٣٢.

A FAINT DRIPPING SOUNDED CONSISTENTLY IN the tahararat min alkhatiya's periphery, and it irritated him how commonly infuriating the whole purpose of a senselessly dripping bit of water—especially in the cold and damp dungeons where one was thrust to lose sense of time and life both—was completely nonexistent.

Why must there always be water dripping? Why must it always be so audible, each drip aligning the sense of hopelessness and doom in the condemned listener's soul?

The realization of it suddenly made the former genie want to laugh in self-deprecation. It was entirely sickening. Who arranged for water dripping to be such a pre-requisite to these things and scenarios? Who purposely left an infuriating tap open just to torture those condemned below? The tahararat min alkhatiya would like to have a word with the person responsible, and the conversation might not turn out to be entirely civil.

Burhan Abelhamid—in all of his newly acquired Sultan's superiority and designed cruelty—had purposefully placed Bahjat in a cell that was nowhere near where Aladdin had been thrust. The tahararat min alkhatiya had tried shouting for Al's response, inquiring multiple times throughout the night if the man was alright, but he hadn't responded.

The former genie had started to fear if Al was indeed alright, after all, Burhan had only—upon Bahjat desperate insistence—informed him that Al was being kept somewhere in the dungeons too, and was alive. But how alive? Had Burhan's men completely rendered the man unconscious? Was he injured beyond repair? Bahjat couldn't tell. Allah, if only Al would respond to the callings.

It had been hours since Bahjat's audience with Burhan, and the hour of the night was at its deepest and darkest, before it died out and the light started taking its place.

The tahararat min alkhatiya sat on the dingy cold floor in the middle of his cell, cross legged and back straight as though he was a monk in a mountainside retreat doing a round of meditative yoga—though, Bahjat was indeed meditating, it was only that his fear and worry wouldn't let him entirely focus.

He did not want to give in to the anxiety of his circumstances, so he called out loudly to Al again, begging the man to respond if he could hear him. But another shout responded back, that of the warden of the dungeons—one of Burhan's men who was built taller than the tahararat min alkhatiya himself was.

"I swear to Allah, if I hear you again I'll pound your face in!" The warden shouted furiously from the entrance of the dungeons where he sat vigilant, not bothering to come to the tahararat min alkhatiya's cell again this time and attempt to intimidate him.

"Well, if my dear friend responded, I wouldn't be shouting!" Bahjat couldn't suppress the retort, exhaling in defeat.

The tahararat min alkhatiya straightened himself again, shutting his eyes and trying hard to meditate again—though he hadn't achieved the meditative stance at all in his mind before too.

Burhan Abelhamid—the former genie deduced—must be making plans at present to set out at first light for the trade route. Or perhaps the sultan of Al-Fāw intended to leave in the cover of the night. He had said he would dig out all of the trade route that ran between Agrabah, Thāj and Hegra, to find Dilruba's body, and that quest of his alone was of much consolation to Bahjat.

Perhaps Dilruba was truly alive, and Burhan would find no body anywhere. Would that not be Allah's gift? Would that not be such a great blessing? Bahjat exhaled, wishing with all his might that the hope came to pass.

A disturbance sounded then at the bars of his cell—a rapid fluttering and soft bustling, as though a woman's layered skirts were brushing against the iron bars of the cell in this damned quietness.

The tahararat min alkhatiya's chest tightened as a blinding hope flared in his body. He inhaled a breath and then slowly exhaled it again, before opening his eyes.

The deep purple fabric of carpet's body, embroidered with intricate gold, shimmered in the dim silver light of the dungeons—courtesy of the tears of moonlight streaking in from the breaks in the stone roof above.

"Carpet," Bahjat exhaled, grinning with an immense relief at the sight of his friend, his shoulders sagging, his eyes beginning to sting.

"You must look away now, before you see me shedding tears and think less of me."

Carpet ignored the instruction, and bristled with apparent happiness before adjusting herself sideways and sliding into the former genie's cell from in between the iron bars.

She shook her golden threaded tassels wildly, rolling herself and flattening herself up again, shaking and forming shapes with her rectangular body—saying and portraying perhaps a thousand depictions per moment.

