by Liz Braswell
“Princess, you have no idea,” he quipped, quoting Jafar—but with a sad smile.
And with that he dwindled down to a curlicue of blue smoke and evaporated into the night air.
“I NEVER THOUGHT I’d be stealing with you again,” Duban muttered as he stood on the back of a wagon and threw a sack to Aladdin. Their latest caravan heist held no magic books but something infinitely more useful to the poor people of Agrabah—food.
Aladdin grinned, catching the sack and making sure the top was knotted tightly. Street Rats weren’t the only kind of rat they had around here.
“I think Morgiana’s idea is brilliant, to have Jasmine herself offering the handouts,” Duban said. “It will make a real connection with the people.”
“It’s dangerous,” Aladdin said, scowling. “Jasmine is too many things: a valuable prize to hand over to Jafar, a symbol of the old sultan, our de facto leader. I don’t think she should be walking the streets out in the open.”
Duban shrugged. “You can’t gain without risk. You of all people should know that.”
The quiet noise of a throat being cleared interrupted their chatter.
Aladdin and Duban looked up in surprise to see a tall, middle-aged man standing there, quietly waiting. He was wrapped in a simple robe that was worn in places with what looked like all-too-perfect rips. His face didn’t show any of the long-term effects of privation: while he was skinny, it wasn’t because he was starving. His skin was clear and sleek and his graying beard well trimmed. His hands were clasped around each other politely. He wore a plain gold ring on one hand…but Aladdin’s expert eye saw that it didn’t quite match the tan lines around his finger. And there were more pale areas on his other fingers.…
“We were just…” Aladdin began.
“My father runs a bakery,” Duban said. “We were just helping him. This is where…he keeps his…”
“Baguettes,” Aladdin supplied.
Duban looked at him as if he was an idiot. Which he sort of was.
“I am here to speak to the…‘Street Rats,’” the man said politely. His accent was clipped and refined.
“I don’t know of any…” Duban said.
“We aren’t…” Aladdin said.
“You’re talking about those thieves they named this neighborhood after?” Duban asked with interest.
“A travesty,” Aladdin swore, “totally ruining property values.”
They trailed off as the man just watched them in silence.
Finally, he spoke again.
“I am Amur, the head of the Jewelers’ Guild, and I risk my own life by coming here.”
He twisted the gold band around on his finger and, as Aladdin suspected, revealed a huge gem on a bezel: an obsidian cabochon with the golden image of a perfect diamond incised on it.
Duban gave a low whistle.
“What is it you want?” Aladdin asked, confused.
“I would feel…more comfortable discussing it over tea,” the man said, looking around obviously.
The two thieves immediately felt stupid. Of course a rich man who disguised himself to come to the most dangerous part of town would come with a purpose he didn’t want exposed to the world.
“Yeah. Of course. Sure,” Aladdin said quickly. “But how did you…know we were Street Rats, or we were here?”
The man gave a polite cough and nodded his chin at a wall.
There was the Mark of Rajah, four claws in bloody red paint.
Inside the labyrinth of passages that made up the world of the Street Rats, Duban and Aladdin managed to cobble together some tea and chairs and a table…without leading Amur too deeply into their secret lair.
The head of the Jewelers’ Guild sat poshly relaxed, looking around with interest as if this was just a new teahouse and not the lair of the people who probably stole from him and his clients.
“We should do something about that,” Aladdin suggested to Duban. “The claw marks, I mean.”
“The kids love it,” Duban said doubtfully. “It really makes them feel like they’re a part of something.”
“And here I was thinking you were concerned about security.”
“I am, but it’s a good symbol. For people to rally to. They just shouldn’t…paint it so close to home.”
Amur took a sip of tea pointedly, waiting for them to sit down.
“Sorry, we can discuss this later,” Aladdin said.
“No, it is a good symbol,” the jeweler said. “Maybe I’ll have a couple made up in gold for those who support our cause.”
