Jaffar did not brighten, exactly; his head rose and he ceased movement altogether. The little poet watched him for reaction, probably wondering whether he should mock or praise me, though he would certainly prefer the former. At the upturning of the master's lips, Hamil quickly said, "I think you have something there, Asim. If you go on this mad enterprise, Master, I hope that you will allow me to accompany you, so that I may record all that transpires."

Jaffar was nodding. "Yes-it would be good to leave the palace. We might go down to the market and see what has come from downriver. In disguise, I would be bothered only by beggars."

He referred indirectly to the courtiers who would always swarm about him wherever it was that he set his feet.

"Indeed, Master. But Hamil should remain so that he may finish his composition in silence."

"Hah! Who then will tell the story to the caliph?"

"I will do the telling," Jaffar said.

"But surely"-the poet halted in midsentence-"You need men of wit to accompany you. Who does Asim plan? A trio of guardsmen, I suppose?"

He knew me too well. That is exactly what I had planned. A brief foray out; my master well protected. I smiled only.

"You might as well go in accompaniment of dung merchants," the poet said. "Nay, you need me. Allow me to suggest other companions, as well."

"Nay, Master," I said. "Take the scholar Dabir. He is crafty, and does not lack for wit."

Jaffar nodded and climbed to his feet. "That is a fine thought. Go and gather him. Tell him that we shall meet at the west servants' entrance. Just after midday prayers. Oh-tell him not to wear anything extravagant. You, too, should disguise yourself. Something common."

I bowed. "I hear and obey."

The poet was still politely protesting as I left the courtyard and made my way through the palace halls. The master's palace was nearly the size of the caliph's, and no place for an aimless search. While I was friendly with Dabir, I did not know him so well that I was familiar with his rounds, and thus I asked directions from one of the slaves.

The little man bowed. "At this hour he is most likely tutoring the mistress, Sabirah, off the main courtyard."

Of course. It was only my miraculous escape from potential dismissal or death that had left me unthinking. The slave's expression was blank, but there was a hint of derision in his tone, as if all the palace surely knew Dabir's daytime a.s.signment. I left him and made my way through the hall.

That a male tutor should be used for the master's niece had set many tongues to wagging. The situation had begun after our return from the dig in Kalhu, where my actions and those of Dabir had not only brought us higher in the eyes of Jaffar, but, through him, garnered a word of praise from the caliph himself. The master had brought me closer into his confidence, and augmented Dabir's position, entrusting him with the teaching of his beloved niece.

Sabirah's father, Musa, had declared that as G.o.d had seen fit to bless his daughter with so excellent a mind, G.o.d must have meant for it to be used. Musa had been appointed governor of Syria, but had left his eldest child in Jaffar's care with instructions that she receive the best education available in Baghdad.

I neared the twin doors to the room where she was being taught and caught the warm tones of a young woman's laughter from within. She sounded no brighter than any other girl. I rapped on one door and then walked straight in, as was my right as guard captain.

Two crones looked up from a backgammon table. They apparently did not mind their charge giggling at a man, but fixed me with a glare that would shrivel a ready groom. Dabir and Sabirah sat at a nearby table, each holding a book.

I did not look first at Dabir, but to Sabirah. Though I sometimes saw her without a veil, she had been told to wear thick ones while under Dabir's tutelage. In that day, amongst the wealthy folk, it was not uncommon to show hair, but this too was concealed. She was a slip of a thing, with a slim nose. For myself, I preferred a woman of more ample curve, but I admit that her eyes were large and clear, her voice sweet.

"Good morning, Captain," she said.

"Good morning, Mistress. Forgive this interruption."

"The mistress is taking lessons," one of the crones told me curtly.

"Are they lessons in courtesy?" I asked her, then looked back to Jaffar's niece.

Sabirah's eyes crinkled as though she smiled.

"I come at your uncle's behest to fetch Dabir," I told her.

"He's not in trouble, is he?"

"Oh, no."

"Why do you need him?"

She had me there. Apparently my well of inspiration had run dry for the morning, and I stood statue-still for a moment too long trying to think of an explanation that did not reveal my purpose.

"It must be something very important," Sabirah prompted.