Bahjat grinned as he read her initial exclamations, but then his grin started slowly muting itself, amusement slipping from his face as a premonition might erase itself from the surface of a still lake. His gaze sharpened at her, his brows furrowing and heart pounding hard in his chest as realization took root.

"What can you possibly mean?" He ventured out, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you in earnest, carpet?"

Carpet nodded frantically, almost wildly, desperate and anxious to get her message and its full detail across. Her recollections were clear and sharp, her young heart—of only fifteen years, as Bahjat had gathered—robust and determined, but fearful in equal measure. Kiah's mother had been the same way, full of a bursting energy and passion. Perhaps Burhan remembered seeing her, for the elder carpet had been in the Cave of Wonders when Abelhamid had come by, and had died a few years later after giving birth to Kiah.

"Thank you, Allah," The former genie could not help but utter once carpet was finished, throwing a look at the ceiling and imagining the seven skies his gratitude would travel through.

Bahjat looked back at carpet, smiling.

"You are heaven sent, carpet."

Carpet nodded again hastily, before bristling and shaking again, a disapproval and urgency in her manner.

"Oh yes! Yes—Kiah, I do apologize," The tahararat min alkhatiya corrected himself as to carpet's given name—which she had adamantly recounted as Dilruba's given gift amidst her tale, before pulling himself up to his feet.

"We must make haste and inform the sultan on Dilruba's whereabouts," Bahjat managed. "Before he digs out the entire trade route and sets trade profits in the cities back by years."

The dungeon warden was an additional effort to call, for the petulant man had stopped responding to the former genie's shouts out of stubborn frustration. But when Bahjat and Kiah's own collective chaos summoned him, the warden looked none too happy to have to disrupt the sultan's venture.

"Oh, for Allah's sake man!" The tahararat min alkhatiya let out, gripping the iron bars. "It is about his woman! Dilruba! Tell Burhan that and he will listen to what I have to say!"

The warden—a heavily built man—yanked out his silver hilted dagger and in an instant had the blade's end directed less than a centimeter away at Bahjat's throat.

"Sultan Abelhamid, to you," The warden hissed furiously, the disrespect to his leader bringing vicious undertones to his stubborn manner.

"Indeed, I do apologize," Bahjat swallowed thickly. "I seem to be getting a lot of people's titles and names wrong."

Kiah shrugged behind the former genie, before bristling and shaking in anxiety and fluttering up front, displaying the urgency required.

"What the hell is that?" The warden faltered, glaring at Kiah as though she was but a rat, before looking at Bahjat angrily. "You are not allowed any—"

"Yes, alright," The tahararat min alkhatiya blurted out. "But please, if only you would get Burha—Sultan Abelhamid, he would be grateful to know what we have to tell him. It would save him a disappointment. Besides, I'm sure if he found out the news we have was not relayed sooner, he would be terribly upset with whoever who came in the way."

The warden faltered again, a thoughtful look in his eyes before he swallowed visibly and stabbed his dagger back into the scabbard at his waist belt.

With a grunt the man was off.

Bahjat sighed once the warden disappeared. "Let us hope that the sultan hasn't already left, Kiah."

He turned to face carpet, a care and intrigue in his eyes.

"Tell me, Kiah, how did Dilruba seem? Was she happy?"

──── •🏺• ────

Sultan Burhan Abelhamid came into the dungeons underneath the palace of Al-Fāw armed to the teeth. His face was covered half with the cloth from the black turban he wore, and he pulled the cloth away to reveal his face once he set his sharp dark eyes upon the former genie. His clothing was dark, and he had his band's signature silver-hilted dagger in a scabbard at the belt at his waist.

From the full sleeves at his wrist, Bahjat glimpsed the silver of two blades tucked along the length of his arms—to pull out whenever necessary. No doubt there were blades tied along the sultan's legs as well, and even a sword against his torso underneath his shirt. But Bahjat knew that most of all, Burhan relied on the silver hilted dagger at his belt.

It was the dagger that a twenty one year old Burhan Abelhamid had commissioned—wished for—from Bahjat.

"Something that only spills blood of those who have done others wrong beyond repair," The young man had declared. "A blade like no other. One that cuts only for justice, one that kills for peace. I want to arm myself, and all those I save with the blade. I want nothing like it to ever exist."

