Partner. Again he turned the word over in his mind. Unworthy though he was to speak prayers to God, he prayed now that the Doctor was safe. There was no telling when that Mouw Awa creature would strike again.
“Raseed?” Litaz’s voice intruded on his thoughts.
“Yes, Auntie?” He scanned the thin crowd about them as he answered.
“Zamia Banu Laith Badawi—she is interested in you. Do you see this? Do you understand how careful you must be with this?”
He felt as if she had slapped him. Without meaning to, he stopped walking. He closed his hand around his swordhilt, said nothing, and started walking again.
Litaz’s heart-shaped face split in a patronizing smile as she walked beside him. “And you have taken an interest in her, too. Anyone with eyes can see that plainly enough,” she said, sounding amused.
He began to dispute the alkhemist’s words but found that he could not quite do so without speaking a falsehood, which was forbidden by the Traditions of the Order. He tried to find something to say. But all that he could come up with were questions. “With most humble apologies, Auntie, you should not say such things,” he said at last.
“She’s a Badawi, Raseed. Even as she is fixed on revenge, she will be thinking about keeping her band from dying out.” Litaz’s smile deepened. It was the smile of one who knew more than Raseed did about certain matters, and he found that it upset him. He kept walking, keeping his gaze straight ahead, hoping to force an end to the conversation.
But Litaz continued. “It’s all right, you know. What you feel when you look at her. You’ve been holding a sword so long that you’ve known little else. But there is nothing wrong with what you feel when you look at her.”
The Soo people had a frankness in speaking of things inappropriate—it was not surprising that the Doctor was so comfortable among them. Raseed felt his face flush, and he bit off his words. “You speak of such things too openly!” he said. And surely none could blame him if he was more curt than one ought to be with an elder.
But if annoyance was edging into his voice, it was annoyance with himself as much as anything. He wanted to be comforted, despicably weak as he was. He wanted to reach out to Litaz and talk to her about these things. But that was simply unacceptable. He fell silent.
She smiled gently. “If you want to talk, young man, I swear before God that I’ll say not a word to anyone. Not even to Adoulla or my husband.”
They moved on, turning off of Goldsmith’s Row to enter a neat but narrow cobblestone alleyway. Something in his soul clenched and then relaxed. He felt the words come without his bidding them.
“I don’t have any secrets, Auntie. It is just that… she has been chosen by the Angels themselves! I wish that… It… it is so… difficult sometimes. When I went to seek the crimson quicksilver I—”
“You would do best to answer quickly, harlot, and truthfully!” The harsh voice came to Raseed’s ears at the same time that the speaker—a robed man with a whip—came into his field of vision. The man was lean and gray-haired, and two big men with short, thin clubs stood with him. These other two might have been twins—both young, huge, and hook-nosed. All three men were clean-shaven and wore plain turbans and heavy robes of brown sackcloth belted with coarse rope. They had a girl trapped in the alley.
The Humble Students! Wandering mendicants that scoured wickedness from the streets and taverns of the Crescent Moon Kingdoms. Raseed felt even worse than he had a moment before. He glanced at Litaz. Her smile had twisted into a hard line; she looked more the old warrior than the kind grandmother now.
The Humble Students were charged with chastising those who needed to be chastised, helping men and women to walk the path of God. But Raseed had learned that some Humble Students did this more out of greed or cruelty than righteousness. Praised in Rughal-ba, mocked in the Soo Republic, in Dhamsawaat the Students were few in number—tolerated by the Khalifs, disliked by the people.
Unsurprisingly, Raseed’s mentor was among their despisers. “I don’t trust anyone who claims to serve God by beating up dancers and drunks,” the Doctor had growled once.
The trio stood shoulder-to-shoulder twenty yards down the cobbled alley. They were facing in Raseed and Litaz’s direction. Their gazes, however, were set on a girl wearing a gauzy blouse and tight leggings with pale laces. Raseed picked up the cloying smell of cheap oil of violet from the slender girl, far away though she was. Trouble, the dervish knew. As he stood surveying the scene, Litaz shot forward. The Students and the girl all locked their eyes on her.
“What is the matter here?” Litaz’s voice was bold, and it instantly agitated the Students.
The gray-haired leader frowned. “The matter? An unclean girl is to be shown the way of God. Do you wish to watch and learn from her example, outlander? The Republic is a decadent place. The Soo more than most would benefit from our lessons.” There was no emotion but scorn in the man’s voice.
Litaz flashed a caustic smile. “I’ve seen the Students’ lessons before, brother. I’m afraid I can’t say that I always approve of them.”
The man arched an eyebrow. “Watch yourself, woman. We do not need the approval of outlanders. We found the tramp going about her foul business in plain view. The whorehouses of this city have been left to fester, and now their rotted fruit spills onto respectable streets. But if the watchmen will not do their duty, we will do it for them. Ten lashes is the punishment.” Leather creaked as the man flexed his whip.
The girl jumped in, sensing her chance. “I… I wasn’t working on the street, Auntie, I swear it! I… I wouldn’t do that. I was just coming from… coming from a… from a friend’s house.” The girl lowered her eyes in shame. She can’t be more than four and ten, Raseed thought, disgusted. But he felt something shameful—painfully shameful—race through his body as he looked at her.
“What is your name, girl?” Litaz asked.
The girl looked at the alkhemist with hunted-gazelle eyes.
“Suri.”
A look of surprise crossed Litaz’s face. “Suri? Truly? That is one you don’t hear every day.”
The girl made a noise in her throat and ducked her head.
“Suri,” Litaz repeated. “A beautiful name. And a very, very old one.” She turned to the Students with a clearly forced smile. “Surely you brothers see the sign from Almighty God here? The Heavenly Chapters’ story of Suri says ‘O Headsman, drop your sword and serve His mercy! O Flogger, drop your whip and serve His mercy!’ ”
The gray-haired Student spread a conciliatory hand, but he sneered as he did so. “The Chapters also say ‘And yea, proper punishment is the sweetest mercy,’ do they not? A new era is coming, outlander! An era when only those who walk the path prescribed will prosper.”
The two big men were tensed for a fight. Raseed found that he was as well. He took a step toward Litaz.
“The ‘path prescribed’? And the Students will be the ones to judge what that is?” The alkhemist’s eyes narrowed as she spoke. “Please, let the girl go. I ask you to indulge an old woman.” When this earned no response, Litaz’s pleading slid into threat. “Look, we’re not on the riverdocks, brothers. Do you think the respectable people of this neighborhood—who you know can’t stand your order anyway—do you think they will sit idly by while you beat a girl in their streets?”