by Liz Braswell
“Tell me, how is it you urchins knew of our arrival?” he demanded. No ordinary caravan guard, he was smarter than average, with an untrusting gleam in his eye. “Our coming and going were secrets known only to Jafar and his most trusted associates!”
“Your path left a plume of dust in the sky, good sir,” answered one brave voice.
A girl stepped forward—a young woman, really. An urn of water was balanced on her curvy hip. Her shiny black hair flowed out from under her headscarf and around her ears like a waterfall. Her robe was dark, dark blue like an ancient river.
The caravan driver turned to look behind him: indeed, she was correct. The clouds of dust and sand their camels’ feet had kicked up lingered for miles behind them and rose gently to the sky, unfettered in the still air.
“Huh,” the man said gruffly. “You, bring me and my men a beaker of water. The rest of you may fill the troughs…but no one is to come near the wagon or camels themselves, under pain of a whipping. Am I clear?”
Murmurs of assent mixed with the sounds of bare feet slapping the dirt as the children scattered to do his wishes.
The girl carefully and slowly poured a ladle of water for the man and held it out to him. “When I am done with your men, is there no one in the cart to attend to?”
The driver drank the water with the slow, measured pace of one who was used to self-control. He would not make himself sick by gulping cold water.
“No one,” he said shortly, handing the ladle back. “I suppose you’ll want a coin for this.”
“None of us want coins from Agrabah,” the girl said, moving on to the other driver. “Coins can buy you nothing in this town anymore—unless they are foreign. Foreign coins we will take. Or food.”
“Huh,” the driver said again, acting neither surprised nor upset by this fact—but not refuting it, either.
Another girl appeared with an urn of water and hurried to the men on the other side of the wagon. Her hair was short and curly and her smile had a dangerous-seeming dimple at its corner. The girl in blue immediately began to shout at her.
“I was here first!”
The new girl shouted something extremely impolite back. Soon their screaming fight rose over all the other noises.
A monkey added to the chaos by leaping off a nearby building onto the helmet of the driver.
“Get off me, insolent vermin!” he sputtered, shaking his head and using the butt of his whip to whack at the monkey.
“Did you see any foreign devils?” one child demanded of a wagon guard. “Any monsters?”
Up in the hot, dry attic of an abandoned warehouse that overlooked the scene, Aladdin grinned.
“That’s my cue!”
He scrambled out the window and scurried down the wall, keeping one eye on the scene below him. In the loud, chaotic activity, no one had noticed his spiderlike descent. At least, no one who wasn’t meant to. The children and the water girls—and Abu—raised the level of confusion with more running, shouting, and sloshing of water.
Then Aladdin’s foot caught on an old trellis. A piece weakened by dry rot clattered down to the road.
“The floating djinn,” the girl with the dimple said loudly, breaking off her fight with the girl in blue, when the guards started to turn around to look. “Does he require water, too?”
It worked: the guards turned back to her. One gave a lascivious grin.
“I’ll bet you’d like to wait on a djinn, wouldn’t you, slattern? But no, he doesn’t require food or water or…anything else real men require.”
Aladdin breathed a sigh of relief.
He let himself fall the last ten feet, landing softly on his toes. While the girl in blue was tipping a ladle of water toward a guard’s mouth, he slipped into the back of the wagon.
It had the usual stores that nomads and desert travelers carried with them: dried meat and fruit, leather flasks of water and wine, rope and extra cloths and harnesses.…But in the dark, dusty back, there was a chest with multiple locks on it that seemed too delicate and strangely out of place in such a rustic outfit.
Aladdin pulled out his lock-pick kit and worked quickly. These were serious locks—not like the ones in the dungeon. He listened as the sounds of chaos rose and fell outside the wagon and the genie began to get involved, shooing off the water-bearing beggars. A single drop of sweat rolled down his elegant nose and landed unpleasantly in the dust.
Finally, the locks sprung. Aladdin threw open the chest and looked inside.