So Bahjat had made that wish come true, and now every single one of Burhan Abelhamid's men was armed with the intricate silver-hilted dagger—a weapon crafted of magic, but for reasons that would never be able to condemn the existence of the weapon as a complete sin, even if the magic that built it was such so.

The warden—directed by a gesture of his Sultan's—approached and brought out the keys, unlocking the cell of the tahararat min alkhatiya and yanking the iron cell door open so that the Sultan and his men could step inside.

"What is it, Bahjat?" Burhan uttered then, his baritone hard and reverberating in the echo chamber of the entire dungeons.

"I was just about to head off to the trade route, you must wish for death if you withheld information from me and only decided to tell me at the very last moment."

Many other prisoners, situated in separate cells a distance away—for strategically, the Sultan had placed the tahararat min alkhatiya in a cell not surrounded by any other occupied ones—bristled and murmured at the sound of their sultan, some even deigning to cry out for his mercy.

With him the Sultan had two more men of his at his sides—all similarly armed, as the warden lingered at the back.

"Kiah came back, Burhan," The former genie spoke, gesturing towards carpet as she fluttered but remained at Bahjat's side out of fear of Abelhamid, hiding half of her form behind the former genie.

"I told you she was with Dilruba, and she had disappeared as well—"

"So it knows where Dilruba is, and that she is not dead," Burhan let out, ushering a step close, eyes hard on carpet as his desperation betrayed itself.

Whilst other men looked at Kiah—and those of her sort—with greed in their eyes, Burhan's dark ebony eyes flashed only a desperation as an embellishment, a desperation for what carpet knew—not for what she was.

"Yes," Bahjat affirmed. "But first, Burhan, I need you to just listen and say nothing."

Burhan's eyes flashed a relief that was so human it made the tahararat min alkhatiya's heart falter. If before he had suspected and been doubtful of the feelings that existed between Burhan and Dilruba—or the feelings that Burhan claimed he possessed for the Hegran girl—now he felt as though the feelings were truly there. A man so hardened as Burhan was—one who spilled blood without any consequence, followed the sickening age-old mantra of 'an eye for an eye'—was indeed madly in love with a court dancer.

Though Bahjat had heard tales of nobles and wealthy families of Qaryat Al-Fāw making gifts of women and dancers and concubines to their new Sultan, and he had even heard that the Sultan had accepted some of the women. But in what capacity? How did that work if Burhan was so in love with Dilruba? Could natural human desires—particularly for the male—be so cruel and deceptive? For Bahjat doubted that Dilruba—or most women of her heart for that matter—would behave the same way in face of uncertain heartbreak.

Bahjat's chest tightened then, as realization seeped through him of all that Kiah had told him. Perhaps this love would kill itself before it even progressed any further. Perhaps this love was not meant to be, for why would Allah chart such courses—as the ones that presently existed both in Burhan and Dilruba's lives—without any reason?

"What do you mean?" Burhan uttered, his composure breaking as he met Bahjat's eyes. Frustration seeped into the Sultan's manner.

"What has happened? She is alive, so where is she?"

Bahjat had the urge to touch Burhan's shoulder, for the man's face displayed a vulnerable hurt that took Bahjat back to ten years ago when this strong Sultan was just a poor young man only recently out of his boyhood, and desperate for retribution and justice.

"Dilruba and Kiah were headed to Hegra, as I told you," The tahararat min alkhatiya started. "I told you I gave them a map to the trade route."

He spoke that way to ascertain that he had been truthful. He spoke that way for confirmation and assurance, that despite the years that had passed since their first meeting in the Cave, the tahararat min alkhatiya was nothing if he did not value trust placed upon him.

"Of what transpired on their journey to the trade route, Kiah has tales a many—each more shocking than the next. But perhaps Dilruba would like to tell you of those herself when you see her."

Burhan's hard gaze softened a touch at the note in the former genie's words, and he swallowed hesitantly, his Adam's apple erect as it bobbed on his muscular throat.

"Where is she?" He asked again, not adamantly, as though distracted by the mere prospect of having her in front of him again.

"She got into an accident at the trade route," The tahararat min alkhatiya affirmed. "As I informed you, but Kiah has provided crucial details. Dilruba came across one of the governor of Hegra's men on the trade route, and he tried to forcefully take her to Hegra, upon which she refused and was pursued."

Burhan's jaw tightened. "Why the fuck would the governor—if she was already going to Hegra, why use force against her?"

