The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) - S. A. Chakraborty Page 0,87

slightest of amused smiles lit her pale face. “We meet at last.”

Ali shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It was far easier to rage at the Tanzeem men than this grandmotherly figure. “Am I supposed to know you?”

“Not yet, no. Though I suppose these times call for flexibility.” She inclined her head. “My name is Hui Fatumai. I am . . .” Her smiled faded. “Rather, I was one of Sheikh Anas’s associates. I run the orphanage here and many of the Tanzeem’s charitable works. For which I should thank you. It was only through your generosity that we were able to do so much good.”

Ali raised an eyebrow. “That’s apparently not all you were doing with my ‘generosity.’ I saw the weapons.”

“And what of it?” She nodded to the zulfiqar at his waist. “You wear a weapon to protect yourself. Why should my people not have the same right?”

“Because it’s against the law. Shafit aren’t allowed to carry weapons.”

“They’re also forbidden medical care,” Rashid cut in, giving Ali a knowing look. “Tell me, brother, whose idea was the clinic on Maadi Street? Who paid for that clinic and stole medical books from the royal library to train its providers?”

Ali flushed. “That’s different.”

“Not in the eyes of the law,” Rashid rebuked. “Both preserve the lives of shafit, and thus both are forbidden.”

Ali had no response for that. Fatumai was still studying him. Something that might have been pity flickered in her brown eyes. “How young you are,” she remarked quietly. “Far nearer in age to the children sleeping in the next room than to any of us, I imagine.” She clucked her tongue. “I am almost sorry for you, Alizayd al Qahtani.”

Ali didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you want with me?” he asked. His nerves were starting to get the better of him, and his voice shook.

Fatumai smiled. “We want you to help save the shafit, of course. Ideally by resuming our funding as soon as possible.”

He was incredulous. “You must be joking. Anas was supposed to buy food and books with the money I gave him, not rifles and daggers. You can’t possibly think I’d give you a coin more.”

“Full bellies mean nothing if we can’t protect our children from slavers,” Hanno snapped.

“And we already educate our people, Prince Alizayd,” Fatumai added. “But to what end? Shafit are forbidden from skilled work; if our kind are lucky, they can find a job as a servant or bed slave. Do you have any idea how hopeless that makes life in Daevabad? There is no betterment save the promise of Paradise. We’re not allowed to leave, we’re not allowed to work, our women and children can be legally stolen by any pureblood claiming they’re related—”

“Anas gave me the speech,” Ali interrupted, his voice more cutting than he intended. But he had believed Anas’s words before, and the knowledge that his sheikh had lied to him still stung. “I’m sorry, but I’ve done everything in my power to help your people.” It was the truth. He’d given the Tanzeem a fortune and even now was quietly delaying the harsher measures his father wanted to put in place on the shafit. “I don’t know what else you expect.”

“Influence.” Rashid spoke up. “The sheikh did not recruit you for money alone. The shafit need a champion at the palace, a voice to speak for their rights. And you need us, Alizayd. I know you’re stalling those orders your father gave you. The new laws you’re supposed to be enforcing? Hunting down the traitor from the Royal Guard who stole zulfiqar training blades?” A slight grin played on his mouth at that. “Let us help you, Brother Alizayd. Let us help each other.”

Ali shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“This is a waste of time,” Hanno declared. “The brat is Geziri—he’d probably let Daevabad burn to the ground before turning on his own.” His eyes flashed, and his fingers again lingered on the hilt of his knife. “We should just kill him.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “Let Ghassan know what it feels like to lose a child.”

Ali drew back in alarm, but Fatumai was already waving him off. “Give Ghassan a reason to slaughter every shafit in the city, you mean. No, I don’t think we’ll be doing that.”

From out in the corridor, the little boy began to cough again. The sound—that hacking, blood-tinged cough, that sad little sob—cut deep, and Ali flinched.

Rashid noticed. “There’s medicine for it, you know. And there are a