There was nothing but a few old books. He couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed; he had been hoping for enchanted jewels or a staff that granted access to an all-knowing oracle or something like that.
Aladdin gave a low click of his tongue that could have been the sound of camels’ feet against the dirt or a sword settling into its sheath.
Immediately a Street Rat’s head appeared at the wagon’s door. Aladdin tossed a book to her. In what seemed like a completely random fashion, other Street Rats formed a human chain zigzagging through the hustle and bustle. The first girl pitched the book to a second child, who caught it in an empty bucket. He passed the bucket to a little boy, who scrambled with it under the legs of the camels. A girl grabbed it from there and then ran away into the streets as fast as she could.
Five times they did this. Once for each book.
From the level of the noise outside, Aladdin could tell the driver and guards were getting antsy. Now that they had slaked their desert thirst, they were ready to go back to the palace to report and then retire—to the baths, probably. The crowd of water bearers was being driven off with words and whips.
As soon as the chest was empty, Aladdin closed it with a snap and refastened all the locks, making sure the pins fell in the same way he had found them. He grabbed the edge of the wagon’s floor and flipped himself under it.
The guards tossed foreign coins and oranges as far away from themselves as they could. The children went flying after the goodies. The driver whistled and slapped a camel on its flank. The wagon slowly lumbered off. The two water girls stood close behind to watch them go.…
…and also to quickly drape Aladdin in a woman’s robe that he rose up into as soon as he came out from under the wagon, like a magician appearing from a basket.
When the wagon, guards, and camels were a ways down the street, the genie looked back at Aladdin. He gave a nod. Aladdin nodded back. Then the genie turned and continued following his wards, looking serious—almost sad.
There was something about the genie’s face. It was instantly likable, more suited to smiles and grins than the frowns and grimaces he seemed always to have. He was far more human than Aladdin imagined a djinn would be.
In a different time, he could almost see the two of them becoming friends. Or at least talking, or…
Aladdin shook his head. Another time, another place. Meanwhile, the Street Rats had to disperse and go their separate ways back to Morgiana and Duban’s secret lair.
Without even saying a word to each other, the three “girls” melted into the shadows. Within moments, except for the marks in the dust, it was like no one had ever been in the square at all.
ALADDIN ALLOWED HIMSELF a few moments of being alone and relaxing a little; he practiced mincing down the street the way he imagined girls did, robes curling about his feet. Abu chittered happily, sensing the change in his friend’s mood.
“You make a pretty believable girl,” someone drawled from the corner.
Morgiana stood there, arms crossed, watching his antics with a raised eyebrow. She had taken off her disguise and now wore her usual pants-and-top outfit.
“So do you,” Aladdin quipped without missing a beat.
“Idiot,” Morgiana growled, walking over to help him out of his costume.
“I mean, not as believable as that other girl. She was amazing. Where did you find her?”
“Her name is Pareesa, and she is one of the most skilled thieves in our little band. Also? Shut up,” Mor
giana said pleasantly. “A man who has the attentions of an attractive royal princess should probably keep his eyes to himself.”
“I’m just kidding, Morgiana. I really only have eyes for Jasmine,” he said seriously. Then: “No offense.”
“None was ever taken. You’re too skinny for my liking, anyway. Put some meat on your bones and then we’ll talk.”
They walked down the street as casually as two thieves could, shoulders occasionally bumping like they didn’t care, eyes searching out quick exits just in case.
“We’ve missed you, you know,” Morgiana said eventually.
“I…missed you, too,” Aladdin admitted. “I just wish…”
“Yes, yes, we weren’t professional thieves. Mr. High-and-Mighty,” Morgiana said, rolling her eyes. “We just do what you do—and refined the process a bit. Neither one of us has the moral high ground, Aladdin. The law treats all kinds of theft equally.”
“I never cared about the law,” Aladdin said. “Only what my heart tells me.”
Morgiana shook her head. “It is very easy to steal only what you need to eat and live when you are a strong young man. The starving three-year-olds and dying grandmothers cannot steal to eat. So we steal extra, and, yes, coins and jewelry.”
