Siwa lowered his hand and looked to the painting. “They are beautiful when they run,” he replied. So he could still talk normally. As long as it wasn’t about the imposter.
“I have a cousin who bets on camel races,” Hadia said. “Too much. Like you. It’s not your fault. It’s a sickness.”
Siwa’s face crumpled. “I should have just been an archivist. It was my passion. Until the races. Then that became my passion. I lost my employment to it and turned to any means of getting money—so I could keep going to the races.” He motioned to the betting slips across the floor. “I do not know how to stop!”
Fatma could only imagine. Djinn were like people in a way, in picking up vices or habits. But it was worse for them. Their passions truly became just that—insatiable and unquenching. Almost as bad as golems.
“You took the list from the angels to fund your gambling,” Fatma said. “Finding Alistair Worthington’s Brotherhood must have been a gold mine.”
“It was only supposed to be a few items,” Siwa said sorrowfully. “But it became more.”
“When did you realize the angels were using you?” she asked. “In your confession. You wrote the words ‘Tricked.’ And ‘Messengers.’ They’re the ones that let you take the list. You must have figured it out. Known it couldn’t be so easy to steal from them. But you kept doing it. For the money.” If the djinn’s orange face could blush, it would. He hung his head. “We’re not here to judge. But we need to know about the one thing you didn’t steal for Alistair Worthington. That you stole for someone else.”
Siwa’s face immediately seized up, the magic taking hold.
“We won’t say anyone’s name directly,” Fatma added hastily. “Maybe we can talk without making you hurt yourself.”
The djinn looked her over before acquiescing. “I will try. To help undo what I have helped unleash.” It seemed that like the head of the Forty Leopards, he too needed some absolution.
“Can you nod or shake your head at questions?”
“Not if they are about…” His lips drew tight, unable to finish.
Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Magic never was.
“The imposter asked you to steal the Seal of Sulayman,” she began.
Siwa visibly struggled before speaking. “Indeed, each one says: ‘My faith is right, and those who believe in another faith believe in falsehood, and are the enemies of God. As my own faith appears true to me, so does another one find his own faith true; but truth is one!’”
“I think that’s a long way of saying yes,” Hadia reasoned.
One down, Fatma thought.
“Was it you that told the imposter about the ring?”
“Soul receives from soul that knowledge,” the djinn answered curtly. “Therefore not by book, nor from tongue. If knowledge of mysteries come after emptiness of mind, that is illumination of heart!”
“I think he’s saying the imposter learned it on their own,” Hadia translated. “The angels told us as much. That some people were just strong-willed enough to see through their magic. And that Marid, he said the ring had its own mind. That it would only reveal itself to someone it believed could wield it.”
“Aywa,” Fatma commended. She was good at this. “The imposter saw the ring on your list and came asking after it. You probably refused at first. But you needed the money.”
The djinn scowled in self-recrimination, his down-turned mouth spreading wider. “The learned man whom you accuse of disobeying divine law knows that he disobeys, as you do when you drink wine or exact usury or allow yourself in evil-speaking, lying, and slander. You know your sin and yield to it, not through ignorance but because you are mastered by concupiscence.”
Hadia frowned in concentration, deciphering. “He’s admitting his weakness?”
“Last one,” Fatma said. “The money wired for the ring. It came from the imposter?”
Siwa’s face strained as he fought to speak, guilt plain on his face.
“You have an illness,” Hadia said gently. “The person who knew this took advantage. Those … angels … knew this and took advantage as well. That is the true wickedness.” She looked to Fatma. “I think that’s confirmation enough.”
Fatma agreed. No need to agitate the djinn further. “Now we know for certain. The imposter is one and the same as the AW from Portendorf’s ledger. We know who that is. He had the ring stolen. And used it to make himself the Master of Djinn. All the things we’ve seen this imposter do, his mysterious powers, come through that ring—willing djinn to use their sorcery as his own.”
“God protect us,” Hadia whispered, hand to her heart. “How do we stop evil like that?”
“We get the ring back,” Fatma insisted. “If we have to take his hand to do it.”
She stood up, her mind already on what they had to do next, when Siwa unexpectedly grabbed her arm. The djinn’s face was a mass of frustration.
“So you did not care for full-bosomed companions?” he bellowed. “How does it suit you to be tested by the lion of the forest?”
Fatma looked to Hadia, who this time seemed equally baffled.
“I don’t understand,” she told the djinn.
“How does it suit you to be tested by the lion of the forest!” he repeated. He said it several more times, growing more frustrated. When he started reaching for his knife, Fatma held out her own hand to stop him.
“Maybe you could show me,” she suggested.
Siwa’s large eyes widened. He jumped up, almost knocking her over to get to his books. In a frenzy, he tore into them, tossing texts into the air as he searched. Fatma exchanged another look with Hadia, who shook her head. There was a cry of triumph, and the djinn ran back to them, a bound leather tome in his hand. Turning to the first page, he displayed the words: Sirat al-amira Dhāt al-Himma.
He thrust it at Fatma. “I’ll read it,” she assured, taking the text. A look of relief washed over his face, and he returned to slump into
