The Bones of the Old Ones (Dabir and Asim) Read Free

seats. I did not put my hand to my hilt, but I was ready to do so at need.
    Our visitor bowed her head to Dabir. She spoke, her voice formal and precise. “I thank you for your welcome.” She paused, looking at the checkered board, seemingly to gather her thoughts. “And I apologize for interrupting your game. In truth, I hope only that you might be able to recommend a reputable caravan master.”
    I thought then that we must be dealing with an actress who also could imitate the sound of wealthy folk.
    “I know several,” Dabir answered. “Why do you need one?”
    “I wish to return home.”
    “You are from Isfahan?” Dabir asked.
    She looked sharply at him. “How did you know?”
    “From your slight accent; then there is the imperial crown flower pattern woven on your clothing, and the decorative detail upon the toe of your boot. They’re both popular among the aristocracy near the Zagros mountain range.”
    She stared at him now with wary appreciation. “Your boy said that you were an accomplished scholar, but I thought he exaggerated.” Her head rose and she addressed Dabir formally. “You are correct. Isfahan is my home and I would very much like to return there as soon as possible. If there is anything you can do to assist me in finding safe passage, I would be grateful.”
    I thought then that she would ask for money. She did not, though, and I realized she meant Dabir to volunteer it, which he would surely do.
    Dabir rubbed the band of his ring with his thumb, his habit when lost in thought. “You have no protection, and little money,” my friend said after a time. “And unless you have some other belongings hidden in my stables, you have no traveling clothes. You are poorly prepared to venture cross country in this weather, especially as the men who kidnapped you are almost certainly still combing the city.”
    “How—” Her startled eyes swept over to me and meaningfully to my sword. She rose as if to leave, looking frightened and angry at the same time. “Do you know them?” she demanded of Dabir.
    I was almost as disconcerted as she. If Dabir was right, as he usually was, I had completely misjudged her; it seemed she deserved my compassion rather than suspicion.
    Dabir glanced up at me, then at the cushion at my feet, and I inferred that he meant me to appear less imposing.
    Thus I took a seat beside him. Do not think I relaxed my guard entirely, though.
    “I know nothing of your kidnappers,” Dabir explained. “But, given your station, the condition of your raiment, and the markings upon your wrists, it seemed the most likely explanation for your presence in Mosul.”
    She eyed him doubtfully.
    “Please be at ease.” He motioned her to the cushion at her feet. “Why don’t we start over. I am Dabir ibn Khalil and this is Captain Asim el Abbas.”
    Though I commanded no one there besides an adolescent stable boy, Dabir generally introduced me with the rank I held when we’d met.
    She did not sit, nor retreat, though she seemed less likely to flee. Dabir carefully pulled at the fine gold chain about his neck and brought up the rectangular amulet normally hidden by his robes. He lifted it over his head and held it out to her.
    “Dabir and I have sat at the right hand of the caliph,” I offered. “We are no friends to kidnappers.”
    Hesitantly she took the thing and I saw her eyes rove over the gold lettering engraved there, commending all to respect its bearer, an honored citizen of the caliphate and friend to the caliph himself. Well did I know the wording, for I myself wore one, and it was a mark of esteem given to but a handful of men.
    Her worry lines eased a little, and she looked up to consider Dabir in a new light.
    “You have not told us your family name,” Dabir said. “Is there someone we may contact for you?”
    She lowered herself onto a cushion slowly, regaining some of her composure. “I am Najya binta Alimah, daughter of the general Delir al Khayr, may peace be