“Do not tell me all those trinkets in your cave are just for your destitute charity cases,” Aladdin said, but with a twinkle in his eye.
“I’m not denying that I have bigger plans and a penchant for moving shiny objects,” Morgiana said with a shrug. “I’m just saying that we aren’t as purely evil as you think us, Aladdin. There are shades of gray and goodness to us as well.”
“I never thought you were evil, Morgiana. Just that you made bad choices.”
She laughed. “Now you sound like my mother. When she was, ah, clearheaded.”
Aladdin smiled. Was it possible to be friends with someone you didn’t agree with?
They turned a corner, and with thieves’ instincts, both immediately shrank back into the shadows.
There was a tent set up ahead in the wide street. It was squat and square, black and red: Jafar’s colors again. The angular, evil-looking symbol from the coin was painted on its side and flew on a pennant at the top. A long line of people, hot and desperate-looking, snaked away from the tent and down the street.
“What’s this?” Aladdin asked uneasily.
“Something new,” Morgiana said, also worried.
“Let’s investigate.”
Realizing that they looked like nothing more than a young couple strolling down the street, they came out of the shadows and linked arms. With the casualness of two experts casing a joint, they let their lazy eyes slip over everything—and everyone.
“What’s going on here, friend?” Aladdin asked a father standing in the queue, hands on the shoulders of his two children.
“You haven’t heard?” the man asked, his eyes darting around nervously as he tightened his grip on his daughters. “They are giving out bread. Better get in line fast.”
“I thought Jafar just gave it away. Like, everywhere. Like tossed it to the crowds at parades and off the balcony at the palace and stuff.”
“Not anymore. Jafar said too many…of the wrong sort were preying on his generosity.” The man said the last part slowly and clearly and a little louder than the rest, so that anyone listening would be sure to hear.
“Hmmm,” Morgiana said. “I guess we will get in line. Thank you, friend.”
The man inclined his head, then turned as if they didn’t exist anymore.
As the two turned to walk away, Aladdin gestured with his chin at the tent. Morgiana followed his look.
A man with a narrow face and narrow eyes sat at a makeshift table within. Two giant guards stood on either side of him. Behind him there was a pile of bread sloppily thrown on a sheet on the ground. A young woman in an oft-mended purple robe tried not to stare at it as the man spoke to her.
“Do you swear your entire allegiance to Jafar and his new government, Agrabah Ascendant?”
“Yeah. Yes. Of course,” the woman said. She was still staring at the bread.
“Do you swear to uphold his laws and revere him with the respect and love due to the rightful suzerain of the lands inside the Atrazak Mountains?”
“I do. I mean—what? It’s not like I’m marrying him, right?” the young woman suddenly said, for the first time looking at the man before her and not the bread.
“No. You are not marrying him.” The smile in the corners of the man’s eyes was not a twinkle of amusement. It was a malicious, knowing gleam. “Do you swear?”
“Yes,” the woman said.
“Excellent. Next.”
The woman blinked, then laughed like a girl when one of the guards slapped two loaves into her hands. She practically skipped away in delight.
“I think she would have sworn away her own mother,” Morgiana murmured.
“I don’t think she cared what she said or figured it meant anything,” Aladdin said. “And it probably doesn’t.”
They wandered slowly down the street, turning off as soon as they could to get away from the breadline.
“I don’t like it,” Morgiana said when they were far enough away to feel comfortable. “That whole setup was creepy.”
“It felt very weird,” Aladdin agreed. “I can’t put my finger on it. But really, what do words mean? Like you said, that woman would have sworn away her own mother and not meant it.”
“Yes, but what happens when Jafar realizes that?”
The rest of their walk home was uneventful—until they entered the hideout. The moment they were inside, a monster in orange and black with teeth the size of daggers barreled out of the dark into them.
“Rajah!” Aladdin said in surprise. He gave the large cat a scruffle through his neck fur. The tiger growled happily. “How did he get here?”
