Page 13 of The Wishless Ones
“We’re not looking for the lamp,” Jafar said. “We need to find the two halves of the golden scarab that will lead us to it—andmake sure such a thing exists.”
“I thought your mother said that it does,” Iago said.
“Are you saying you don’t trust Mama?” Rohan asked, looking at Jafar in the light slanting through the narrow window.
“I trusted Mama,” Jafar said. “Which is why I trust that what she told us was a story.” He studied the borders and routes. “Let’s see here. Hulum has more weapons and mercenaries than it does books or people to read them. Agrabah is a trade center known to possess enchanted objects, but going bazaar hunting will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. We want to go to Maghriz so we can learn about the lamp and the scarab halves and, most of all, verify that it’s all true.”
“Why can that only happen in Maghriz?” Rohan asked. The name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He was too overwhelmed by everything that had happened and was still happening.
“It’s where we’ll find the House of Wisdom,” Jafar said.
Rohan froze. Of course. He knew all about Maghriz and the House of Wisdom. Jafar spoke about it endlessly.
Jafar’s scholarship.
The words sprang to Rohan’s tongue:Your letter came today. You were accepted, but—but what? How could he tell Jafar that Baba didn’t want him to attend, and so their father had ripped Jafar’s one prestigious ticket into shreds? And that Rohan might have had a hand in it all?
Baba was dead now. The scholarship burned to ashes. Gone, just like everything else in their life. And the last thing Rohan wanted was to sour Jafar’s last image of Baba even further.
Rohan was vaguely aware that his guilt was getting in the way of his awareness, but he couldn’t fight it. Still, if Jafar was planning to reach the House of Wisdom’s gates and speak of a pending scholarship, that could be infinitely worse. They wouldn’t hesitate to tell him that he had indeed been accepted. Jafar was smart enough to piece together the rest.
Iago squawked. “Too bad you don’t have that scholar—”
Wretched bird!Rohan hurried to speak over him.
“But the House of Wisdom is near the palace, filled with guards—” Rohan started.
“There are plenty of—” said Jafar at the same time.
They stared at each other, and in the silence, the sounds of people going about their days echoed from outside. Only their lives had changed. Rohan had gone and killed his father, and the rest of the world kept moving.
“You first,” Jafar said.
Iago looked between the two of them with far more attitude than a parrot should possess.
“It’s impossible,” Rohan said. “The House of Wisdom is in the capital city, near the Maghrizi palace. Think about how tight security might be.”
“Spoken like a true coward,” Iago pronounced.
Rohan gritted his teeth. He was beginning to regret buying the parrot. “What’s in it for you, anyway? You’re just lucky Jafar decided to trust your ugly hide and save your life.”
Jafar looked taken aback at Rohan’s outburst but still shifted an expectant gaze toward Iago.
“You too?” Iago asked, hurt flashing in his eyes. “I told you guys. I want to know why I’m like this as much as you two bozos. The House of Wisdom is my best bet.”
Jafar pursed his lips, pleased with the response. He glanced at Rohan. “Nothing is ever impossible,” Jafar assured him. “I overheard during one of Baba’s meetings that Maghriz is on the brink of war. Something, something, treaty, alliance. They won’t be too concerned about us.”
Rohan wanted to argue, but he needed to be less afraid. He needed the lamp. Possibly more than Jafar did. Rohan couldn’t live with himself knowing what he’d done.
It wasn’t some fluke that had killed Baba. Rohan was used to making wishes in times of desperation, and it always resulted in fate laughing in his face. Which was another reason he needed the lamp: so his wishes would come true without any extra casualties.
Jafar folded up the map and tucked it away, straightening his shoulders and then his robes of crimson and black as if they weren’t singed and covered in soot.
“Stop being so glum,” he said. “When have I ever steered us wrong?”
Rohan hid a smile. Jafar had been there for him, always and always. He had filled the shoes of a parent when their mother had died and their father no longer had love to give. He had protected Rohan even when it was to his own detriment.
Perhaps that was why Rohan had agreed with Baba about the scholarship.
