Chapter 2
Anjum
About an hour and a half after the Sultan had unknowingly infuriated Anjum, a long shadow fell across her desk as she worked lovingly over the manuscript. Carefully, she set her brushes down, cautious that she did not drip ink, or smear the manuscript with her sleeve. Then she looked up at the tall figure standing over her. The man was leanly muscled, with the look of a runner. His face, while not handsome in the conventional sense, was arresting, and certainly pleasant enough.
"Can I help you?" she asked, sliding the façade of pleasant assistant over her face.
"You certainly can," the man said bowing slightly from the waist. Anjum started. The man had a low, thrilling voice, a voice that could be listened to for hours on end. "My name is Jafar."
"Ah, of course." Anjum swiftly regained her composure. "Then you are looking for the Head of the Repository, I take it?" Jafar's eyebrows knitted together in a very reasonable facsimile of confusion.
"But, I was under the impression that I was already addressing her," he said blinking his black eyes wide in false innocence. Anjum couldn't help it, and let out a low laugh, bending her head in acknowledgement. Her pent up anger at the near sighted Sultan slipped away as she confronted his new vizier. A droll sense of humor was usually accompanied by a keen mind. Perhaps the Sultan was aware, how he had let things slide, and brought this man in to clean up his mess. Anjum snorted to herself. A pity that that was the most responsibility the Sultan would take.
She closed the box she kept her ink powders in and stood up. Looking up at the new viziers face she beckoned.
"Come along. I'll show you where everything is."
Jafar
"She's positively tiny!" he thought to himself as he followed the de facto Head. He had enough sense to sound out who actually was in control in all sections of the Sultan's palace, but this woman had surprised him. He had met women before who had quietly (and not so quietly) assumed leadership. But this woman seemed barely more than a girl. No, he frowned to himself; no-one could think she is a child, for all her lack of size. There was a fire that burned behind her eyes, even when working over a text, which made him go quite weak in the knees. Her skin was pale from working indoors all day, with delicately shaped hands that fit perfectly around the brush she had been using. He guessed she was slender, from the firmness of her chin and cheekbones, and the straightness of her wrists, peeping coyly out from under her sleeves… He bit his cheek hard to bring his mind back to focus. He nodded as she pointed to where to medical texts were, just beyond the theological section. She turned her head, and those magnificent eyes swept over him again. For it was in her eyes that the majority of her beauty lay. Almond shaped, but an exotic blue, rather than the brown or black Jafar was accustomed to seeing every day. He wondered where such a blue had come from, a dark blue that one only sees for a moment between the red of sunset and the gray of evening. He bit his cheek again as they walked past the shelves supporting books of poetry. He had a job to do, and he didn't need to be distracted…from his job…tiny though she was, she certainly walked like a woman.
"Damn!" he swore quietly to himself. He had a chance to turn the kingdom around, he needed to concentrate. To his chagrin, he realized she'd heard him. Her head snapped back, eyes glittering.
"What was that?" she asked coolly.
"I beg your pardon," he replied shamefacedly. "I- I was distracted by the books," he waved one hand vaguely over his shoulder. "As I have so much to do, I was annoyed that I had …allowed myself…to become distracted." She peered up at him, and then nodded.
"I know what you mean. Sometimes it is hard not to be pulled from one's appointed task by another book." She looked carefully up at him again, and then asked "So, you like poetry, do you?"
"Ah-h-h," Jafar stammered. He wanted to tell her yes, certainly, he adored poetry, but he faltered before the blue fire springing from her eyes. "No," he said suddenly. Her eyebrows quirked upward in confusion. "I was simply wondering whether your music texts were with the poetry or mathematics," he blurted. She seemed pleased by the question.
"Actually, both. Music related texts lie between poetry and mathematics, just as it does in real life," she said turning back to show him the way. "Do you write music?"
"Some," Jafar admitted, surprising himself with his honesty. "However, most of what I write is fairly terrible. I generally stick to playing."
"Oh, what do you play?" the woman asked politely.
"Mizmar," he replied, naming a single-reed flute-like instrument.
"Hmmm," was her noncommittal response. Jafar ground his teeth together. Why should it matter what this person, what this woman, thought of him? He was far too busy to try and be everyone's favorite person. However…the Head of the Repository was a very important person, and the person who was actually in charge even more so. He should, of course cultivate her friendship. It made good sense. Yes, of course, he smiled broadly to himself, to made perfect sense to spend time with this woman…this woman whose name he didn't even know!
By now they were at the very back of the Repository, surrounded by volumes of military history. The woman turned to face Jafar.
"Well, that's the basic layout," she said, spreading her hands to indicate the whole of the Repository. "Texts are arranged within their various sections by country, the year of publication, then author. Not too difficult, if you know what you're looking for." She smiled slightly as she turned away. Jafar was immensely grateful she had turned so she wouldn't she the surprised delight flash across his face. Her face, slightly too wide in the cheekbone and slightly too narrow (albeit, well shaped) in the mouth, was transformed when she smiled to one of unquestionable blinding beauty. Jafar's breath caught as she once again began to walk away from him. Her name. He had to know what it was. He hastily lengthened his step so that he was next to her.
"What do they call you?" he asked. Her eyes darted upward. In surprise? Anger?
"Anjum," she said, once more looking straight ahead. "My name is Anjum."
Jafar nodded. " 'Star'. It fits you." To his shock, Anjum stiffened, and then hurried off to her desk.
