Page 27 of The Wishless Ones
Jafar turned to Rohan and paused with a wistful smile. “Just like old times, eh?”
Rohan immediately felt a little better. He watched Jafar leap atop the first row of crates, slowly making his way up the teetering pile. Back in their village, the two of them would sometimes scale an old apartment building and share ma’moul. It was a secret treat whenever their father sent them out on errands and Jafar would get the task done in record time, always bartering for a dinar less so he could spend it on the sweet date-filled cookie.
This was a little less leisurely, but at least Rohan wasn’t alone. He paused when he spotted something shiny between two of the crates. He reached for the dull end of it and pulled out a sword.
“Oi!”
Rohan turned at the voice, sword in hand. The guards froze, staring up at him.
“He’s got a sword!” one of them exclaimed.
The others looked as stunned as Rohan before another one of them yelled, “Idiots, so do we!”
They brandished their own swords as one and began running for him. Rohan couldn’t climb with a sword, nor did he have a desire to use such a thing. He chucked it off the crates and hurried after Jafar.
The guards were getting closer, and Jafar was nearing the top.
“Hurry!” Iago shouted.
“Oh, shut it, bird!” Rohan shouted back as he picked up the pace. Splinters in the old crates nicked his skin, and he nearly lost his footing one too many times before he reached the top.
But the tower of crates had already survived one boy and wasn’t eager to sustain another. It groaned in warning and teetered toward the alley, threatening to pull Rohan down, too. With a shout, he jumped to one of the wooden beams, swinging his legs out of reach when a guard tried grabbing him. He swung to another beam with all his weight, then used a windcatcher to climb higher.
The guards were on his tail.
“Faster, Rohan!” Jafar yelled from the top. Rohan leaped to another windcatcher, feet scrambling for purchase in the grooves of the stone.
A hand clamped around his leg before he could pull himself up to the next window ledge. He looked down, head spinning.
A guard was grinning toothily up at him. “I’ve got you now, boy.”
The rest of the guards were crawling up the wall behind him. Rohan threw a glance up, but Jafar was nowhere to be seen. Panic squeezed his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Had Iago convinced Jafar to leave him? Another thought shot through him like ice, unwelcome and unbidden: Had Iago convinced Jafar to leaveBababehind?
No, that was all you,Rohan told himself. He was confused and lost andwhywas he in his head when he was fighting for his life?
Rohan tried shaking the guard off, but his grip was iron tight. It was hopeless. Rohan was doomed. All for a set of robes he didn’t even want.
Something zoomed past his cheek, hitting the guard on the head with a thwack. Rohan stared, certain he’d imagined it. Even the guard looked just as stunned.
“Take that!” Iago shouted, followed by Jafar’s whoop from the rooftop. He was there, more rocks in hand.
Another one struck the guard. He yelped, his hold loosening enough for Rohan to yank free. He pulled himself up to the next ledge before the guard could grab him again. Sweat was trickling down his back, slickening his grip, but he was almost there. He swung his legs to the side, throwing his arm out to grip the nearest post. The wood, baking in the heat of the sun, scorched his palm, and then Jafar was reaching for him, pulling him up as the guards continued clamoring beneath them.
At last, Rohan was on his own two feet beside Jafar.
“Good?” Jafar asked. The dry breeze ruffled Jafar’s hair and whipped at his clothes, but his eyes were steady on Rohan, attentive and caring.
“Good,” Rohan replied with a nod, even as he wobbled on his feet.
A hand grabbed the edge of the rooftop. The guards were truly relentless for something as trivial as clothes. Rohan and Jafar glanced at one another and took off across the rooftops, leaping from one to the next. Jafar laughed again, and Rohan came alive at the sound.
He wasn’t in danger then; he wasn’t running for his life. They were eight and six years old again, and Jafar would protect him. Rohan found himself giving in to the moment: the wind running through his hair, the freedom of being on top of the world, the glee when they finally lost the guards.
It made him feel as if the past was still possible. Mama, laughing. Baba, brightening at the sound of it. Jafar, spending hours with Rohan.
A family.
For the first time since he’d smelled smoke, he felt hope. Jafar straightened out their new clothes, panting when he ruffled Rohan’s hair like they were still children. Rohan felt, just then, like a stray cat suddenly overwhelmed by attention.
