Page 17 of The Wishless Ones
Rohan knew exactly what he meant. “I’ll kill you.”
He couldn’t fully control what jumped out of his mouth sometimes.
“Those are some real bold words to say right after your father died in a mysterious fire,” Iago said ominously.
Rohan froze and then desperately tried to unfreeze so that Iago wouldn’t feel the muscles in his back tense. How did Iago know of Rohan’s terrible deed? Rohan thought back to a time several years ago when he’d bribed a servant boy to keep quiet about the pony who had died of a fever brought on by Rohan’s lack of care. What kind of bribe would Iago require?
Before Rohan could craft a response, Jafar materialized beside him, not a hair out of place. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Everything all right over here?” Jafar asked, narrowing his eyes. He had a cloak slung over his arm. “I expected a little more excitement due to the fact that I was not eaten by the tiger.”
“Just making conversation,” Iago said cavalierly, hopping off and squinting at the cloak. “Glad you weren’t eaten alive. Are we off to phase two now?”
The fact that Iago could switch emotions so quickly was not lost on Rohan. He eyed the parrot but said nothing, following Jafar as he took the lead. Rohan decided then and there that he hated Iago. He hated that the parrot had survived the fire, and he hated that he’d ever bought it in the first place.
“Yes,” Jafar said, and began walking down the ledge as the alarmed shouts of the caliph’s staff carried on behind them.
“And what’s phase two?” Iago asked, flapping along beside Jafar.
“Impersonating the caliph,” Jafar answered, detouring through an alley to avoid the hubbub of the bazaar. Rohan hated how cheerful the people seemed, how no one seemed to be mourning Baba.
“Hey!” Iago protested. “You said no imitating! No confuddling!”
Jafar nodded. “During phase one. For phase two, we’ll be getting aboard that caravan by impersonating the caliph.”
Iago harrumphed. “Which means you two would fail without me.”
“Which means you two would fail without me,”Rohan mimicked in exactly the same cadence and tone.
Iago’s wings stopped working for a beat, sending him plummeting. As Jafar laughed, the bird righted himself and gaped at Rohan in surprise.
“Exactly, parrot,” Rohan said, finding himself growing more and more bitter with every passing second.
They passed through an empty plaza, where a water fountain gurgled forlornly, the stone crumbling, the few decorative tiles dull and chipped. Baba had been trying to change that. To improve their tiny village.
“This way,” Jafar said, squeezing into a gap between two large buildings to a clearing where people had gathered, camels idling and cart coverings flapping. The caravan. Rohan, Jafar, and Iago ducked behind the cover of a few overgrown shrubs.
“We don’t need you at all,” Rohan added. “I have more abilities than you can dream of.”
“Ability,” Jafar said, correcting him. He turned and readjusted Rohan’s keffiyeh, tightening it against his protest. “Not plural. And the ability to mimic someone is hardly uncanny. That goes for both of you.”
Voices stirred with the breeze. The camels grunted, stomping their feet, their backs piled high with parcels and packages or fitted with little tents over cushioned seats. One of them spat and another snorted. Most of the travelers were already settled. Some clutched bags, others held children tight. Rohan spotted someone with a goat, and another with a bird in a cage.
“We should get Iago one of those,” Rohan said, gesturing to the cage.
“Focus,” Jafar said, draping the caliph’s cloak over Rohan’s shoulders. “Ready?”
The cloak stank of old closets and tickled his nose, but he held back a sneeze.
“Ready,” Rohan said, and marched toward the caravan leader while Jafar and Iago remained at a distance.
The leader held up a hand. “Passage isn’t open to all.”
Rohan was melting under this thing, and the sooner he was out of it, the sooner he would stop wanting to lie down in the sand and drown in his own sweat.
The camel train was more lavish than most that traveled through their village, the animals draped in jewel tones and beaded reins.
“I should”—Rohan paused to make his voice a tad more gummy, waiting for the rumble of a fruit cart to get closer and help his facade—“hope not.”
