A Wind in Cairo Read Online Free PDF

with him?”
    A young voice, that, and imperious. His own had been like it once.
    He could see the man who shrugged. The horsedealer himself, with dust and sweat on him and anger snarling in him. “Shoot him, if I had any sense, young lord. But I paid high for him. I’ll geld him and take him with me. If he dies, so be it: Allah has willed it.”
    â€œThat is summary justice,” said the princely boy.
    â€œWell now, young sultan,” the horsedealer said, “there’s justice and there’s justice. I’m a man of business; I’ve no place in my caravan for a rogue, and no time to waste in coddling him.”
    â€œWhat if I offer for him? Will you sell him?”
    The horsedealer was honestly amazed. The men round about were dismayed. One even ventured to remonstrate: a eunuch’s voice, sweet and sexless. “ Sell him? Have you forsaken all good sense?”
    The boy ignored him. “I will take the beast off your hands. He is, as you say, no good to you, and he owes me a debt of blood.”
    â€œHe’s not kehailan,” the dealer said.
    The boy laughed like water running. “Why, sir, you are an honest man! For that I’ll pay an honest price. Less,” he added, “the value of an apprentice fowler who knew no better than to seize the rein of a charging stallion.”
    â€œMaster,” the eunuch said. “Master, you will not.”
    â€œOld nurse,” the boy said. “Old nurse, I will.”
    As indeed he did. Hasan could admire his spirit, if not his sense. The horsedealer was left with gold in his purse and peace in his heart. Hasan’s new lord remained with a slain servant and the beast who had slain him. Hasan would not have taken amiss a spear in the heart.
    At the boy’s command, the men with the nets let them go. Hasan did not move. Gingerly, sparking acrid with fear, they unbound him. They gave him no occasion to burst free. They flung ropes over him, tightened them.
    â€œNo!” the boy cried.
    They stopped, staring.
    â€œLet him up,” their master said.
    With dragging reluctance they obeyed. Hasan drew his feet beneath him. Men tensed. Steel glittered in a hand or three. Hasan snorted his contempt, heaving his body erect, shaking himself from nose to tail.
    For the first time he saw the one who had bought him. Not a prepossessing figure. Thin and dark, not overly blessed with height, but pleasant enough to the nose, for a man. No fear in this one, though Hasan laid back his ears and stamped. The boy laughed his sweet laugh, bowing low. “Peace be with you, O my sultan.” Hasan curled his lip. The boy clapped his hands. “See! A wit as well as a warrior. Come, sirs; I think he’ll follow us. We’ve mares enough among us.”
    That was not why he followed. He hardly knew the truth of it. Weariness, yes, and thirst unto desperation, and blood guilt. And curiosity. To see what this mad boy would do next; to watch the servants watch their master, and to taste their respect for him. No one had ever respected Hasan when he walked as a man. Loved him, obeyed him, even feared him when his mood was dark. But respected him, never.
    Once more Hasan trod the streets of his own city. The way back from the river had sapped the last of his strength. What little he had left, he hoarded, walking as slowly as his captors would let him. They were vigilant; when once he tugged at the rein, yearning toward a fruitseller’s stall, a hard hand drew him back.
    Hungry, thirsty, nigh fordone, he did not know the house to which he was led, until the gate had clanged shut behind him. He stood upon the raked sand of the stableyard, guarded by a wary groom, and tried to deny it. Allah would not allow it. That he should have come here. That he, a Muslim, a descendent of the Prophet, should be owned at all; and by the one whose name this house proclaimed. One lordly house was very like another. There were many lordly