“Our cause?” Jasmine asked, entering the chamber. She pushed her disguise hood back from her face. Morgiana followed close behind. She scowled when she saw who sat drinking tea.
“Your Royal Highness,” Amur said, leaping up and immediately executing a perfect salaam. “There were rumors you were somehow connected with all this, in hiding.…”
“The rumors are true,” she said with a smile, indicating for him to sit down. She sat as well and took Aladdin’s cup from him. He grinned and let her have it.
“I am gratified to see you are still alive and well. Underground, literally as well as figuratively,” Amur said. “And this leads us nicely to what I came here to discuss.…I want to talk about the little situation Agrabah has with Jafar.”
“Why do you care?” Morgiana asked. “He’s not bothering you. He’s not making you swear an oath of loyalty for bread. At night, when curfew tolls, you guys just stay inside your mansions and wait until morning. How is he bothering you?”
Amur gave her a withering look.
“Life isn’t that simple, thief. Let’s start with gold, for instance. I am sure that as a thief you are aware of how much this magical influx of coins has devalued it?”
Aladdin chuckled, but not meanly. “He’s got you there, Morgiana. Jafar is ruining their trade, too.”
“A second thing,” Amur continued. “And no less important. Jafar has closed all the libraries, all the religious education centers, and all the trade halls that deal with science or magic. The Alchemaics, I have it on good authority, are forbidden from meeting on pain of death.”
“But why would he…?” Duban began.
“Because he doesn’t want competition,” Morgiana said grimly. “He’s looking to break the laws of magic and doesn’t want anyone stopping him.”
“And of course everyone who’s educated knows how Jafar’s ‘benevolent’ rule ends,” Jasmine said, nodding.
“It’s true. Imams, mullahs, priests, rabbis, teachers, scholars, students…they are…dissatisfied with the current state of affairs, to say the least,” the jeweler said with a sigh.
“And you…?” Jasmine prompted.
Amur steepled his fingers. “Let us say I am representing them. I come to speak for a certain segment of the population, which includes the religious leaders, and guilds, and others in various quarters of the city…people you might not normally have discourse with. Who have…heard of some of the caravan raids and other exploits carried out by your little band of outlaws here. Who are willing to support you in your endeavors as best we can.”
“And they elected you to risk your sorry self down here?” Duban asked with a toothy grin.
“No,” the man said calmly. “I volunteered.”
Duban had the decency to look abashed.
But Amur wasn’t done. “You know, thief, you are not the only ones who value freedom. To do what you want where you want with whom you want. To read what you want, if you can read. To live. I have a pair of granddaughters I used to walk with every evening up the hill past the cloth market to watch the sun set. It seems like such a little thing not to do anymore…but it matters. For them, and for me. And even mansion walls do not keep out the fear of the night and the odious new things it brings.”
“So we do the dirty work and you secretly support us?” Morgiana demanded. “Your talk about freedom is all well and good, but living, the freedom of that, is denied to many of the poorest in the city. Where were you befo
re the breadlines—when people were just hungry?”
“It’s a fair point,” Amur allowed. “But it’s hard to gauge the severity of a situation when your sorry self, as your friend so nicely put it, is in danger every time you set foot in the poorer parts of town. When there is a well-organized gang of thieves bold enough to start infiltrating the gem and gold markets.”
“And that’s a fair point,” Jasmine said with a gentle smile. “Can we, perhaps, agree that when this is all over, it is a problem we will all work on? Together? That Agrabah’s problems are everyone’s, and we need everyone’s help?”
Amur and Morgiana glared at each other for a long moment.
“Yes,” Amur finally allowed.
“All right,” Morgiana said, not quite sullenly.
“All right,” Jasmine said with a relieved sigh. “It’s past time I got out there and started distributing bread to the families who have refused this whole swearing allegiance thing. Who are starving because of the decisions they made. Why don’t you come along, Amur? And finally see firsthand the problems of a certain segment of the population of Agrabah you’re not acquainted with?”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” Amur said, surprisingly agreeable to the suggestion. “And…I’d like to help.”
