A Whole New World (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,60
out what happened to them.”
Jasmine thought about the genie’s strange mood switches, humorous jokes, and bitter hints at horrible things. Here was a creature who knew more than she would ever know, trapped in a place and a time where he didn’t want to be.
“It must be really hard…being you,” she said, fumbling for the right thing to say.
“Princess, you have no idea,” he quipped, quoting Jafar—but with a sad smile.
And with that he dwindled down to a curlicue of blue smoke and evaporated into the night air.
“I NEVER THOUGHT I’d be stealing with you again,” Duban muttered as he stood on the back of a wagon and threw a sack to Aladdin. Their latest caravan heist held no magic books but something infinitely more useful to the poor people of Agrabah—food.
Aladdin grinned, catching the sack and making sure the top was knotted tightly. Street Rats weren’t the only kind of rat they had around here.
“I think Morgiana’s idea is brilliant, to have Jasmine herself offering the handouts,” Duban said. “It will make a real connection with the people.”
“It’s dangerous,” Aladdin said, scowling. “Jasmine is too many things: a valuable prize to hand over to Jafar, a symbol of the old sultan, our de facto leader. I don’t think she should be walking the streets out in the open.”
Duban shrugged. “You can’t gain without risk. You of all people should know that.”
The quiet noise of a throat being cleared interrupted their chatter.
Aladdin and Duban looked up in surprise to see a tall, middle-aged man standing there, quietly waiting. He was wrapped in a simple robe that was worn in places with what looked like all-too-perfect rips. His face didn’t show any of the long-term effects of privation: while he was skinny, it wasn’t because he was starving. His skin was clear and sleek and his graying beard well trimmed. His hands were clasped around each other politely. He wore a plain gold ring on one hand…but Aladdin’s expert eye saw that it didn’t quite match the tan lines around his finger. And there were more pale areas on his other fingers.…
“We were just…” Aladdin began.
“My father runs a bakery,” Duban said. “We were just helping him. This is where…he keeps his…”
“Baguettes,” Aladdin supplied.
Duban looked at him as if he was an idiot. Which he sort of was.
“I am here to speak to the…‘Street Rats,’” the man said politely. His accent was clipped and refined.
“I don’t know of any…” Duban said.
“We aren’t…” Aladdin said.
“You’re talking about those thieves they named this neighborhood after?” Duban asked with interest.
They trailed off as the man just watched them in silence.
Finally, he spoke again.
“I am Amur, the head of the Jewelers’ Guild, and I risk my own life by coming here.”
He twisted the gold band around on his finger and, as Aladdin suspected, revealed a huge gem on a bezel: an obsidian cabochon with the golden image of a perfect diamond incised on it.
Duban gave a low whistle.
“What is it you want?” Aladdin asked, confused.
“I would feel…more comfortable discussing it over tea,” the man said, looking around obviously.
The two thieves immediately felt stupid. Of course a rich man who disguised himself to come to the most dangerous part of town would come with a purpose he didn’t want exposed to the world.
“Yeah. Of course. Sure,” Aladdin said quickly. “But how did you…know we were Street Rats, or we were here?”
The man gave a polite cough and nodded his chin at a wall.
There was the Mark of Rajah, four claws in bloody red paint.
Inside the labyrinth of passages that made up the world of the Street Rats, Duban and Aladdin managed to cobble together some tea and chairs and a table…without leading Amur too deeply into their secret lair.
The head of the Jewelers’ Guild sat poshly relaxed, looking around with interest as if this was just a new teahouse and not the lair of the people who probably stole from him and his clients.
“We should do something about that,” Aladdin suggested to Duban. “The claw marks, I mean.”
“The kids love it,” Duban said doubtfully. “It really makes them feel like they’re a part of something.”
“And here I was thinking you were concerned about security.”
“I am, but it’s a good symbol. For people to rally to. They just shouldn’t…paint it so close to home.”
Amur took a sip of tea pointedly, waiting for them to sit down.