"Yes," I agreed, though it was not important in the way that she supposed. Doubtless behind her eyes lurked the fancies of a maid; that Dabir was needed to consult about some important affairs of state involving marriages and horses, most like. In truth, I felt suddenly awkward, for I understood then that if I had maintained my composure around the stupid poet, the girl, the scholar, and the crones would have gone the morning uninterrupted.

"Take him if you must, then," Sabirah said. "Though I would gladly have read more."

"Read on," Dabir said, "while I gather my things. First in the original, then translate."

The girl began to recite curiously worded Greek.

Dabir stood, searching me with a look. His eyes were a clear blue, more vibrant than that of the blue jubbah he wore, a gift from Jaffar. In those days the hair below his turban was dark and thick. There was no gray yet in the well-trimmed beard, shaped spadelike below his lips, nor in the mustache perched above. Elsewise his beard was thin, only following the shape of his jaw. He searched, I think, for some rea.s.surance that all was truly well, and I nodded once.

"Some lucky Thracian has my n.o.ble shield," Sabirah continued. "I had to drop it in a wood. But I got clean away, praise G.o.d. I'll get another, just as good."

Dabir chuckled as he stuffed his own papers and a stack of books into his satchel. "Quite right. You see?"

"It mocks the Spartans," Sabirah said.

"Yes. What do you think? Is pragmatism more important than glory?"

Sabirah stared into s.p.a.ce as Dabir closed his satchel.

"It must depend upon the circ.u.mstance. Practicality might excuse evil practice."

Dabir nodded. "Well said. Keep reading; we will meet again in the morning."

"You won't be traveling, will you, Captain?" Sabirah asked me.

"Not very far," I said. I judged by her look that my reply brought no satisfaction, but she wished us good day and said nothing further.

Dabir and I walked at each other's side then, down the hall.

"What has happened?" he asked.

I told him that Pago had died and that the master craved a diversion. "Hamil had suggested he go; I thought of you."

"I see," he said, not sounding especially pleased.

I bade him stop in the shadow of a column, and lowered my voice. "It is folly, but I hope to make the best of it. The master desires clever conversation. You can provide that, but you also have a head upon your shoulders. I expect you to help me keep watch upon him."

"Where does he intend to go?" Dabir asked.

"He mentioned the market."

"We should shape his steps, then, to safe places."

"They must also hold his interest," I said.

"Of course. Do you suppose we should take him to a seller of birds?"

"I would prefer to keep his mind from the parrot."

I conveyed the rest of the master's instructions. Dabir listened without question and then we parted, he for his preparations, me for mine.

All too soon came the call to prayers, and then I hastened to the west servants' entrance. There I found Dabir already attending the master. The scholar had donned a dusty brown robe. Jaffar smiled and nodded to me. Boulos, the plump old eunuch, stood behind him, making final adjustments to the master's turban, which seemed especially bedraggled. On any other day the master would have pitched the dirty cloth through a window. His own jubbah was threadbare and stained; I am not sure from where it had come, but it was considerably worse than my own travel garments. It did not quite work, in truth, for his beard was so well trimmed, his nails so clean that he seemed less a poor man than a child playing dress up. The master was well known for his handsome face and fine figure-though of course poets exaggerated-and he carried himself with confidence that belied his clothing.

"How do I look?" he asked me.

"Your garments are suitably ragged," I replied.

"I was thinking," Boulos said, "that a smudge of dirt upon one cheek might complete the look."

"Do you think?" Jaffar asked. He turned to me.

I wished to say that he would then resemble a clown, but Boulos, no matter that he was slave and eunuch, had more power within the palace than I, and only an idiot antagonized him.

"It would be a fine touch," Dabir said, "but the girls will look with less favor upon His Excellency then."

"I seek adventure, not wives," Jaffar said.

"Oh, you should always be prepared," Boulos said cheerily. "Who knows when G.o.d shall send some tidbit to cross your path?" He and Jaffar laughed; I groaned inwardly.

Boulos bent to buckle on Jaffar's sword belt.

"Is it sharp?" my master asked.

"It was seen to. I found you an older sheath, though."

