—You’re insulting me, she hissed.
“And you, my lover, are lying. You never came here on your own.”
—Oh? Do you think me too stupid, or too helpless?
“Neither. You’re too contemptuous of humans, and too afraid of polluting yourself to learn their ways.”
—I, afraid? You are the one who has locked yourself away, like a mole that fears the sun! And all the while the woman you—She froze.
For a moment he stared blankly—and then his face darkened. “Sophia,” he said. “Of course. She came to Palmyra, didn’t she? You saw her there, you saw what I’d done to her . . . It was Sophia’s dreams that you entered, not some healer’s. Oh, I’m a thrice-cursed fool. Have you hurt her, jinniyeh?”
—Of course not!
“Where is she now?”
The jinniyeh said nothing.
His eyes narrowed. He turned from her and descended the staircase. After a moment she followed, spiraling alongside him.—But this is ridiculous! You’re no longer her lover, and you’re neither her ally nor her kin. Why does it matter to you?
“Because I’m the one who sent her into your path.”
He reached the bottom and began a search of the workshop cabinets, at last pulling a stained work-shirt from their depths. He frowned at it, then yanked off the leather apron and donned the shirt in its place, tucking it into his ragged trousers.
—What are you doing? she said. Are you leaving?
“Yes. And so are you. You’re going to take me to Sophia.” He looked down at his feet, bent and rummaged in the cabinet again.
She made a scoffing sound.—And why would I?
“Because I won’t go to the Cursed City if you don’t.” He emerged with a pair of heavy work-boots and put them on.
—Perhaps I don’t want you there anymore, she told him.
“Oh, yes, you do,” he said, tying up the laces. “I’m the iron-bound jinni, remember? I’m part of your precious story. You’ll drag me back like an imp in a gourd if you have to.”
She made a derisive noise.—You might be grateful that I’m offering you a home, when all you have is this . . . this monstrosity in a box!
That made him stop. He stood then and looked past her, gazing at the climbing metalwork with a strange look on his face. “A monstrosity in a box,” he repeated—and then, to her bewilderment, began to chuckle.
—You dare laugh at me?
“No, jinniyeh, at me. I never truly noticed until now—but here, look.” He gestured to the Amherst’s corners, sketching a sharp-sided cube in the air. “Inside one unchanging, earthbound form . . .” And now he pointed to the central staircase, fingers spiraling upward—“. . . is the memory of flight.” He smiled at her confusion. “Don’t you see? I thought I was creating something the world had never seen before, but I only built myself again. Ahmad al-Hadid, the not-quite jinni. The monstrosity in the box.” He grinned, shaking his head. “They can have it, when they come,” he said, as though to himself. “They’ll find some use for it. A playground for the children, perhaps.”
Had he gone mad?—What children? Who are ‘they’?
“My neighbors, the others who live here. Apparently I’ve been hiding away for too long, and they’re about to break down the Amherst door. Imagine their faces.” He grinned.
—And you’ll simply . . . let them? You won’t fight for your home?
His smile faded. “No,” he said, “I won’t. I don’t want to fight them, not for this. You were right. It’s just a box.”
She flew closer.—And if the Cursed City should be threatened—if the humans and our kin should push eastward, against its borders—will you push back? Will you fight then?
“Jinniyeh,” he said, “I know what you want me to say. But—”
She didn’t let him finish.
She grabbed the updraft from the forge and fashioned it into a cyclone that lifted him off his feet. Dust and cinders whirled around him as he struggled to break free. She raised him high in the air, so she could look him in the face. There it was: the fear she’d wanted to see.
—You wish to fly? she said, and threw him against a platform.
The entire building seemed to vibrate. He fell; she caught him in the wind again, lifted him. He was grimacing, his eyes half closed. She smiled. She wouldn’t hurt him, not truly. She only wanted to remind him.
She spun him around and hurled him against the wall behind the forge. Brick and mortar shuddered—and the pipe that led to the water tower snapped in two.
A cataract of water burst from the wall and struck the burning forge, which exploded in a clap of steam that shook the air itself. The jinniyeh tumbled from her wind, half stunned. What had happened? The air was full of water, she couldn’t find her bearings, there wasn’t any sky—where was the sky—
Blinded, terrified, she flew straight into the torrent.
The pain brought the Jinni to his senses.
He lay beside the wall in a pool of water, shallow but growing. He hauled himself to standing, thankful for the boots. Water still poured from the burst pipe, a dozen feet above his head. The break was above the valve; the water would run until the tower was dry.
At the far end of the forge drifted the jinniyeh, stunned and injured, caught in the spray.
“Jinniyeh!” he shouted. He could see through her in places, her formless body flickering around the wounds. He wanted to run to her side—but what good would that do, when he couldn’t even touch her?
He looked up at the fountaining water, then clenched his teeth, grabbed the pipe, and climbed.
Up he went like a cat-burglar, gripping with feet and fingers, hoping against hope that the pipe would bear his weight. Water gushed above him, drowning him in mist. His entire body glowed with pain.
He climbed the last few feet, braced himself for a moment—and then lunged and grabbed the pipe above the break.
Water poured over him as he twisted the pipe back upon itself. His legs shook; his hands grew numb.
