Old travelers and sailors used the asturlab to tell their place in the world. So that no matter where they went, they could locate the Qibla for prayer or know the proper time of sunrise. I made this watch for you, light of my eyes, so that you can always know where you are. Cairo is a big city—so big, you can get lost if you’re not careful. If things ever get too fast, and you feel as if you don’t know where you’re going, remember this gift. It will always lead you back where you need to be.
“Counting down the hours?” a voice purred in her ear.
She jumped slightly as Siti’s arms wrapped around her waist. She hadn’t even heard the woman stir, much less cross the room.
“Still can’t sleep?”
Fatma closed the pocket watch. “Can’t keep my mind quiet.”
“Been a busy week. You’re lucky to be alive.”
That was true. No one had died in the attack, praise be to God. The ghuls, it seemed, were meant to keep people out of the way. Even the missing guard had turned up, in his oversized uniform. But they weren’t without casualties. The building’s brain had been destroyed. For all intents and purposes, the imposter had murdered it.
Zagros was another troubling matter.
That the imposter was able to turn one of their own damaged morale more than any bomb. The djinn librarian hadn’t put up resistance when arrested. He was a traitor for certain. But an oddly quiet one. He spent his days in a cell, refusing to speak to anyone. She still saw his golden eyes as he tried to kill her. Empty. Dead.
“Come back to bed,” Siti urged, nuzzling her neck. “Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.”
Fatma leaned back, wishing she could. But her mind wouldn’t stop working, like her watch. She and Hadia hadn’t been able to do much on the case since the attack. Between sweeps for traps, leftover ghuls, and repairs, the building wouldn’t be habitable for days. They’d been working out of makeshift offices, but things were no longer solely in their hands.
Brass had stepped in, pulling in agents from as far as Alexandria. It was a manhunt now. Find out where the imposter would strike next. Chase down every sighting. Arrest anyone involved. The leads she and Hadia had dug up, the investigation around Lord Worthington’s death—all of that had been mostly abandoned.
“It’s like they don’t even care about solving the case,” she grumbled.
“The imposter’s admitted to the crime,” Siti said. “Added a bombing to the list.”
“But there’s no motive!”
“I thought we were just going with criminally insane?”
Fatma cursed silently. “We were getting close. I know it. Alexander Worthington. He’s involved somehow!”
Siti shook her head. “No one’s going to let you go after Alexander Worthington. Not on the eve of the king’s peace summit. The one his father put together. It would be a scandal. And, no offense, but you don’t exactly have much to go on.”
Fatma exhaled wearily. Not from lack of sleep but exasperation. Siti was right. Brass had commanded her to stay away from the Worthingtons. Not to question their associates, or take any action to embarrass them. They couldn’t even subpoena business records. Aasim had similar orders. Finding the imposter and making certain the king’s summit went off without a hitch was now top priority. She and Hadia had even been put on assignment that night, in an attempt to make the palace an impregnable fortress.
“I told you what he took from the vault,” Fatma whispered. “You know better than anyone what that could mean.”
The two of them had been the only ones to see the Clock of Worlds set into motion. The machine had been built by a rogue angel named Maker—based on the Theory of Overlapping Spheres, the very one al-Jahiz used to open the portal to the Kaf forty years past. Using blood sorcery, the angel had unlocked a doorway to some nether-realm—part of a mad plan to cleanse humanity and start anew. She and Siti managed by the skin of their teeth to stop him, closing the portal, and sealing away the terrible things within.
She’d explained all this to the higher-ups at the Ministry, begging them to take seriously the threat of the Clock of Worlds in the imposter’s hands. Amir backed her up. But their concerns were waved away. No madman and imposter would be able to re-create the work of an angel, they reasoned. She was certain more than a few doubted her account of what the machine was capable of doing. It was all so maddening.
“It’s getting dark out there.”
Siti looked out onto the city, understanding she wasn’t speaking about the night. “All the temples are worried about these Jahiziin.”
Fatma rolled her eyes at the term, cooked up by the dailies to describe the imposter’s followers. There couldn’t be that many. Most Cairenes were too sensible for that. Probably fewer than a thousand. But a loud and determined minority was all you needed to sow chaos.
“That firebombing last night of the aether mechanic,” Siti went on. “That was actually a Temple of Osiris. The head priest was only saved because some Forty Leopards intervened—chased the Jahiziin off.”
Fatma met that with surprise, recalling their run-in with the Forty Leopards at el-Arafa. “So the lady thieves are on our side now?”
“Be thankful someone is,” Siti remarked playfully. Her tone turned sober. “Merira’s shop window was smashed last night. But I think it was just random vandalism, not an attack on Hathor. We’ve been careful.”
Fatma was reminded of their argument about whether the temples could come out into the open. She didn’t bring it up.
“It might all unravel, you know. The whole city. Come apart like a cheap suit.”
Siti rumbled a low laugh. “Like you know anything about cheap suits.” Then hugging Fatma
