I struggle through the crowd, trying to catch up to him, but a brawl breaks out between two gamblers, and I am knocked to the ground. Instead of trying to get up and fight my way back to Aladdin, I quietly shift into a tawny cat and dart through people’s legs until I reach him. If anyone did see me, they’ll probably attribute it to too much simmon. I’m sure stranger things have been hallucinated in this den of sweat and barbarism.
Aladdin and the girl have escaped into the blissfully quiet street, where they laugh and walk through the shadows. In one of the buildings nearby, a baby cries and a dog barks in response. The smells of roasting meat and strong spices waft out of a window above us. Though the crowd in the Rings is surely still shouting and cheering, not a sound escapes through the wide stones beneath our feet.
I stalk across the cobblestones, tail high and ears alert to every sound—while trying to block out the sound of Aladdin and his new friend, who are laughing and whispering. Eventually they stop and stare at each other, the girl taking Aladdin’s hands and drawing him close.
“What’s your name?” he asks her.
“First tell me yours.”
“Aladdin.”
“I’ve heard of you.” She smiles and runs her hands down his chest.
Aladdin is like one intoxicated, but not only from the wine. He leans forward, until her back is to the wall, and he inhales the scent of her hair. “Oh, really? And what have you heard?”
Her hands move up to trace his jaw and his lips. “That you are bold and that you are the best at what you do. That you”—she plants a light kiss on the corner of his jaw—“even stole something valuable from Prince Darian.”
He pauses, his lips brushing her hair. “And where did you hear that?” he murmurs.
“You know how we girls are. Always gossiping.”
“About me?” He grins.
She laughs and lifts her face, enticing him with her lips, but when he moves his mouth to hers she turns her face and says in an entirely different tone, “Finally. Take him, girls. He’s the one.”
Before I can make a move, a small knot of girls appears from the alley behind Aladdin, and a black bag is thrown over his head. The girl he’d been so close to kissing knocks him unconscious. I recognize them at once—the silent spectators in the Rings.
“A shame,” sighs the leader. “I think he’d have been a good kisser.”
Then she and the others drag him down the street and into the dark.
Chapter Seven
BY TRANSFORMING INTO A SPARROW and flying overhead, I am able to follow the girls as they hurry through the streets, carrying Aladdin’s unconscious body between them. The girl from the ring takes the lead, and silently they work their way south, sticking to side streets and avoiding lit and populated areas.
For now, I shadow them silently, waiting to see what they will do. To be honest, I am a bit vexed with Aladdin at the moment, and not very inclined to swoop in and save his drunken hide.
See what comes of kissing strange girls in dark alleys? I want to tell him.
The girls stop to rest after several minutes, letting Aladdin drop rather heavily to the ground. I alight on a beam above them and listen.
“How much farther?” one asks. Through her veil, her voice is high and girlish.
“We’ve barely gotten anywhere,” replies another.
“My back is killing me!”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t stop complaining, Ensi.”
“No names!” snaps the leader.
“No one’s listening!” Ensi protests. “Look around—we’re alone!”
“Someone is always listening. So be silent, and let’s keep moving.”
The girls sigh and hoist Aladdin up again, two with his arms, two with his legs. Exposed beams above them provide perches for me to flit to as I shadow them.
“He’s heavier than he looks,” one complains.
“It’s all these muscles,” says Ensi, giggling. She’s holding one of his arms, and she squeezes his bicep appreciatively. “You didn’t tell us he was so handsome. What a shame we had to put a bag over his head. And you had him wrapped around your finger!”
“Shush!” Their leader turns and draws a finger forcefully across her lips, signaling for silence.
Suddenly a shadow drops in front of them, and the girls halt. The shadow rises and drops its hood; it’s another girl, this one tall and lithe, carrying a supple bow.
“Raz!” Ensi cries. “What is it?”
She reports, “Guards ahead. Too late to run. Act casual.”
The girls curse, drop Aladdin roughly, roll him into a gutter, then lean against the wall, hiding him with their cloaks. I land on the edge of the roof above them, the cool night wind ruffling my feathers. From my perch, I can see around the bend in the road, where the guards are walking toward the girls. There are six in all, wearing chain mail and pointed helmets.
When they round the corner, the girls look down at their feet. If casual is their intention, they’re not doing a very good job. Five girls, dressed head to toe in black, standing silently in the gutter is not exactly a common sight at any hour, much less the middle of the night.
And indeed, the guards stop short when they spot them.
“You there,” calls one. “What are you up to? Don’t you know there’s a curfew?”
“Just heading home,” says the girls’ leader, keeping her eyes averted.
The guards, instead of walking on, gather around them, grinning and nudging each other.