Cursed, p.25
Cursed, page 25
part #3 of Haven Realm Series
“Karim,” I said with more firmness.
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 the squeaker.
Come on. I did have a heart. The last thing I wanted was to deprive a stallholders’ kid of a meal.
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 between though.
I scratched the monkey’s tiny head. “Good boy, Karim.”
Ali gave us both a pouty glare.
Cute. But that wasn't going to change my mind. I was getting us both out of the slums, with or without my brother's blessing.
From a secret compartment under my mattress, I collected my bag and rope and tossed them over my shoulder.
Before I left, I gave my brother another kiss on the top of his head, yet he still refused to look at me.
But when Karim squeezed Ali's cheeks, he laughed.
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 ever again.
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’s store.
“Drink your tea, Ali. I love you.” The rickety, wooden front door clunked shut behind me.
My heart pinched with regret over leaving my brother. But I wouldn’t be gone long.
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 his wishes.
Light on my feet, I didn’t make a sound on the soft, sandy ground.
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 the city.
Karim leaped onto the walls, climbing along pipes, clothes washing lines, balconies, and more, following my every move.
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; radiant silks 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 hard labor.
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 the better.
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 my feet.
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 it stayed.
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 gone out.
“Mighty djinn,” I said. “Grant me good luck on my mission tonight.”
A breeze picked up, which groaned and blew out all the candles.
Strange.
I tried again to light my taper.
Along came the wind again, knocking over the candle, and it rolled along the ground.
I gasped and stepped back. This had never happened before.
For a third time, I attempted to light it, but the match wouldn’t even spark. I went through at least four matchheads. Nothing. Wind buffeted the pack out of my hands. Matches scattered everywhere along the pavement.
My stomach locked tight. Had the djinn just refused my wish? If so, that did not bode well for the task ahead of me. Maybe I should postpone it. But I couldn’t. Ali needed the medicine urgently. I had to do this. With or without the blessing of the djinn.
As I strode away, I tried to shake some sense into myself. The candle blowing over was nothing more than the wind. Maybe a sandstorm was coming. As for the matches, well, some jerk had left a dud pack that didn’t light. The whole incident didn’t mean I’d land more bad luck than I already had. I mean, shit happened all the time. Ali got sick for one. My neighbor lost all her front teeth. Farhad, a merchant in the market, had a daughter who’d just run off with a shepherd in The Darkwoods. Me thinking I was any worse off was just plain silly.
Voices drifted on the sweet, night breeze and silenced the rest of my analysis.
Heart pounding, I pressed my back against the wall.
Karim was picking scraps out of a nearby bin.
“Come here, Karim,” I whispered.
At first, he didn’t budge, preferring to fling a banana peel onto the ground. But when I stomped my foot, the little squeaker scuttled over to me. He climbed up me, wrapped his body around my neck, and dug his tiny claws into the side of my head. It hurt like hell, but I bore the pain for the sake of silence.
“Pipe down, okay?” This was our signal for silence. It earned me a chipper, which I assumed was his agreement.
I cocked my head, my ears on full alert, my hand itching to pull out my blade.
Careless, heavy footsteps thumped into the intersection ahead. Firelight flickered, illuminating the courtyard behind which I hid.
“I hate nightshift,” moaned a gravelly voice. “I should be in bed with my wife.”
Ice stabbed my guts. Sultan guards. If they caught me, my brother was as good as dead, as they would toss me into prison for years for disobeying the curfew.
“This is the best shift of the lot,” replied a man with a much more laid-back voice. “Better pay. No one to chase or fight.”
That response scored a bunch of grumbles from the other guard.
Typical, lazy, palace patrol.
Judging by the fading of their voices and the dimming firelight, they headed down along the adjacent row of apartments.
The breath I held in rushed out.
“Good boy, Karim.” I scratched his chin and earned a squeak of appreciation.
I continued at a hurried pace, entering the wealthier section of the city. Here, the grandiosity of homes scaled upward in proximity to the palace. Polished granite houses with immaculate gardens hidden behind stone walls, decked with swimming pools, cabanas, and Arabian horse stables. All the pleasures money could buy.
