Fuad caught the Disciple near the
Malachite Throne. Only Nassef ’s timely arrival saved him.”
“That was a long time ago.”
Yasmid asked, “Is this a good sign? That he can get excited about something? Or is it bad?”
Elwas said, “It’s a step forward. He has engaged the external world.” Yasmid said, “An imaginary world.” Habibul ah said, “He could start seeing real people next.” And Elwas, “Lady, when I brought the swami here your father saw
legions of imaginary beings, mostly ghosts. And not the ones you would expect. Not your mother. Never your brother. He doesn’t remember that you had a brother anymore. He did see Nassef a lot. Nassef was always here. They engaged in spirited debates about everything imaginable. I heard only your father’s side and I’m too young to have seen the Scourge of God himself but I think I know him pretty wel , now. He was a remarkable man.”
“Yes. And a bizarre mix.” Yasmid did not want to talk about the dead.
Hammad al Nakir was inhabited more by ghosts than live actors. The people were tired of war but al looked back to the glory days of war, when captains like Nassef, Karim, el-Kader, and el Nadim had made the earth shake.
Yasmid had seen those days from the inside. She knew that the golden age was a delusion. The look-backers had forgotten the cost: women without husbands and sons, children without fathers, works public and private destroyed and, even now, not restored, and al the fertile lands laid waste. Al in the Name of God the Compassionate.
Recol ections of evil were fading. They would go extinct once the last folk who had survived those times went to their rewards. Then the Believers would grow infatuated with tales of glory til some young Nassef or el-Kader, some half-bandit, half-charismatic holy warrior, began the cycle anew.
“Lady?” Habibul ah sounded concerned. “Is something wrong?” “Yes. But we can’t do anything about it. We
