Page 21 of The Wishless Ones
Maybe.Perhaps after Jafar secured those rubies and the knowledge of every scroll he could hold—or never, if Rohan realized Jafar’s way, grounded in the science of alchemy, was the more viable one.
Or, if Rohan didn’t realize it on his own, maybe Jafar could make him.
A medley of people dotted the streets ahead, and Jafar could hear the liveliness in their voices, see it in their gait as they bartered for produce and silks, new rugs and fresh spices. It stirred something inside of him just the same.
Rohan looked down at the creased, half-torn map. “This must be the Sakaka Bazaar.” He gave their surroundings a good sweep and turned the map upside down. “Oi. We’re at the wrong end of the capital city—look, the palace and the House of Wisdom are way up there. We can’t walk that far.”
“This is very nice for a bazaar on the outskirts,” Iago said, circling them.
“Better than the bazaar we found you in before we gifted you to our father,” Jafar pointed out.
“Don’t remind me,” Iago said, and swooped ahead with a squawk.
Jafar observed the way the people of Maghriz moved and behaved. He studied a man buying an apple, placing his own hand just so over his robes, tightening them in his fist to hold it together. He pulled his shoulders back the way a woman perusing jewelry did, her chin high as if she were royalty. He saw another man with an orange headdress wrapped around his head, a jewel set in its center, making Jafar’s dusty keffiyeh seem ratty in comparison. He needed one of those. Preferably in black.
The people of Maghriz walked with pride, with the knowledge that the land beneath their feet was something earned and special, and Jafar was smitten. He tried picking up as many little quirks as he could—the slight jut of a jaw, the tilt of a chin, the way they accentuated each word as if it were a dish to be savored.
“See? That’s how we need to…” Jafar stopped and whirled around. A family carrying fresh produce stared at him blankly. A girl around his age smiled coyly. Rohan was nowhere to be seen. Nor was that vermillion-red parrot. “Rohan? Iago?”
Jafar stepped into the bustle of the market, passing stall after stall. The crowds were thick, the bazaar labyrinthine. The smells, sounds, and sights assaulted his senses. At last, Rohan’s voice came from the other side of a booth, just out of sight behind rolls of colorful fabric.
“—but she’s my sister,” Rohan was saying. “She’s bound to go into labor any moment now, but she’s on the other side of the city. My brother and I have no coin to hire a ride.”
“And her spouse?” asked a voice.
Iago was observing Rohan’s antics from a nearby post. He noticed Jafar and fluttered to his shoulder. “Get a load of this guy.”
Was…Rohan trying to secure them a ride? Jafar didn’t know if he should be proud or worried. It was like earlier, when he’d suddenly decided to follow Jafar to the tiger’s cage.
Jafar paused and listened, estimating that his brother would stammer out two more attempts at being persuasive before he shifted to full-out begging. He rounded the stalls in time to see Rohan pull a most miserable expression.
It was almost believable. If one were closing their eyes and looking the other way.
“Fallen in a skirmish,” Jafar said, rearranging his own features with ease.
Rohan, it seemed, had been trying to persuade an old merchant packing up his wares into taking the three of them across the kingdom. His face was leathered from the sun, but his features were kind.Good catch, brother.Rohan, for all his displays of innocence, could be a hawk when he wished.
The merchant looked up at him, hesitant. “You must be the other brother. And what an adorable parrot! Isn’t she a beauty.”
“She?”Iago spat, just out of earshot. “Are you listening to this? I’ll show him adorable.”
“Soon-to-be uncle, thank you,” Jafar said to the merchant, grinning as wide as he could. He lowered his voice and spoke behind his teeth to Iago. “You’ll do no such thing.”
The merchant smiled. “The new baby will be lucky to have such a devoted uncle, I am certain.” He glanced at Rohan as if he’d forgotten he was there. Jafar felt Rohan’s annoyance at the intervention loud and clear. “Uncles. Though I am sorry for the loss of your brother-in-law.”
Jafar looked as sorry as he could. “It wasn’t too long ago, unfortunately. Bandits can be horrible.”
“Bandits! Why didn’t you say so?” the merchant exclaimed, and Jafar knew he’d struck gold, for there was nothing merchants hated more. “Oh, those rascals. Get on! I’m taking you both right away.” He peeled back his cart’s rough covering and looked inside, then back at them. “I’ve sold most of my baubles today. It won’t be the comfiest of rides, but you are welcome to sit with them.”
There was just one last thing Jafar and Rohan needed to do to secure passage.
“Remind him that we can’t pay,” he murmured to Rohan, who worked his jaw at the instruction. Where was this pride coming from? He’d certainly had none of it when he would beg their father.“Do it.”
Rohan sighed and straightened. “Oh, sayyidi, we couldn’t even pay for you to take us all—”
“Nonsense!” the merchant said, and Jafar saw the decision finalize in the man’s dark eyes. His donkey brayed, and the man gave them a smile. “She says it’s settled. Now help me finish loading my cart. Yalla, yalla!”
It was scarcely an hour before they were on the road again, the merchant’s cart barely big enough for the two of them and a parrot. From his seat in front of the cart, the merchant hummed a tune while he guided his donkey, his silhouette marked by the sun against the dusty white canopy separating him from the brothers.