Beyond this, four golden domes atop the palace’s towers sprouted up like mushrooms in a forest. I wondered what it would be like to live inside those walls, with all the ponds, gardens, servants, finest silks, pillows, rugs, and furniture carved from oak. Never having to worry about where your next meal came from. I pictured myself sitting by the pool eating a bowl of grapes while someone fanned me. Ha! As much as I loved that idea, I wasn’t sure I had the stomach for deals, scheming, and arranged marriages. Give me the slums any day over that crap. But I’d certainly take their money.
I climbed a few fences to cut down my travel time and avoid the palace. Too many guards crawling about the place.
Karim showed his displeasure of one particular property by leaving a little gift for the owner outside their garage.
I giggled into my hand. Cheeky little thing.
Based on the position of the moon right above me, about half a rotation of the clock had passed when I reached the desert beyond the walls of Utaara. A barren sea of sand lay before me as far as the eye could see, where few chose to wander, except the Bedouin tribes. Those people did not obey the sultan’s rules and had no honor, raiding other tribes and murdering for territory. Savages.
Not that a thief possessed much more dignity. But pretty soon, I wouldn’t have to worry about my honor. All my crimes would be forgiven in the gods’ eyes when I used my wealth to fund a school and home for orphans.
Sand trickled through my sandals, scraping my feet. Wind tore at my shawl, and wisps of dark hair flicked in my eyes. I rubbed my arms to chase away the chill carried on the desert air. Or was it my nerves stirring the goose bumps on my flesh?
Thank the gods, I had chosen a relatively still night to visit the sultan’s cave. The desert of Utaara could be a cruel place during a sandstorm.
Fires blazing in the darkness signaled the Bedouin camps. Best to keep a great distance from them. I kept one hand on my dagger sheath in case of danger.
Among the sand dunes, Karim exploded with chatter on my shoulder after keeping silent for so long. I smiled. His noise was a welcome distraction from the worried thoughts swarming in my mind.
My stomach knotted at the task ahead of me. Stealing a few jewels from the cave officially topped my list of most-difficult heists. Luckily, I never went into a mission without a plan. Two nights spent scoping out the cavern had revealed ten palace guards posted outside the entrance each night. Instead of patrolling the place like the Sultan paid them to do, they drank wine and played card games, gambling away their wages. Typical. Though I guessed they had to entertain themselves somehow in such a boring job.
If I succeeded in stealing some treasure, Ali would be safe, and we would be set for life. If I failed, I’d secure the standard thief's punishment—severed hands—possibly served up with a gang rape from the guards. Sure. A morbid thought. But when I thought about it, what more could I expect…a young girl, alone in the middle of the desert, with no one to hear me scream. I shook my head. The knot in my stomach tightened at the risk I took for this heist.
Up ahead, the rocky caves rose out of the sandy landscape.
I rubbed my hands even though nerves spiked in my blood. The sultan’s treasures and my future awaited. We approached the cave from the west to avoid being seen by the guards. With each step a deep dread settled in my stomach, but I pressed on.
Karim gave me a soft chirp, as if reminding me not to worry because of all the times he’d save my butt before. Smart-ass.
In moments, we’d reached our destination—a hole in the roof of the cave, small enough for me to fit through. From what I could tell, the treasure was stored in an adjoining cavern. This section of the chamber wasn’t lit, and I’d be able to sneak in the back way.
By now, my gut ached with worry.
I secured my rope to a large rock.
“Go on, Karim,” I whispered.
He climbed down into the darkness.
Just like I’d taught him, he yanked at the rope to tell me he’d reached the bottom.
Time to get a move on. I wound the rope around my thighs to act as a harness. While I lowered myself into the cave, the cord dug into my legs, cutting off my circulation. I bit back the pain. It was a small price to pay for a lifetime’s worth of treasure. The instant my feet struck the sandy floor, I unhinged the rope from around me and left it dangling through the hole in the ceiling. Hopefully I’d be able to find it again on my way out thanks to the moonlight trickling through the hole.
Centuries worth of dust filled my nose and made me want to sneeze. But for the sake of my mission, I held it in, even though it scratched and tickled like mad.
Ready for a new future, I whispered to Karim. “Show time.”
But as I took a step, my foot got caught in a crevice, and I tripped, twisting my ankle. Staggering pain shot up my leg. Panic pressed to the back of my throat, threatening to escape along with the scream I clamped down on.
Oh, crap! This was the last thing I needed.
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Mila Young, Cursed
