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This was stupid. This was beyond stupid. This plan was completely ridiculous. Yet here she was, at Kocoum's door. She had rushed out of the office and told the good rich madman to sit down, and please make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back with a decision, and just don't touch anything. She had left his bewildered look inside her father's office and replaced it with her own.

What was she doing? What was she even considering? Why, of all places had she ended up on Kocoum's door?

She had made a mad dash through town, stopping only to catch her breath and perhaps wobble a bit before she would pick up her pace again. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to drink so much so early in the morning. But then again, she'd never expected to be running. And a bit of alcohol wouldn't stop her from doing so.

Apparently, Kocoum's door could. As soon as she saw it, her nerves froze her to the spot. The large frame of mahogany stood there simply, unadorned and stately, as if begging her to dare beyond her means.

Knock, it said. He'll tell you exactly how possible it is. And it was right. The thoughts she was entertaining in her mind weren't possible.

Kocoum had been her father's most trusted advisor, the quartermaster of his ship. He had been in charge of everything from rationing the payments of the crew, to keeping them in order when things got rough, to the rationing of food itself. He would be kind when it suited the interest of the crew, and merciless when deemed appropriate. He always had an explanation, and answer, a rational next step. He father had never trusted anyone more.

And so he had been like an odd uncle to Jasmine. One that would not indulge her in her fantasies when she had been young and restless. Her father would laugh and wave her fancies off, but not Kocoum. He would always tell her the truth; No Jasmine, jumping from the high mast into the water will likely break your legs. No, Jasmine, we cannot make the journey back if we stay here an extra week for the ball. No, Jasmine, we cannot live on rum and bread, go back to market. He was always reasonable, always cautious. Always careful. Rational.

He would absolutely tell her what could not be done.

It could not be done.

There are rare moments in life where your mind is so lost in it's own misshapen maze that your body is the only thing that can hear its lonely cry for help among the cobwebs of lost trains. Other times, the mind genuinely wants to be lost and the body has to jolt it back to the present. This usually happens with a faint, but since Jasmine was much too sensible and would never tolerate fainting, her body made do with goose bumps and a heavy dose of adrenaline.

It also helped that the shadow of a very large male made only of bulging muscle and permanent scowls crossed over Jasmine's view.

"Will you be standing there all day?" Jasmine turned slowly on the heels of her feet and stared up into one of Kocoum's particularly burning stares. So he hadn't been at home. She made a strangled sound. There'd been no point to knocking at all, no point to hoping at all.

"Never mind," she said with a forced cheerfulness. He crossed his arms. "I thought I had a question for you, but you're clearly busy." He held up a hand.

"First, we eat." And he shuffled the door open with practiced ease and disappeared behind her, into the shadows of his own home. She heard his voice though the darkness. "Come."

Jasmine sighed and gathered up her courage. Maybe it was possible. After all, she didn't even have to open the door. He had opened it for her. Maybe she was making it all too complicated.

She thought of the man still waiting in her father's old offices. He had made it sound so simple, so enchanting. What did she want? He had asked. As if it would have been so simple to acquire it.

She thought of Jafar, with his condescension and his easy offer of escape. If he took the business from her she would have time to mourn. She'd have money to live the rest of her life in peace. She'd even have a distant respectability. Whatever respectability was afforded to merchant's daughters. God, she'd have time to spend with Al.

She brought her hands to fists. This wasn't going to be easy. How could she convince Kocoum of something she couldn't believe herself?

But still, that question burned. What did she want?

She marched through the door.