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I tilted my head, marveling at the intelligence of the little critter and how he understood everything wesaid.
Like Ali and I, Karim had been deserted, too, all for refusing to perform parlor tricks for his owner. I'd found the monkey on the streets, a bony mess with matted hair and a serious flea problem. After a decent scrubbing, and a few meals, he'd come good. Memories of the day I brought him home filled my mind and warmed me. Ali had fallen in love and not stopped smiling for weeks. Damn near broke my brother’s heart when I told him it was time to release the monkey into the wild some months later. But the day Karim and I caught a boat up river up to the mountains bordering the Terra realm and I let him go, the little squeaker jumped back onto my shoulder and refused togo.
Keeping the smart, little guy was the best decision I'd ever made. Whenever Ali got really sick, playing with Karim was the only thing that made him happy. For that, I was grateful to the little squeaker.Saved my skin, too, on more than one occasion. I owed him my life three timesover.
“Come, Karim.” I motioned for my partner in crime to joinme.
The monkey glanced from me to my brother as if torn between which master to listento.
“Karim,” I said with morefirmness.
Finally, the monkey scrambled over to me, scaled up my leg, and made a home for himself on my shoulder. Any excuse for him to get out of our hovel. Karim craved adventure, just like I did.He certainly didn’t say no to a banana treat for helping me steal a meal. We only ever stole leftovers that wouldn’t sell…and that included lots of juicy, sweet and ripe fruit for thesqueaker.
Come on. I did have a heart. The last thing I wanted was to deprive a stallholders’ kid of ameal.
While thievery wasn’t exactly a profession to be proud of, it gained me a reputation in the slums, and occasionally, a vendor would approach me with a request to steal various items for them. Mostly paintings, heirlooms, and business ideas. But secrets were worth the most and once earned me a hefty price that tided Ali and I over for six months. Those kinds of deals were few and far betweenthough.
I scratched the monkey’s tiny head.“Good boy,Karim.”
Ali gave us both a poutyglare.
Cute. But that wasn't going to change my mind.I was getting us both out of the slums, with or without my brother'sblessing.
From a secret compartment under my mattress, I collected my bag and rope and tossed them over myshoulder.
Before I left, I gave my brother another kiss on the top of his head, yet he still refused to look atme.
But when Karim squeezed Ali's cheeks, helaughed.
Guess I was going to be the big, bad sister again for the next few days. Tough. After tonight, we'd never have to worry about where our food was coming from everagain.
In the doorway, I glanced back at my brother. He buried his head in the tattered comic book…a discarded treasure he collected every week from the bin behind the newspaper merchant’sstore.
“Drink your tea, Ali. I love you.” The rickety, wooden front door clunked shut behindme.
My heart pinched with regret over leaving my brother. But I wouldn’t be gonelong.
Picking my way through the darkened, dirty alleys of Utaara, I reminded myself that this was all to help Ali get better. Still, the guilt jammed in my chest that I was going against hiswishes.
Light on my feet, I didn’t make a sound on the soft, sandyground.
The sultan didn’t approve of anyone roaming the city at night. Bedouin—wild gypsy thieves and murderers—scoured the desert at night and attacked pilgrims on the sultan’s road. Six months earlier, the Bedouin got bold, launching an attack on Utaara. The sultan implemented curfews at night, and guards patrolled the city, enforcing his rule. That was enough to make anyone nervous, but not me. I loved the stillness the darkness offered. My best plans were hatched atop the rooftops of thecity.
Karim leaped onto the walls, climbing along pipes, clothes washing lines, balconies, and more, following my everymove.
The shacks of the slums transitioned into the worker-class region of the city. Tall, sandstone apartment blocks, covered in onion-shaped domes, minarets, and decorated archways towered over me. It didn’t look like much at night. But during day, the spoils of Utaara were on full display; radiantsilks and tents, colored-tile ornaments in geometric patterns, stained-glass windows, palm trees, and other exotic flowers and shrubs. Stallholders burned incense, flower oils, and candles to disguise the slums’ aroma of sweat, dirty water, and hardlabor.
The scents of spiced meat and flat bread wafting out of a home hit me, and my stomach grumbled with hunger. Even poor Karim gave a moan, as if he were famished, too. We had not eaten since lunchtime. A few leaf rolls were not enough to tide me over for the journey. But that was okay. Once I got tonight’s spoils, we’d be dining on kafta, baklava, tabbouleh, chicken schawarma,and all the falafels our hearts could desire! Our lives would turn around for thebetter.
With my next stop in mind, I picked a yellow flower from a garden and twirled it between my fingers. At the following block, I stopped to pay my respects to the djinn said to haunt the wall. In Utaarian culture, we believed in all sorts of magical spirits. Farads to watch over and protect our children. Khalils to protect the city from sandstorms. Baans for plentiful crop harvests and an abundance of water in our river. But only djinn had the power to grant wishes to those who left offerings to them. Hence, all the bowls filled with fruit, coins, breads, and even smoked meats, lining the pavement at myfeet.
Superstitious—yes! But as children, we were taught by our elders to respect and praise the djinn. Offending a djinn, say, by not making an offering to it, might lead one to be subject to its wrath and to become the recipient of terrible, bad luck. Given the nature of my profession, I didn’t want to risk pissing off the djinn and ending up in jail. Even if I doubted its existence. Before every mission, I made sure I lit a candle. So far, I’d always had good fortune. That was the way I hoped itstayed.
I dropped the flower into one of the empty bowls. Using a match from a packet someone had left, I lit one of the candles that had goneout.
“Mighty djinn,” I said. “Grant me good luck on my missiontonight.”
A breeze picked up, which groaned and blew out all thecandles.
