Mazen flushed. “I had to think of something on the spot. Qadir seemed to like it.”
“Hmph,” Qadir said.
Loulie’s smile vanished at the mention of the ifrit. Mazen immediately regretted bringing him up, but there was nothing he could do to bring back her smile. Though he tried to engage her in conversation many times as they were walking back to the inn, she no longer seemed in the mood for idle chatter.
He was able to ask her only one last thing before she and Qadir retired for the night: whether she would come and tell stories with him tomorrow.
The merchant considered. “You have more poignant family stories up your sleeve?”
Mazen’s heart lifted. “No, but I’d like to think I know a few more lucrative ones.”
She smiled vaguely. “Tomorrow, then.”
Mazen smiled at her back as she turned away. “Tomorrow,” he echoed.
But when tomorrow arrived, there was only Aisha, shaking him awake and insisting they grab iftar. After a meal of bread and za’atar, Mazen asked her where the merchant had gone. “Off with Qadir,” she said with a shrug. “Apparently, there are rumors of treasure up on the cliffs. The merchant went to see if it was sellable.”
Evidently, he couldn’t hide his disappointment, because Aisha said, “The merchant told me about your storytelling adventures. Never fear. I will be your manager today.”
“Don’t you have things to steal?”
“Of course. But I can make time to watch you work.” Her eyes sparkled with something like amusement. “I didn’t even know you were capable of it.”
As it turned out, “working” was a far cry from what Mazen did. Mostly, he sat there staring sullenly out into the souk, wondering how he was going to bring people to his space without a magic fire. It was harder to convince an audience to listen to stories in the heat of the day, harder to keep them interested when they had work and the surrounding merchants spoke so loudly they all but drowned out his thoughts. What he had to offer was hardly as enticing—or material—as the appetizing foods and eye-catching accessories being peddled around the souk.
Aisha looked severely unimpressed by him. Mazen did his best to ignore her until she sat down in front of him and said, “Tell me the story of the Queen of Dunes.” Her lips were curved in that telltale way that told him it was not just Aisha sitting before him.
He hesitated. “The human version?”
“No, tell me your version. The one with the dune and the army of ghouls.”
Mazen startled. Yesterday, he had shared a part of his family’s history, but he had never thought to tell his stories. They hadn’t been the most heroic adventures, but he supposed he’d lived through them, hadn’t he?
And so, in a grandiose voice that carried across the alleys, he told her the story of Yousef the Adventurer, who had stumbled into the lair of the Queen of Dunes, the terrifying jinn king who commanded armies of ghouls.
“And so Yousef found himself in a glorious corridor! One that shone from floor to ceiling with beautiful mosaics. It seemed like something out of a dream. But alas! It was a place of nightmares…”
He did not remember when the crowd gathered, only that he started hearing gasps and murmurs, and when he looked up, there was a group of marketgoers. His story became more exuberant in the presence of an audience.
“And he ran!” cried Mazen. “He ran and ran and ran as the sand crashed down around him and the ruins collapsed. Yalla! screamed his inner voice. Yalla, yalla!”
And the children began to chant with him, clapping their hands and crying, “Yalla, Yousef! Yalla, yalla!”
“And then—” Mazen held out his hands, and the children quieted. He leaned forward and, in a much softer voice, said, “Yousef escaped. And do you know what he held in his hand?”
“The queen’s crown?” Aisha looked like she was trying not to laugh.
Mazen released a grievous sigh. “Nothing!” He splayed his fingers, revealing his empty palm. His audience was distraught. The story ended on a note of uncertainty, with the promise that the Queen of Dunes was still out there.
He told more stories based off his own adventures after that, stories he proudly dubbed “The Tales of Yousef.” And, just as Loulie had, Aisha asked for donations. She was not as adept at playing the crowd, but with a deceptively gentle smile she gathered enough coin for a few meals.
For an hour or so, things went smoothly. They had secured a captive audience, and Mazen had no shortage of stories to offer them.