She purses her lips. “You have some nerve, thief, asking me for anything.”
Aladdin presses a coin into her hand and gives her a cocky grin. “Oh, come on. We had some good times, didn’t we?”
“I’d have a good time breaking this flagon over your head. Who is she? I’ve never seen her around before.” Dal looks me up and down, and I return her gaze coolly.
“She’s with me. New to town. I’m showing her around a bit.”
Dal rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard that line before.” She leans closer to me. “Here’s some advice, sister: Don’t waste your time on this one. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
“I think I’m starting to get what you mean,” I reply.
“All right, all right,” Aladdin interrupts, frowning. “We came here for drinks, not girl talk. What’s this?” He points to a red ribbon tied around her arm. “I’ve seen a couple of people wearing them since I got back.”
She puts her hand over it, her eyes flashing. “It’s a symbol, says I stand behind the Phoenix, and against injustice. You know they doubled taxes again yesterday? If you don’t pay, they either throw you in prison or take your property, if not both. They’re hanging people just for speaking out against it!”
Aladdin only grunts.
“I’d have thought you of all people would want to join up. Remember the plague in the eastern quarter? The guards quarantined it and were prepared to let all those people die? The Phoenix snuck in and gave medicine to all the sick. He saved hundreds of people. This is real, Aladdin. The Phoenix isn’t just another talker, he’s . . . well, he’s giving us hope. And it’s more than we’ve had since . . .” She gives him a long look, as if about to say more, but then she sighs and just shakes her head.
“Since my parents? You don’t have to dance around it, Dal. I know what you’re thinking, what all of you are thinking. I don’t want to talk about the damn Phoenix anymore,” Aladdin grumbles.
She snorts and turns away, pocketing the coin, then returns in moments with a bottle. “Your friend Xaxos was in here looking for you a few days back. Didn’t look too happy.”
Aladdin opens the wine. When he offers it to me I shake my head. “Old Xax?” he says casually. “I’ve got no business with him.”
“He’d disagree, I think. He said he hired you for a job—I didn’t need to ask to know what that meant. So you’re still up to your old tricks, then?” She shakes her head. “Anyway, he’s pretty angry with you. Said you pulled the job, then left town. Guards are hunting for a thief too. Offering a thousand gold crowns for his head.” She narrows her eyes. “Did you break into the palace, Aladdin?”
“A thousand crowns?” Aladdin gives a low whistle. “Nearly makes a man want to turn himself in.”
“Of all the stupid things . . .” Her eyes glowering, Dal gives us both a brief, sharp look before going to mop up someone’s spilled wine.
Aladdin finds a table near the central ring, where two men the size of bulls are grappling. One, whose neck is easily the size of my waist, is getting the upper hand. He’s stripped nearly bare, doused in oil to make him slippery. His head, bald but for a long black tail sprouting from the top, gleams like a boiled egg. His opponent, slightly smaller, is on the defensive, holding up his hands to block the bigger man’s blows.
Aladdin watches with disinterest and takes a long swig of wine.
“See that?” He runs his finger over the tabletop, where someone has carved a small symbol.
“It looks like a sewing needle,” I say.
He nods and drinks. His eyes are starting to get foggy from the wine. “Not just a needle. The Needle. The sign of a rebellion that started up years ago. This is where the leaders of the movement met. Here. At this table.”
He traces the needle with his thumbnail.
“My father was the Tailor,” he tells me. “I mean, he was just a tailor at first, but when I was a kid, he started running with these rebels. The king’s vizier was press-ganging peasants onto his warships, rowing them to their deaths in a mad attempt to rebuild the Amulen Empire of the past. My father and his friends protested by burning garrisons and guardhouses, stealing weapons, sabotaging ships.” Aladdin’s face darkens. He leans back and pulls the coin from Neruby from his pocket. I hadn’t even noticed him pick it up. He flips it idly; on it flashes the face of a king who died so long ago, no one in this world would even know his name. “Eventually he got my mother to join in. Soon people were calling him the Tailor, and a reward was offered for his head. His needle became the rebellion’s symbol.”