Page 6

Which Might Not Be a Scam

“H ow did you manage to let a miraj sneak up on you? They’re kind of hard to miss,” he couldn’t resist teasing. As hoped, the fanged, knee-high beast swiveled to watch the newcomer.

“I didn’t know this channel was a dead end,” Rahma protested. “He must have followed me in here.”

As’ad eased farther away from the girl, trying to lure the miraj away. The creature was hesitant to turn his back on her to watch this new threat.

“Can you climb over the rim?”

“Can you keep him away from me while I do?” Her sassy answer reassured him. She wasn’t going to lose her head and do something silly.

Unfortunately, when she moved to scramble over the edge of the shallow ravine, the miraj took offense and leapt toward her in two aggressive hops, brandishing his sharp horn. She stopped and whirled to face him, causing him to hesitate.

As’ad scanned the area for a stout stick or anything useful. He spied a fist-sized rock and hurled it toward the creature. This had the unhappy effect of angering the miraj, who took a gigantic leap toward As’ad but still wouldn’t leave.

The con artist realized there was only one option left to him. He was reluctant to blow his cover so thoroughly, but he couldn’t leave Rahma there to be eaten by a bunny. Pulling out his pipe, he hastily threw together a melody that made a swarm of rats appear at her feet. At the final note, they rushed toward the miraj. Though considerably larger (and corporeal), the creature panicked at the sight. It tore through the ravine, kicking up sand and squealing in high-pitched terror.

As’ad walked toward Rahma. He carefully set his pipe on the ground, then reached in a hand to help her up.

“And you tried to convince me that you weren’t a con man,” she observed as he hauled her over the edge.

“Can you blame me?” He dropped her hand. “This is my livelihood and the only way I know how to keep food in my belly.”

She squinted at him. “You don’t like to lie, do you?”

“How’s that?” As’ad scratched the scruff on his chin, pretending he didn’t understand.

“Your deceptions are very careful. You tell the truth in a way that leads people to the wrong conclusion. I saw it in Nahr and with the Adils.” Her head tilted to one side. “Does that help with the guilt?”

“How guilty do you feel about ditching that nice family?” he asked. “I bet they’re worried sick.”

“I don’t feel any guilt.” Before he could wonder what sort of person that made her, she said, “I told them the truth.”

As’ad’s lungs pinched. “The truth?” he asked, aiming for indifference but probably landing closer to morbid curiosity.

“Mmhmm.” She flipped her braid over her shoulder. “I told them that I was heading for Jabal and I was following you because you knew how to get there.”

“And they were fine with that?”

Her nose wrinkled. “I wouldn’t say fine , exactly. They definitely tried to talk me out of it. But since I am legally an adult, there’s not much they can do about it.”

He looked her over. “ You’re nineteen?”

“Only for another three months.” She put her hands on her hips and very obviously scanned him. “Oh, come on.” She crossed her arms. “You can’t be more than twenty yourself.”

As’ad pulled himself taller. “I am twenty-three years of age, thank you very much.”

“Huh.” She looked mildly surprised but not upset by his admission.

“Probably,” he added under his breath, ducking his head. As soon as the word left his lips, he knew it was a mistake. He turned to walk back to his handcart and pets.

Rahma jogged to keep up with his long, hurried strides. “What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“Ha. You know what I mean.”

Since the girl was following him—and would be following him until Jabal, at this point—he knew there was no escaping the question. She would circle back to it later if he didn’t answer now. “Twenty-three is my best guess. I left the orphanage fifteen years ago. As far as the headmistress knew, I was about eight years old then.”

What he didn’t mention was that the headmistress had been overly fond of the paddle and every one of those eight years had been emblazoned on his backside. Leaving her “tender” care hadn’t been a difficult decision. Nor had he ever regretted it, regardless of what came later.

Rather than pressing, Rahma returned to an earlier comment as they reached the cart. “I’m looking forward to being twenty,” she said. “People seem to take you more seriously with a two in front of your age.”

The loquacious girl then launched into a one-sided discussion about the merits of salting or drying meat for long-term storage, of all things. As she didn’t seem to require his participation, he focused on pulling the cart.

After the calming effects of a warm meal that night, As’ad asked a question that had been pricking at him for the last couple hours. “How did you follow me? I was very careful not to go to the inn Yusef recommended. And I never saw a glimpse of you.”

“Oh, I didn’t follow you,” she said lightly. “I just knew where you were going. More or less. I got a late start but, luckily, your camp was pretty easy to find the first night.”

He watched her try to offer a seed to Yasrukh. The brown-and-white rat eyed the offering with misgiving. No matter how much they loved food, they wouldn’t take it from just anyone.

“Thank you, by the way. For the tent and extra clothes,” she added when he stared at her blankly. “ I would have frozen without them.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” He poked at the coals with a stick and wouldn’t meet her eye.