"Kiah says that the man threatened Dilruba, though Kiah couldn't hear what the threat was about. But she does remember seeing the man at the royal wedding at the Agraban palace."

Burhan's eyes flashed, he features sharpening in thought before he met the former genie's gaze.

"The only official man from Hegra invited—who came on that damn governor's behalf—was his royal advisor."

"Indeed," The tahararat min alkhatiya nodded. Kiah did not know this, but Bahjat was in possession of knowledge on the guest list and he was sure Dilruba would know the governor's advisor closely just as she knew the governor.

"But why the fuck would he—," Burhan broke off, before his hands reached the back of his neck as he gripped it tightly, gaze dropping to the ground of the cell.

"Shit," He let out. "Shit, shit, shit."

"He saw everything," Burhan lifted his gaze to Bahjat, distraught and furious. "That fucker—he knows everything. He must've figured it all out. If he met her at the trade route, then he was in Agrabah longer than she was."

The former genie voiced it, his tone grave. "He knows what Dilruba means to you. He must've informed the governor himself of that fact. She is your weakness."

Hatred and fury tore through Burhan's dark gaze, and he growled viciously, his shout marred both in agony and anger.

"Why didn't you kill the Hegran advisor?" Bahjat asked then, curiosity levelling his voice.

Burhan looked away, eye penetrating a lone wall in the cell. "There existed no need or reason to—not then."

Bahjat nodded. "And now both the advisor and the governor mean to use her against you. The conqueror of Agrabah and Al-Fāw. They want to have the upper hand against you. They wish to weaken you."

"What—" Burhan blurted out, breathing heavily. "What happened afterwards? Did that fucker take her to Hegra? The accident—what happened?"

"Dilruba managed to escape, they pursued her—the advisor's men," Bahjat continued the story, recollecting Kiah's information. "Then the accident happened, it involved a camel. Kiah says Dilruba was struck down by an arrow thrown by the men and fell in the way of a camel leading a cart of wares. She was—she was trampled."

Burhan's throat felt dry, his heart stopping in his chest.

"I wouldn't ever wish to be trampled, give me any other death except that."

He remembered her words from when he had saved her from off that Agraban street, where she had stood with a little boy clinging onto her in fear. They had both been almost trampled, and Dilruba had made her gratitude to Burhan known immediately after.

But now, with her same words coming back to him and the predicament she had again found herself in without Burhan to save her again—the realization was as though he had been stabbed with his own silver-hilted dagger, and now he was bleeding out on the ground.

"But she is alive, as we know," Bahjat hastened to add then. "There was a lot of blood and injuries, Kiah says Dilruba was helped by a man who took her to Thāj."

Burhan blinked, hope replacing itself in his distraught form.

"Thāj?"

"Indeed," The tahararat min alkhatiya affirmed. "The man is called Ferhat Ghatafani, and he is the Arif of a community in Thāj, adopted son of the wealthy widow Khairunnisa Ghatafani and her late husband. Dilruba is presently in their home."

Burhan's lips parted but he couldn't speak as he tried to process the information. Ferhat Ghatafani. Arif of a community in Thāj. Arifs were overseers of a small community—men appointed to tackle neighborhood security concerns and represent community matters or disputes in front of higher authorities. They weren't inherently well-paying jobs, for they ran on community good-will, but they were well respected—at least by their communities.

"Kiah says Ferhat Ghatafani nobly saved Dilruba's life," The tahararat min alkhatiya spoke, before looking at Kiah as she bristled.

"Oh," He looked back at Burhan. "And Kiah says Dilruba calls him Ferhat Khayyi."

Khayyi. Brother. Confusion and an unexplainable disturbance covered his heart. Had Dilruba gotten close to these people? If so, how much?

"The governor of Hegra and the advisor must too be looking for her," Bahjat continued, shaking his head. "They possibly don't know where she is, but once they find out, they will go to Thāj for her."

That fucker, Burhan Abelhamid thought inwardly, he would bleed that governor dry and he would use the carcass as a fucking mat in his throne room at Al-Fāw.

"Are they—," Burhan tried the words, desperation overtaking him as he figured out what he wanted to say. "In Thāj, are they taking care of her? Is she well?"