“Huh,” Morgiana said.
“Princess Jasmine?” the old woman said in wonder, looking up into her face. Half a dozen grandchildren scurried around her feet in various states of undress, trying to stay busy and play while their parents were gone.
Jasmine stood before her like a supplicant, head covered, offering a small bag of bread and cheese. Morgiana stood behind her, hands on her daggers. Behind them Ahmed and Shirin carried more bags of bread; Amur had a giant one.
Jasmine smiled. “Yes. I’ve come to help.”
“But…aren’t you marrying Jafar, the new sultan?”
“No,” she answered shortly. “He is a murderous usurper. I will have my vengeance upon him, and—”
Morgiana elbowed her discreetly in the ribs.
“And…he and I don’t see exactly eye to eye on matters of governance,” Jasmine added quickly, with a gentle smile. “And he’s turning Agrabah into a prison, where everyone is scared of doing or saying the wrong thing.”
The old woman continued to look at her with unreadable pale brown eyes.
Jasmine tried not to grow nervous.
“He’s an evil, murdering son of a pig,” the old woman finally said, spitting. “The old sultan may have been a fool who never did anything for us…but he never tortured anyone or demanded loyalty for bread. And what do the Peacekeeping Patrols keep us safe from, anyway? Each other? It’s Agrabah! If you don’t carry a dagger, it’s your own damn foolishness.”
“That’s how I feel, too,” Jasmine said. “Mostly. It would be nice if the streets were free and safe. But please, take this bread and cheese. I’m not demanding your loyalty in return. I just want my people fed.”
The old woman looked at the bread warily. Then her face broke into a smile of a thousand crinkles. She cackled.
“The royal princess…the future sultana…bringing me bread and cheese. In my own home. And I didn’t even have to get up and bow!”
“Peace be with you,” Jasmine said, nodding.
“And to you,” the old woman said with dignity. “And death to Jafar!” she added with a mischievous grin, her hand swiping the air in front of her like a tiger’s claws.
When they walked back outside, Jasmine took a deep breath. She knew she should adjust her hood more tightly around her head…but she couldn’t help taking it off for just a moment. She needed fresh air. It still felt strange to have anything covering her so completely, and the rough material pulled at her hair in its new braided updo.
“I know, I know,” she sighed, seeing Morgiana’s look. “Just give me a second. And…thanks for the little reminder back there. I just think of Jafar and…I get all crazy. It’s like a rage that can’t fit inside my own head. I want him to pay so badly for what he’s done.”
“I know,” Morgiana said.
The two girls strolled side by side down the shaded part of the street, away from the baking-hot white wall on the other side. The rest of their team stayed a few steps behind, Ahmed and Shirin playing skip-hop-toss with a small stone. Amur looked around interestedly at the part of the city he had never been in before. Shirin had to pause her game to show him the right way to walk in the Quarter of the Street Rats: face straight and forward, eyes darting everywhere, not showing that you were staring.
“You look like a tourist,” she explained with the patience of a much-older teacher.
Morgiana watched them with a smile. Then she took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to say something politely to the princess. “See, the thing is…none of us…none of the Street Rats, even most of the normal citizens of Agrabah, really care who’s in charge. No offense or disrespect to your father. But except for taxes and jails, it doesn’t really matter to the little guy. Jafar is playing a bad card with the patrols and increased violence. Nobody likes that. And you should bring that up. Often. But otherwise, I would stress the details of regime change less and yay-yay-happy-joy nice Sultana Jasmine who cares about her people more.”
“You’re right,” Jasmine sighed, fixing her hair in preparation for putting the hood back up. Several people passed them and gave her a second glance. Most of the city was now aware that Jafar hadn’t wound up marrying the royal princess…and everyone wondered how she had gotten out of it and where she had fled to. In the poorer districts, rumors spread that she was among them somehow, but no one knew where. And that she was helping the poor, like some sort of heroine out of legend.
