It was a lie, and they both knew it. Her father would only marry her off for an alliance that brought him more benefit than she did currently as his unofficial ambassador. But her life suited Maram, so she did not say so.
"Father, I promise you, the only man I want is one who will build me a palace that has its own bathhouse, an edifice to rival the grandest bathhouse in the city, but for my very own. And not even you can give me that." Maram smiled sadly. Her father's palace had been built on a plentiful water supply, but her favourite bathhouse had a spring which fed the pools inside, and no other water in the city could compare to it.
Father waved her away. "Of course, you must bathe. You are a dutiful daughter indeed to come to me before you have properly washed away the dust from your journey. I shall see to it that the Firdaus Bathhouse is closed to all but you and your attendants for as long as you like."
Maram inclined her head. "Thank you, Father. It is too late in the day now, so I shall bathe in my chambers tonight, but tomorrow...tomorrow I will accept your offer. A bathhouse to myself for the day is reward enough, I think."
It wasn't, but for now it would do.
What man would want her for a wife, anyway? Most men wanted a virginal bride, the sort Maram wanted for Elcin. They would not want a woman who had taken dozens of lovers to her bed. Lovers who had given her pleasure but nothing else, for her healing skills were sufficient to stave off disease or pregnancy, but still. To most men, that made her unclean and not a fit bride.
Of course, if they met her and fell under her spell, no man could resist her, but she did not want a man by magical means. As a lover, maybe, but not as her life's partner.
Maram sighed. She was destined to go through life alone, taking a series of lovers, but never to truly love. At least she had the freedom to choose her lovers. Not even Anahita could claim that.
And a bath. On the morrow, she would have a bath.
Maram clapped her hands to summon a servant to help her wash in what the palace could provide. Tomorrow she could soak, but today she could at least be clean.
TWO
"I can make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. The Sultan's daughters will mistake you for a prince, you will be so wealthy, and you may have your pick of them!" the well-dressed man boasted. "I am Gwandoya, and if you come to work for me, you will never go hungry again!"
"That's because everyone who does, dies," Berk muttered.
"Really?" Aladdin asked.
Berk shrugged. "Well, whoever does believe him enough to go work for him, never comes back."
Aladdin laughed. "Well, if I went to work for him, amassed a fortune and married some princess, I wouldn't come back, either. Who wants to sit around all day in an alley that stinks of piss?"
"That's because they stable the camels here. I worked there once. Evil things, camels. They bite and spit and stand on your feet until they break all the bones, but if you fight back, you're the one who gets thrown out," Bugra piped up. The boy was not yet a man, but Aladdin had been younger than Bugra when he started coming here looking for whatever work he could find.
"What about you, boy?" Gwandoya asked, pointing at Bugra. "What do you think of my offer?"
"What offer's that?" Bugra asked.
"Riches untold, and a princess for a bride!" Gwandoya said, his eyes lighting with unholy fire.
It was far too early in the morning for that sort of zealotry.
"Sounds better than shovelling camel shit," Bugra said, stepping forward. "Will she be pretty?"
"Far more beauteous than any woman you have ever beheld!" Gwandoya promised.
"Hey, you don't want to do that," Aladdin said, reaching for Bugra's shoulder. "He might be taking you to sell you as a slave in the market."
Bugra shrugged off Aladdin's hand. "He promised me a princess, he did. And gold. You're just jealous you didn't accept first. When I'm a prince, I'll come back and throw you a copper coin so you can use the baths. Meanwhile, I'll have a palace of my own. You'll see." Bugra headed off with Gwandoya, leaving the other men staring in their wake.
"Think we'll ever see him again?" Aladdin asked.
"Nope," Berk drawled. Other men shook their heads.
"No one who goes with Gwandoya is ever seen again," an old man said, sadly.
"Should we tell his family where he's gone?" Aladdin ventured.
The old man shrugged. "No one to tell. His mother died last year. No one will miss him." He sighed. "Much like the rest of us. If we cannot work to keep our families fed, what use are we? We should all go with Gwandoya, for it is only a matter of time before we die unmourned by anyone who matters, for our families will starve long before us."
Some of the other men nodded in agreement, but none had the energy to argue. Perhaps none of them had anyone left to lose.
Except Aladdin, who rose from his crouch to stare down at the hopeless humanity who were the closest thing he had to friends. "Speak for yourself. My mother would mourn me. I'm not staying here, waiting to die with the rest of you. A caravan came into town last night. I heard it. I'll head down to the bazaar and see if anyone needs some extra hands to help unload the goods." Anything was better than wallowing in misery, waiting for work that would not come.
So he strode out of the alley and down the main street, toward the markets, but with no idea what to do. Such was the story of his life. His father had insisted he learn to read and write, and assess the quality of goods for when Aladdin followed in his father's footsteps as a merchant. But his father had died before Aladdin was old enough to take over the business, and his mother had sold all their goods just to survive, leaving them with nothing. Not even a trade Aladdin could follow to earn a living, for he was too old to apprentice and besides, no tradesman would take him without money to pay for his board. Money his mother no longer had.
So Aladdin walked through the market, seeing good silk and bad, brass polished to look like gold and gold so dirty it looked like cheap brass, food fit for the Sultan's table and stuff even a starving goat would turn its nose up at, but he could afford none of it. He was a merchant's son turned street rat, and his mother earned more money with her spinning than he did waiting all day to be hired for a day's labour that he was never offered.
He made it to the other end of the market without realising, only to find the street full of guards. "Make way for the princess!" one shouted, shoving a camel driver under the feet of his own lead beast.
Guards who would happily let a merchant be trampled wouldn't care if they killed some street rat, Aladdin knew, so he ducked into the nearest building – the city's oldest bathhouse. He ignored the sign that said the place was closed, and shouldered open the door. The shadows inside were cooler than the street, and he could hide here until the guards went past.