Plough to Blade Turned

Jawad walked through the medinas, aware that the Black Teeth had spies and watchers on every corner. The fact that none had interrupted his visit to Amal was not proof that he walked unseen among them, but rather of her low position in the hierarchy. She was only loosely affiliated with them, and if she was too weak to protect herself against being robbed by a cripple, they were not going to intervene on her behalf.

Jawad had a day before the Master and his lapdog, Hashim, would expect to hear full information on how to rob al-Badawi. Both before that moment and afterwards, he assumed that his every step was watched by them. Only greed had ensured his release from their dungeon, and only greed kept him alive. While it was a useful character trait to exploit when it came to dealing with thieves, Jawad knew that he was sailing in treacherous waters. He should take further measures if possible.

This line of thinking brought him to Ishak’s door once more. “Jawad!” the alchemist exclaimed. “Such a pleasure to see you. It’s been so long. Come in, come in!”

Jawad did as offered, stepping inside. “I have payment for you.” He poured out the silver and gems taken from Amal onto a table along with most of the coin that Dār al-Gund had given him. “For your help with this?” Jawad raised his left hand to prod Ishak’s memory.

“Of course! I remember as if it were yesterday.”

“It was.”

“That’s why I remember it so well, you kitten claw,” Ishak said irritated. “Let me have another look.” He extended his own hands, taking Jawad’s injured fingers and carefully touching them. “Too early to tell. But let’s do what we can.” He unwrapped the cloth, applied new balm to the hand, and gave it a fresh bandage.

“Thanks,” Jawad muttered. “Is it enough to pay you for the – other remedies I asked you to prepare?” He nodded at the money on the table.

“It will suffice.”

“Is it done?”

“It is. “Ishak lowered his voice. “What do you need such elixirs for? They are most unpleasant to swallow. I would not wish such a fate on my worst enemy. I mean, she nagged me to death, but that’s what a mother-in-law is supposed to do.”

“If I told you that the poisons are for the Black Teeth, would it calm you?”

Ishak considered this. “I guess that counts as exterminating vermin.”

“The poisons are for the Black Teeth.”

“That calms me.” Ishak dug out a small bundle containing flacons and pouches with powder. “Don’t get this on your skin.” He pointed to one of the flacons. “As for this, two hours and it’ll take effect as requested.” He gestured towards a pouch.

“Excellent work.” Jawad hesitated for a moment. He enjoyed professional contact with many people, buying and selling as dictated by his trade. It was a straightforward relationship with mutual benefit. Friendship was a murky affair, obscuring what was expected and what could be expected in turn. For a practical thief, there was an obvious advantage in having the acquaintance of a skilled alchemist; for Jawad, it was strange to discover that he wished the old man well and would be discontent should that not be the case. “Ishak, take care of yourself.”

“If I can get more salamander hair for my brew, I’ll be right as rain.”