Jasmine smiled at those who stared at her too hard.
“Although,” she added with a sideways look at Morgiana, “I am a bit surprised that you, of all people, had to remind me to speak of peaceful things.”
Morgiana grinned. Her face lost its characteristic tightness and scowl like she was dropping a costume or a heavy pair of boots. “Aladdin may not approve of our ‘little thieving organization’ and make fun of it…but what he fails to grasp is the organization part. It’s not all about gold and jewels and heists and stealing from ‘the man.’ It’s also territories and percentages and fair shares…and not quite fair shares when someone’s family is ailing and needs a little more. It’s about loans no one is ever going to pay back. It’s about conflict resolution—because in our case, an unresolved conflict results in daggers coming out. It’s about dealing with people, treating them fairly, and listening to them even if you don’t agree. Sometimes it’s about making everyone unhappy—the same amount.”
Jasmine listened with interest.
“I’ve…only just begun to realize that myself. None of our plans, none of my plans to win the people, stop Jafar from breaking the laws of magic, to overthrow him…would be possible without the network you have in place. Sorry about taking over.”
“That’s okay,” Morgiana said, only a little ruefully. “I truly believe that it’s the only way to keep Agrabah from falling down a very, very bad path.”
“What will you do when this is all over?” Jasmine asked, realizing it was the second time recently she had asked someone that question.
Morgiana looked surprised. “I don’t know. You’ll be sultana and I guess I can’t go back to thieving…now that you know everything about us.…”
Amur was trying not to look like he was listening.
“I liked what you said before,” Morgiana said slowly. “About everyone working together to make Agrabah—”
She stopped short.
Amur misunderstood.
“I meant what I said about helping out!” he protested. “And I was merely interested in what you were going to say; I wasn’t—”
“No, look,” Morgiana said, pointing without moving a muscle. Jasmine and Amur followed her eyes.
One of the passersby didn’t look twice at Jasmine; he looked three ti
mes. And then kept looking back. Jasmine wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but Morgiana had tensed up and put her hands where her daggers were hidden.
The man saw the three of them looking at him and broke into a run.
It was like Morgiana had known he was going to do exactly that; she sprang after him almost before his legs moved. She let him get just far enough ahead so he could duck into a narrow, deserted alley off the street. Probably thinking he could escape her there. Probably thinking that there he could easily subdue a girl so much smaller than he, where no one could see.
But he wasn’t a Street Rat.
Once they were alone in the alley, Morgiana doubled her pace and covered the last few feet in an astounding leap. She wrapped her arm around the man’s throat and pulled him back into her. Her left hand held a dagger to his side.
Jasmine and Amur and the rest of the party rounded the corner just in time to see this. Amur drew back in shock.
“What’s your problem, big guy?” Morgiana hissed in her captive’s ear.
“Nothing, I am on my way to the market, nothing at all. Get off of me!” the man ordered.
“Try again.” Morgiana dug the tip of her dagger deeper into his clothes so he could feel the prick of its point. She tightened her elbow at his neck.
“I am a citizen of the great Jafar’s Agrabah. Agrabah Ascendant. Let me go, you Street Rat! Or it will go poorly for you!”
“What were you doing staring at us like that?” Morgiana demanded. She twisted the knife so it began to tear his tunic.
“Come now,” Amur began. “He just recognized the princess and was surprised. Let him go.…”
“Yeah, the royal princess,” the man said, choking a little. “I was surprised.”
Morgiana seemed unconvinced. The man’s hands flew up to his throat as she gave it a quick squeeze.
“I’ll give you one more chance.”
“Morgiana, please,” Jasmine begged. “Don’t…wait, what’s that on his hand?”
Everyone stopped and looked. Shirin ran forward and grabbed his left arm, wrenching it so the back of his hand was exposed.
A strange symbol was burned into his skin so violently that it was still oozing and raw.