"Thank you, Boulos," Jaffar said, and again I groaned internally, for a proper warrior would see to his own weapon; it had not even occurred to Jaffar to be embarra.s.sed to ask. He turned eagerly to us. "I'm quite pleased with all this. Are you two ready?"

"We await only your word, Master." I bowed.

"This was a fine idea, Asim," Jaffar said. Boulos hustled forward; the two guards waiting to either side of the door pretended not to notice us, although they reached for the door pulls.

The master held up a hand and the sentries stepped back. "I'm sure you know," he said as he turned to us, "that you are not to call me by t.i.tle, or, indeed, by any honorific whatsoever, once we leave the palace."

"Of course, Master," I said.

"Of course, Andar," Jaffar corrected with a smile. "I am to have an adventure, so why not name myself after one of the greatest adventurers?"

"An excellent idea," Boulos said. "Captain, see him safely home."

"Of course."

"What time shall we expect your return, Master?" Boulos asked.

"There is no telling," Jaffar replied. "We may be gone through the night." He turned to the door, thought better of it, and faced Boulos again with raised finger, as though he were ticking off a point from an invisible list. "Do not let word spread of our adventure."

"Of course not, Master."

"Dabir, Asim, let us be off."

Once more the sentries reached for the doors, eyes focused blankly above our own, lest they be in on a secret they should not know. Outside was bright and fragrant, for even here at one of the side entrances were a row of bushes in bloom. It was but a short walk to the gate in the outer wall, likewise guarded by sentries. One opened the gate for us while the other advanced to push back the crowd of folk who tend to gather about all palace entrances. Dabir and the master and I stepped around them; the a.s.sorted beggars and job applicants and onlookers watched us curiously; one even pulled at Dabir's robe, pleading for alms, and then we were past.

I think the master was more bewildered than amazed by the cacophony of the streets. Baghdad teemed with people and their attendant smells, and we were in the thick of both. It is not that the master had never been out of his mansion, it is just that he never ventured forth without a buffer of servants and guardians.

When Jaffar asked where we should go, Dabir suggested first the nearby market in south Al-Rusafa, the wealthiest quarter of the city, where we spent the greater part of the next hour. Merchants could not know the master's true ident.i.ty, but even a fool could tell at a glance that he was a n.o.bleman in disguise because of his fine manner. They bade him look at the best of their baubles and silks and perfumes and nearly everything else under the sun. Jaffar paid them little heed, but he examined much, listening with interest to the outrageous lies regarding the rarity of certain cloths, or the unmatched skill of a bootmaker's leatherwork. He was especially taken by the elaborate tale of one jeweler's perilous trip to Baghdad from India. I found it tiresome and stepped away. Dabir joined me.

"Is your sword sharp?" he asked quietly.

I did not take his meaning at first, then saw his sly smile and chuckled.

"We must give thought as to our next course," Dabir said, "for he will grow bored."

"There is a place across the river where men often race pigeons," I said.

"That involves birds, though," Dabir wisely pointed out, and I nodded agreement.

"Do you suppose he would like to see some wrestling?" I asked.

At that moment Jaffar returned, pa.s.sing each of us a small gold ring.

"Thank you ... Andar," I said. Dabir echoed me. I slipped the thing over my smallest finger and admired the effect.

"It is my pleasure." Jaffar ignored the beckoning calls of other merchants and turned his head this way and that, searching the distance. Because the market was crowded, there was not much to be seen but the turbans and backs of shopping folk.

"The jeweler spoke to me of a woman who deals in magical things. She is down one of these side streets."

Dabir and I traded a quick look while the master was looking the other way.

"Is it not said that upright men should turn their face from magics?" I asked.

"Andar," Dabir said, "our last encounter with magic was ... somewhat..."

"There will be no Greeks involved this time," Jaffar said airily. "Besides, that wasn't really magic."

Dabir and I exchanged a glance. The master had never fully believed our accounting of the events with the Greeks, having been drugged at the time. "This," he continued, "is simple marketplace magic, in our own city. There can be no real harm. Let us seek her. The jeweler said she is very good."

"She is probably the man's aunt," I said, "who will share our monies with him."