Morgiana shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Duban said he showed up at our doorstep this morning, right after we left. There was a ribbon—a ribbon—around his neck and a note saying that we should be on the lookout for a particular book in Jafar’s wagons. Al-something-or-other. It was signed, ‘the genie.’”
“Ha!” Aladdin nuzzled Rajah with his own nose. “I like this new way of getting us intel. It’s much safer than having him and Jasmine meet.”
“Well, I think we’d need a lot more tigers,” Morgiana said skeptically. “But that would make Ahmed and Shirin happy. They’ve already adopted Rajah for themselves. And Maruf does not trust the big cat with his grandkids.”
“Maruf is here? Where?” Aladdin asked delightedly.
“At this hour? Probably in the kitchen making breakfast.”
“Of course! I’ll join him there.”
“Of course,” Morgiana muttered. She wandered away, waving her hands in the air and continuing to talk to herself in exasperation. “Genies? Tigers? Magic books? When did my life come to this?”
Aladdin took off down several labyrinthine passageways and confusingly connected cellars, ending up in the surprisingly spacious and airy kitchen of some large old-fashioned house that had no windows, only skylights. Over a giant stove with an equally giant pan was Maruf, Duban’s elderly father. He was grinning and talking and jumping around a crowd of hungry kids, managing not to spill a drop of oil on his crazy beard or miss a hungry outstretched hand. It was especially amazing considering his stiff left leg that didn’t move—he used it as a pivot, twirling around on his heel.
Everyone got a piece of hot bread and, from a giant jar in the corner, a dollop of sweet cheese.
“Aladdin!” Maruf called the moment he saw him. “I’m just reheating your favorite—nan-e sangak. Made ’em last night. Here!”
He spun the pan and a round piece of bread flew through the air. Aladdin snatched it and tossed it to the other hand immediately; it was too hot to eat.
Maruf threw his head back and barked out laughter. “You never change, Aladdin. Always trying to bite into things that are too dangero
us.”
“Me?” Aladdin asked, licking his thumb. “What about you? When you were my age?”
“Ha! I was just telling them, these kids, they have no idea,” Maruf said, shaking his head. “When I was their age…why, even if I was just a few years younger, I’d show them a thing or two about evading the market guards!”
Two of the children ran forward and leapt onto Maruf’s legs, clinging despite the danger of the hot oil and fire.
“Ahmed! Shirin! You’re going to kill me!” But the old man was grinning.
Aladdin looked at the kids. They seemed familiar…but from where? Then he placed them. They were the ones he had given his bread to just a week or so earlier.
“Are they…?” he said slowly.
“Kazireh’s kids. My grandchildren,” Maruf said proudly.
Aladdin knelt down and tickled each one on the nose.
“I think we’ve met,” he said.
“We have a pet lion!” the little boy, Ahmed, told him.
“Tiger, Ahmed. He has stripes,” Shirin corrected gently. “And we’ve been taking care of Abu for you.”
“That’s great. The poor thing could use a little extra love,” Aladdin said, popping the now-cool piece of bread in his mouth. “Er, speaking of, does anyone know where Jasmine is?”
Maruf looked at him slyly.
“Yes…she’s in the…‘study.’ I’m sure you’re eager to discuss important business with her.”
Aladdin pretended he didn’t hear the implication in the older man’s tone and gave him a little bow in thanks, hands pressed together. He backed out of the room and returned the way he had come, into the twisty maze of storage spaces and secret tunnels the Street Rats had carved underneath the abandoned neighborhood. The “study” was a large room with a plain rectangular rug spread out in the middle. Drawn on the rug in chalk was a sketchy map of Agrabah. Small bricks and square blocks of stone highlighted important buildings and landmarks. Around it stood an attentive group of Street Rats.
Jasmine was on her hands and knees, pushing around little piles of pebbles that represented the thieves and beggar children who made up her troops. She carefully explained the plan to her audience and then had them repeat it word for word before they skittered off to do her bidding. Soon they were all gone and Aladdin sat down beside her.