Jawad sent him a resigned smile and stepped outside into the sunshine.

~~~~

Stepping onto the streets, Jawad took a deep breath. Tomorrow night, he would have declared war upon the Black Teeth. The time until then would be the last hours that he might walk freely in these medinas that he considered home. He had always known it would come to this; his ambitions and the Black Teeth occupied the same space and could not exist together. Still, it was strange to fathom that the day was fast approaching. It would have been better if he was not entangled with al-Badawi’s business at the same time, but it could not be helped. Exhaling slowly, Jawad decided to make use of his freedom to move about while it lasted.

His steps led him to the medina that came closest to being his home; while his nights had been confined to Almudaina like all hojon, this neighbourhood was where he had spent most of his days. He bought some food from the vendors at the square, honey melons and dates, and proceeded towards the madrasa. From inside, he heard the children recite the poets, and the memory made him smile wistfully. There was a time when he, Kateb, and Hakim had sat among those rows. Jawad still remembered the entirety of ‘Time and Season’ thanks to old Hasief and his effective strategy of trading food for poem recitals.

Jawad waited until the lesson had finished before he entered the madrasa. “Effendi,” he called out.

The blind teacher turned towards the sound. “Jawad. You bring more than dust, I smell.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Sweet the scent of honey is to bee and bear bold,” he quoted.

“Little wonder men will kill to eat and drink gold,” Jawad added.

Hasief smiled. “I did not waste all those plums and eggs you always clamoured for, I see.”

“Never, effendi. My dying breath will be spent reciting your lessons.”

“Come. Let us sit, eat, and speak.” The old man led Jawad deeper into the madrasa and gestured for Jawad to take a seat by an old table. His fingers fumbled for a bit until they found a knife that he used to cut one of the melons into pieces. They ate for a little while in silence. “What is on your mind, boy?”

Jawad smiled. “I simply desired your company, effendi. It may be a long while before I can visit you again.”

“You can spare your smiles,” Hasief told him, turning his blind eyes in Jawad’s direction. “They won’t distract me. What’s troubling you?”

Jawad spent a moment seeking the right words. “Imagine my enemy is within my grasp. But to crush him will hurt those around me. What is the right thing to do?”

“Live in peace and grow your fields with blade to plough turned,” Hasief told him. “Reap the war and feel the yoke that comes with strength spurned.”

“You’re not telling me to become a farmer, I take it.”

Hasief chuckled. “No. There is a cost to everything, Jawad. Is the price of action steeper than that of inaction?”

Jawad thought of Zaida and took a deep breath. “Not for me.”

“There is your answer.”

“Thank you, effendi. Forgive me for entering your house with such heavy mood. It was not my intention,” Jawad apologised.

Hasief waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Nothing to forgive. What is a home but a place where you can unburden yourself? And it was always my aim to make this madrasa a home for you boys.”

“You are a star upon the heavens of Alcázar, effendi.”

The old man gave another chuckle. “Always so swift to charm people, Jawad, you haven’t changed. I remember your little brother, always walking behind you with admiration in his eyes. Tell me, how is Kateb?”

“He is well, effendi. I received a letter from him last year. His apprenticeship is going well. His master is kind to him, and he could not have found a trade more suited for him than being a scribe.”

“That gladdens my old heart. He was the best student I ever had. He took to the letters like a calf to its mother’s milk. He earned his name fully well.”

“He did.” Jawad smiled, letting the memories envelop him.

“What of your other brother? Hakim?”

The smile vanished, and Jawad was glad the old man could not see him. “Effendi, Hakim died. Many years ago.”

A pained expression came over Hasief’s face. “Of course. I know that. So he did. Such awful business. The gods can be cruel.”

“No more cruel than men.”

“I am getting old, Jawad. For every year, the fog on my memory grows stronger. On some days, it feels as if the words of the poems are all that I recall.” He smiled faintly. “Soon, Hasief will be gone, and only the poets will occupy this shell we call the mortal body.”

“If kindness is a light in the dark, effendi, you have been a lightning bolt in the night.”

Hasief grinned. “Kateb had the better memory, but if any of you could have become a poet, it would have been you, Jawad.”

The thief exhaled. “Another path in another life, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.” The old teacher yawned.

“It is getting late, effendi. I will take my leave.”

“As you wish,” Hasief mumbled with sleep invading his words. “Always a pleasure to have you visit, Jawad.”

“Always a pleasure to visit, effendi.”

“Bring your brothers around some time. I’d like to see them again.”

Jawad stiffened before masking his reaction. “I shall, effendi. Farewell.”

~~~~

The sun was setting as Jawad left the madrasa. His feet were sore, but nothing worse than to be expected; his new boots had done their duty well. Walking through the streets, Jawad occupied his mind with wondering how many spies were following him. He had noticed two. Hopefully, they would not get in each other’s way; that would just be awkward. He guessed that one belonged to al-Badawi and the other to the Black Teeth. He was surprised there was not a third spy from Dār al-Gund, but it showed that these northerners were novices in the games of deceit common in Alcázar.

A patrol of city guards approached him on the street, and Jawad suppressed the urge to duck into the nearest alley. He had lost the papers declaring him to be employed by Dār al-Allawn, guaranteeing his right to be inside the city walls after nightfall. Instead, he grabbed the edge of his cloak to wrap the fabric around his hand, giving the impression that he was cold while actually hiding the burned cross on his wrist.

The guards passed him without a second glance, busy exchanging sordid tales. In his clean clothes, wearing Salah’s expensive cloak and boots, Jawad looked like any respectable citizen of Alcázar rather than alhajin of Almudaina, and the guards saw no reason to hassle him. The virtue of wealth at work once again.

Jawad reached the house of al-Badawi without incident. Despite his weariness and the ache in his feet, he took the time to walk the entire length of the orchards and gardens that surrounded the palace itself. One way or the other, his time was coming to an end; after tomorrow night, he would have no further purpose in this place. Of all the luxuries to be found here, he would miss these lush surroundings the most. In comparison, Alcázar outside was a desert, dry and dusty. It bred hardy people, no doubt, but with the scent of flowers reaching him, seeing countless fruits blossoming, Jawad would trade all his skills away for a garden such as this, where he might live the rest of his days. Al-Badawi was a fool, the thief considered, to have been born into this yet choosing to spend his life in his study, scribbling numbers day in and day out in order to scribble bigger numbers the next year.

When his head was tired of ruminations and his stomach full of stolen fruit, Jawad went inside to the small chamber that had become his home for the last months. He removed his cloak and boots, sending Salah a kind thought. Tomorrow would be a day of days for the thief, but the thought did not affect him; as soon as he lay down, he fell into a dreamless sleep until morning.