"Yes, she is," Bahjat managed, before his smile faltered as he thought of more of what Kiah had told him. "Though.."

"What?" The Sultan of Al-Fāw inched forwards. "What is it?"

"She needs you," The tahararat min alkhatiya offered simply, quenching a fear in his heart with hope. "You must go to her."

Determination took over Burhan's features then, and he nodded hard. "I will, immediately."

The Sultan made to leave then, but Bahjat cried out, "Wait!"

Burhan's look was murderous then, as though the former genie had caused a grievous interruption worthy of death.

"Take me with you."

"No," Burhan spat.

"With the information I have—Kiah's information—I can help."

"No," The Sultan let out again, glancing at Kiah. "I'll take the carpet. Aseeb, grab her."

Aseeb—one of the armed men—lunged towards Kiah and she fluttered and shook away in a fright, launching herself upwards and into the top corner of the ceiling of the cell, refusing to be taken away.

"She will come if you take me too, Burhan," The tahararat min alkhatiya insisted. "Please, we can both help you. With everything Dilruba has gone through, she would appreciate friendly faces."

Burhan's jaw tightened so hard a vein pulsed visibly under his skin. He wanted to refuse, but had no reason to, and with the being's reasoning, no reason seemed to now exist.

"Fine," The Sultan uttered.

"Aladdin must come too," The former genie let out at the same time.

Burhan was instantly so close to Bahjat, his fury emanating off of him like a tidal wave, his sharo eyes glaring viciously into Bahjat's.

"Don't fucking test me, Bahjat."

"Aladdin must come," The former genie swallowed thickly. "You see, Al's uncle was from Thāj. He was a much favored man, though poor, so perhaps we could find our search smoothened by association—"

"I am the fucking Sultan of Qaryat Al-Fāw!" Burhan Abelhamid seethed then, "I am Burhan Abelhamid—more powerful and strong than any sultan with or without a fucking throne. I could have your damned head rolling for your insolence to suggest that I need a fucking street rat's family association to find my woman."

The tahararat min alkhatiya held his composure, though realizing the stupid approach he had taken to the bargaining.

"I know, I know. I do apologize," He hastened. "My meaning was not so. I merely suggest that Al should be taken along, Kiah, you see is so fond of him—"

The tahararat min alkhatiya gestured to Kiah, who was still high up in the ceiling corner, refusing to come down, but confused at the analogy the former genie was using.

"She will be entirely comfortable in his presence."

Bahjat wanted Aladdin to be taken along, but not for the weak reasons he had given. Burhan Abelhamid would never let the former genie's beloved Al go, and Bahjat knew that. Aladdin would end up getting killed, if not by Burhan's blade, then by starvation and the mere act of rotting away in the dungeons of Al-Fāw. Bahjat only needed to push Al out of the way—to lose him like a little girl might lose one marble in her collection of hundred. She would be upset about it, but she would get over it eventually and realize that there was indeed no further need for the hundredth marble.

Aladdin could then venture out on his own. Perhaps he could go look for Jasmine in Agrabah, for the former princess was indeed alive. The wahesh of the Cave of Wonders had said only one of the people Bahjat was concerned about had died, and the tahararat min alkhatiya had already ascertained that it was the former Sultan of Agrabah—Jasmine's father—who had been killed by Burhan. Jasmine herself could well and truly be alive just like Dilruba was.

Al just needed to be told and given that hope, lest he rot away with the belief that he had lost his love.

"Please, Burhan, have mercy," Bahjat pressed then.

"I am not taking that fucking street rat along—"

"As a favor, please," The former genie interrupted. "For the sake of all favors I have done for you."

Burhan's hands fisted at his sides. "Why do you persist? What motivations could you have?"

"Merely fresh air—," Bahjat swallowed. "For Al. I don't want him to die sequestered in your dungeons."

Burhan shut his eyes, frustration gnawing at him, but his urgency to get to Thāj overpowered everything else.

"Fine," He spat. "Saddle up Bahjat, you and the carpet ride free, for I know you won't dare to escape. But I will be damned if even an inch of that street rat is left uncovered by chains. I will drag him along, upon your gracious and so devoted insistence. Your Al will be dragged through the sands and grounds of Al-Fāw all the way to Thāj. You better keep ointments to nurse him at nights, because I will be fucking upset if his screams stop sooner than I want them to."