“So let’s see it, then,” Fatma demanded.
Saeed unslung a brown satchel from his shoulder and set it on the table. As he reached inside, Fatma found her hand gripping the lion-headed pommel of her cane. Patience.
“Wait.” Gamal put out a restraining arm. “Let’s see the money.”
Fatma gripped tighter. This kid was becoming annoying.
“That isn’t how we conduct business,” Khalid chided.
“It’s how I conduct it, Uncle.” His eyes fixed on Fatma. “You have it?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead she met his gaze—until some of his bravado wilted. Only then did she reach into her jacket to pull out a roll of banknotes. The blue-green paper affixed with the royal seal glittered in the kid’s eyes, and he licked his lips before nodding. Saeed looked relieved and drew out an object from the satchel. Fatma’s breath caught.
It looked like a bottle made of metal instead of glass, with a pear-shaped bottom inlaid with flowering gold designs that ran up a long neck. Its surface was tarnished a dull bronze, but she guessed it was brass.
“It’s old,” Saeed noted, fingers tracing the engravings. “I’m thinking maybe from the Abbasids. That’s at least a thousand years.”
Good eye. So under that nervous gaze was a scholar.
“We found it fishing. I was thinking it was meant to hold perfume or used by early alchemists. But this…” His hand went to a stopper at the bottle’s top, running along a jade ceramic seal engraved with a dragon. “Never seen its like before. Chinese maybe? Tang? Don’t recognize the writing either. And the wax is fresh, like it was just put on yesterday—”
“You haven’t removed any of it, have you?” Fatma cut in.
The sharpness in her tone sent his eyes wide.
“Usta Khalid told us not to. That the seal intact was part of the sale.”
“Glad you listened. Or you might have wasted all our time.”
“Aywa,” Gamal sighed. “What I want to know is what’s so special about it? Saeed and I find lots of junk. Every day, wallahi. Everything people throw into the Nile comes up again. We sell them to rich people like you. But no one’s ever offered so much, wallahi. I’ve heard other things—”
“Gamal,” Saeed cut in. “It’s not the time to start that again.”
“I think it’s a fine time,” Gamal replied, eyes fixed on Fatma. “My old setty used to tell me stories of djinn imprisoned in bottles being thrown into the sea—long before al-Jahiz brought them back into the world. She said fishermen would sometimes find them, and when they freed the djinn, it would grant their greatest desires. Wallahi! Three wishes, that could make you a king or the richest man in the world!”
“Do I look like your setty?” Fatma asked. But this time, the kid’s bravado didn’t waver.
“No deal,” he said suddenly. Grabbing the bottle, he pushed it back into the satchel. In her mind, Fatma howled.
Saeed looked flummoxed. “Ya Allah! What are you doing? We need that money!”
Gamal made a chiding sound. “Ah! Wallahi, you’re only smart with books! Think! If this is what I believe it is—what she believes it is—we could use it ourselves! Ask for money to rain from the skies! Or turn a whole pyramid to gold!”
“The two of you are making a mistake,” Khalid warned. His dark face was like a storm, and the white hair that surrounded it bristling clouds. “Take this deal and go your own way. By the Merciful, it isn’t wise—”
“Isn’t wise?” Gamal mocked. “Are you a shaykh now? Going to start reciting hadith? You don’t frighten us, old man. So eager to take the bottle off us when we came to you. Then when we refused, you were even more eager to set up this deal. The two of you in this together? Thinking to cheat us? Best be careful. Might use one of our wishes on you, wallahi!”
Fatma had heard enough. Should have known the kid wouldn’t be an honest broker, not with all the wallahis he threw around. Anybody who swore to God that habitually couldn’t be trusted. So much for doing this the easy way. Reaching back into her jacket, she drew out a bit of silver and placed it flat onto the table. The old Ministry identification had been a set of bulky papers with an affixed daguerreotype. They’d switched to this badge in the past year—with an alchemical photograph melded to the metal. Blowing her cover hadn’t been her first plan. But watching the brashness drain from Gamal’s face was worth it.
“You’re with the Ministry?” Saeed croaked.
“Pretty hard to get one of these otherwise,” she replied.
“It’s a trick,” Gamal stammered. “There aren’t women in the Ministry.”
Khalid sighed. “You two should read the papers more.”
Gamal shook his head. “I don’t believe it. You’re not—”
“Khallas!” Fatma hissed, leaning forward. “It’s over! Here’s what you need to know. There are four other agents in this room. See the man at the door?” She didn’t bother to turn as the two peered over her shoulder. “There’s another talking everyone’s ear off at a table to your right. And a third, enjoying his hookah and watching a game of tawla on your left. The fourth, I won’t even tell you where he is.”
Their heads swiveled about like meerkats. Saeed visibly trembled.
“So here’s what happens now. You hand over that bottle. I give you half of what we agreed on—for making this difficult. And I won’t haul you in for questioning. We have a deal?”
Saeed nodded so quickly, his ears flapped. Gamal was another matter: shaken, but not broken. His eyes darted from her to the badge to the satchel and back. When his