Rahma seemed content to sit quietly while slowly attempting to gain the trust of his pets. The rats were not fond of the growing cold and had been sticking close to his person when they weren’t huddled in their nests. Tonight, the wind had died down and the rats were taking advantage of the day’s residual heat. Khudha hadn’t hissed again, but she kept her distance from the stranger. As’ad hadn’t seen any scratching or growling from the others, either. It was likely only a matter of time before Rahma achieved enough familiarity not to be avoided. He didn’t know whether she would ever earn the affection of his pets, though. They could be somewhat particular.

Waiting for Rahma to fall asleep was an exercise in patience that As’ad didn’t think he had. He still needed more supplies, but her return complicated things. When she finally entered her tent and remained still for twenty minutes, he pulled out his maps. The dying fire barely illuminated the parchment. The moon was waxing, but the clouds that scuttled across its face far too frequently made it hard to read.

Eventually, As’ad gave up and returned the maps to their case. Yasruhk and Sarir were far too excited to see him. He worried that their excited chitters would wake Rahma, so he put them in his pockets before setting out. While the moon’s illumination was too feeble for map-reading, it was plenty sufficient for guiding his steps. By his estimation, the next village was within a two- or three-hour walk. Their unexpected guest made the need for food and funds more immediate. And more inconvenient.

Too far north of the border for much jungle foliage, As’ad wasn’t sure what kind of village Qarya was. It didn’t look like it was set on an oasis, according to the map, but everyone needed water. Perhaps they had some very deep wells. To his relief, the trip was accomplished in the time frame he expected.

Qarya lay dark and silent as he approached the small village. The few dogs seemed to be of a lazy sort, and As’ad’s investigation was only interrupted by a bark or two. The rats in his pocket responded by hunkering deeper into the fabric.

As predicted, the village’s water appeared to be sourced from multiple wells. A small quarry at the edge of town looked, at first, like a possible place to dispose of his fake rats, until he realized it was now serving as an aquifer. He couldn’t risk even pretending to contaminate their water sources. Which meant he needed to convince them to create a bonfire or something equally inconvenient.

On the trek back to camp, As’ad contemplated his options. The most thorough form of evidence disposal was a large fire that was hot enough to reduce any “rat skeletons” to ash. The difficulty in this region came from procuring enough burnable material without asking the inhabitants of the town to sacrifice things like furniture. He had once dashed all the rats into a bottomless crack in an abandoned quarry some months ago. But no one had been using it to hold drinking water, and getting the villagers to push a heavy rock over the top hadn’t been problematic. Qarya was a thorny problem that thwarted his best thinking. Though, at this time of night, he could hardly be accused of being at his best. If he wasn’t running so low, he would consider skipping it for the next town.

Feeling dull-witted and slow, As’ad climbed into his tent a few hours before dawn, intending to figure something out then. His pocket companions made an appearance and danced around his head in some game he couldn’t follow. But even their enthusiastic scampering couldn’t keep him awake, and he soon drifted off into dreamless sleep.

Rahma woke before him and had already begun preparing breakfast when he crawled out of his tent the next morning. He thanked her and ate. He was so focused on finding a solution, he couldn’t have identified the food items two minutes after. Uncharacteristically, the interloper maintained her silence.

When As’ad broke from his musings and went to care for his rats, he saw that she had already seen to their water and arranged the canvas covering. With nothing else demanding his attention, As’ad took out his shaving things and removed the scruff. He still didn’t have a plan of action but wanted to be prepared.

Apparently, this change of events was too much for Rahma, and she opened her mouth. “Why are you shaving?”

“I feel the need to look presentable today.”

“Is that why you favor the more traditional robes?”

Asad wasn’t sure how she made that connection. It was a pleasant side effect, but mostly they were easy. “I don’t like all the buttons on the more modern styles.” He spared a look for her. “Your clothes are more traditional.”

Rahma nodded as she ran a hand down her knee-length tunic that covered her pants. “I find them both comfortable and flattering.”

As’ad tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Admiring her figure wouldn’t help anybody. The exasperating girl grinned at him.

Scraping a sharp blade across the delicate skin of his face had never been a dangerous endeavor before. Having a rapt audience made him aware of just how badly this could go.

“Haven’t you ever watched your father shave before?” he asked his observer in an attempt to get her to look elsewhere.

“Sure.”

He paused the process to give her a look. She shrugged.

“You’re more fun to look at.”

His face grew hot, and he couldn’t think of a single safe response. Eventually, As’ad completed the activity—without drawing blood, somehow—and they set out. He had more or less decided to try something that had worked for him once in the past. A few months ago, he had been a little sloppy scoping out the next town. He hadn’t been desperate for supplies yet, so he had taken less care than he should. The townsfolk had guessed his identity before he’d had time to set things up.

In that one instance, being recognized without having first “rescued” anyone from rats had worked out in his favor. They believed the rumors they had heard from other travelers that he was researching the rat problem. His appearance in town was assumed to be an attempt at discreet investigation. He did nothing to disabuse them of this notion, and filled the role they were expecting. He asked all the questions and checked out all the buildings, escorted by willing residents who were hoping he knew how to keep the plague from getting to them. An added bonus of that encounter was the abundance of supplies they had bestowed on him just for telling them what to watch out for. Or maybe they were simply grateful for his alleged humanitarian efforts?

