By the time the moon rose in Giza, Othman and Harhash had burgled eight houses, broken into five stores, and relieved a money merchant of a large bundle of cash as he returned home with two incompetent guards. They turned the loot over to the high judge and went back at it. By midnight, they had attacked three more stores, including a wine shop, where they tied the owner upside down from the ceiling by his ankles.
“This is ridiculous,” said Othman. “These people are inept.”
“They are bunglers,” replied Harhash. “We have to make more mistakes. I am losing interest.” And Othman said, “Women. The women must be smarter.” They broke into a brothel. Through the window they entered, avoiding the busy main hall, and ascended the back stairs. Half-naked women with drawn scimitars and daggers awaited them inside an upstairs room.
“Most men come in through the front,” said the leader of the women.
“But that is not always satisfying,” replied Othman. “We are finally captured, and stand helplessly before you.”
“News of your exploits this evening has preceded you,” she said. “I certainly did not expect only two of you.”
“We are ambidextrous,” said Harhash.
“And much too clever by half,” she said. “Still, I must play my part in the drama and turn you over to Khodr al-Bohairi. Come visit after you are done with the fool. I am sure we can come up with many mutually beneficial arrangements.”
Khodr stomped and ranted. “I should cut off both your heads right this instant. How dare you come into my city without permission? What made you think you could steal from me?”
“We assumed no one was running the city since the mayor got himself killed,” said Othman. “We have just arrived from Cairo, and had we known you were the chief, we would have come and paid our respects first.”
“You are from Cairo?” Khodr al-Bohairi asked. “What luck. Can you recognize a slave who goes by the name of Baybars?”
“But of course,” said Othman. “He is a mere boy. I have stolen his allowance many times, yet he still trusts me. If you wish, I can deliver him in less than an hour.”
“This is most fortunate,” Khodr al-Bohairi said. “Bring me the boy.”
Othman and Harhash returned to the hideout accompanied by Baybars, the Africans, and the Uzbeks. The ensuing melee lasted all of minutes. The warriors killed forty-three bandits but kept the vanquished Khodr al-Bohairi alive briefly. “Where are you holding the daughter of the high judge?” asked Baybars. The bandit chief pointed to a door, and Harhash escorted the unharmed girl out. “You must pay for the heinous crimes you have committed,” announced Baybars, and cut off the bandit’s head.
Baybars returned the girl to her father the next day, and the high judge restored all the stolen goods to their rightful owners. And the heroic deeds were celebrated.
Fatima felt stronger. She got out of bed, picked up her baby, and visited the emir and his wife. The emir’s twelve daughters made way for her to see their pristine brother, a boy who more than matched their famous beauty. “You look divine,” the emir told Fatima, “as if you had just returned from the baths and had never been pregnant.”
His wife, fatigued, disheveled, and in pain, asked, “How did you lose that weight in a matter of hours?” She felt awkward at being envious of an inferior.
“To you,” the emir said, “we are ever so grateful for our great fortune, and a great fortune shall be bestowed upon you. You are now a free woman. Allow your son to be raised with mine. He shall receive the same training and the same opportunities. Most important, I will regale the both of them with the grand tale of King Baybars.”
“Dear Fatima,” the emir’s wife said, “show us your son.”
Fatima held out her boy, and audible gasps escaped all the lips in the room.
“He is so … hmm …,” said the emir’s wife. “Dark. Yes, dark. What an interesting color. Let me see him. Let me hold the two young warriors. What did you call him?”
“He is named Layl,” Fatima said.
The emir’s wife held Shams in the crook of her right arm and Layl in the left. The boys held each other’s eyes. “Let us make sure they are friends forever.”
“Shams and Layl,” the emir said. “What glorious names. Such sturdy boys.”
The emir’s wife was unable to produce suckling milk, whereas Fatima’s breasts had ballooned to a ridiculous size. “I can feed both,” Fatima said.
Eight imps gazed enraptured at the immaculate scene. Violet Adam, blue Noah, and orange Ezra knelt on the floor, hands and heads resting on the majestic divan. Green Job, indigo Elijah, and yellow Jacob sat on its backrest, their eyes unwavering, looking down at the odalisque. Red Isaac and his brother red Ishmael lounged on either side of a naked Fatima cradling the twins. Shams suckled her right breast and Layl her left.
When the well-wishers began to arrive at the palace, the emir’s wife tried to separate her baby from Layl. The little prince would wail if he did not have Layl’s dark face within eyesight.
“You know me,” the emir’s wife said to her husband. “I am not prejudiced. I do not mind that Shams’s playmate is the son of a servant. But the boy is so repulsive. Kings and emirs, sultans and lords are lining up to pay their respects to my son. I cannot present him to his equals while he is in the company of the monstrosity. I cannot bear it.”
“Oh, my dear,” her husband replied, “how delightful that you are so sensitive. Fear not. Everyone will know the ugly one is our boy’s slave. It will give our son a bit of cachet to have a servant at such a young age. The boys will be good for each other.”
On a glorious, cloudless morning, in the palace’s great hall, all the royalty of the land, all the wise men and judges and poets congratulated the emir and his wife on the arrival of the heir. They offered gifts to the newborn, gold and silver, swords and spears, crowns and jewels, sandalwood and musk, frankincense and myrrh. The baby emir ignored all his suitors and their gifts, for he only had eyes for Layl.
“Praise be to God,” the kings said. “Our master has arrived.”
“Such a beautiful boy,” the queens said. “What lovely parrots, and so colorful. Where on earth did you find them?”
At night, the parrots were imps and circled the family — Fatima, Afreet-Jehanam, Shams, and Layl — as the kings and queens and lords and beasts of the underworld arrived to pay their respects. The jinn of the seven circles, the gondoliers of the rivers of death, the sirens, the harpies, and all the demons and devils bowed before Layl. An ebony column rose from the ground and rose and rose, and it was a giant jinni carrying two chests upon his broad shoulders. The first, a camphorwood chest, the jinni opened and presented to the dark prince; full of gems and gold and incense it was. The second he opened and out shot his gorgeous human wife; like a dazzling sun she was. She genuflected and, from a purse dangling between her creamy breasts, extracted a ring and tucked it in the baby’s swaddling clothes. She whispered so her husband could not hear, “This is one of five hundred and seventy-two I own, but it is my favorite, for it belonged to Shahzaman, the best of all lovers, even under duress. Forget me not when you are older.”