Qarya didn’t have an ideal setting for his con, but they were quite likely to have heard of him by now. He rather hoped they would find it in their hearts to outfit him for the next leg of the journey. He wouldn’t come right out and ask, of course. But while he “investigated,” he could easily let it slip that his supplies were running low. Maybe they would gift him enough to make it to the next con-worthy town.

That left the problem, however, of Rahma. Waltzing into the village with her was out of the question. He had absolutely no good reason to be traveling with an unattached, unrelated female. Part of being able to maintain the illusion of expertise came from the Sharamilans’ faith in his character. He had spent a great deal of time constructing the reputation of a studious, upright champion of farmers. Introducing anything to refute that claim could endanger his ability to maintain the scam. As close as he was getting to leaving the country, he still had too far to go.

When their path rounded a large, rocky outcropping, the village became visible in the distance. As’ad stopped walking and set down the cart handles. Rahma’s monologue about tunic patterns, which he hadn’t been listening to, paused.

He had been planning what to say to her for the last twenty minutes, but now that it was time, his words felt flat and unbelievable. “I would greatly appreciate it if you did not join me in town. I’m hoping it will be a quick stop to refresh supplies.”

“Oh?” she inquired, with a bland innocence that made his palms sweat.

“It’s that whole . . . reputation thing. You understand.”

She ignored the fumbling in his explanation and nodded with all seriousness. “Oh, yes. We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

Her smile did little for As’ad’s nerves, but she didn’t question it when he removed her pack and set it at her feet. He left for town both relieved and vaguely unsettled.

About fifteen minutes after leaving the girl behind, he paused to dig out the pipe and arrange it more visibly in the handcart. He would rather the village inhabitants begin forming their own ideas as soon as possible. The less he had to prompt them, the simpler it would be. When he glanced back, Rahma was nowhere in sight. He rather unconvincingly told himself that she was merely helping his cause by staying hidden.

As’ad rolled into the village shortly after midday. Many families and workers were finishing lunch, and a good number of them looked to be considering naps. A gray-haired woman who may have been in her fifties or early sixties approached him first.

“Hail, traveler. Welcome to Qarya.”

He nodded deeply and thanked her. Her shrewd eyes drank in his appearance and the visible contents of his cart, including the conspicuous pipe.

“This may seem rather forward of me, young man, but are you, perhaps, the one known as the Pied Piper?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The woman gave a cry of delight and clapped her hands. Others began moving closer to him, as well.

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Ruha, and I’m the mayor of this humble village. How can we help you?”

While the leader of their village was smiling, some of the others looked agitated when his identity was revealed. A man, who was maybe a decade younger than the mayor and wore a fierce black beard, stepped forward.

“Is Qarya about to be overrun?”

As’ad shook his head. “Apart from the specimens I keep caged in my handcart, I have not seen any signs of rats in the vicinity. Nor does your village fit the pattern I’ve established so far.”

The large man lowered thick, black eyebrows that balanced out his beard. “Then why are you here?”

“Oh, hush, Rais.” The mayor set a hand on his arm, and As’ad was able to see a family resemblance between the two. “True diligence requires being thorough.” She looked to As’ad again. “I imagine anomalies are always a possibility.”

As’ad silently thanked her for providing a reasonable answer without him needing to say a word. He ducked his head. “Assumptions are dangerous in my line of work.”

The gruff man, who was likely the mayor’s son or nephew, relaxed his stance. “How can we be of service?”

“A survey of why certain areas aren’t being hit with this unnatural plague could be just as valuable as discovering why others are. Do you mind if I ask more questions than you probably want to answer?” As’ad grinned at the crowd.

A few answering chuckles let him know he was hitting the right tone. The mayor promised that he could go anywhere and talk to anyone; all the village residents would be more than happy to assist him in his investigation.

While he still had their full attention, he said something about grabbing his notebook and flipped back the main cover of his handcart. The action “accidentally” revealed how little food he had. He coughed, then quickly pulled the cover back into place. His second attempt to retrieve the writing supplies was less unrestrained. As’ad kept his head down as though embarrassed, but when he risked a peek at the mayor, she was already exchanging knowing glances with some of the folks in the crowd.

After that, it was simply a matter of wandering over every square inch of the place, asking the same standard questions over, and over, and over—and over—again. The sun had nearly set by the time As’ad felt he had sold the act. Several kind villagers had provided water and snacks throughout the afternoon.

Ruha collected him about then and brought him to an open area that had been filled with tables. It seemed he would be well-fed tonight. A twisting sensation in his middle accompanied the memory of Rahma waiting somewhere outside of town. Maybe he could sneak her something after everyone had gone to bed. Rais had already offered him a place to sleep for the night.

“Hello!”