Chapter 10

Jafar

The suffocating piles of busywork on the desk of the Royal Vizier kept Jafar imprisoned in his seat through the rest of the day. His only reprieve had been when the Physician Qasim arrived out of the noonday heat, accompanied by a servant bearing a tray covered in chilled cucumbers, grilled chicken atop sparkling green peas, and slices of melon. The physician had very carefully watched Jafar eat, and then checked Jafar's pulse and breathing. The pear shaped man had walked out of the office, chuckling to himself at the end of the session. Rather than wondering what had so amused the revered physician, Jafar melted back into the work awaiting him.

The shadows gradually lengthened against the wall, and still Jafar worked on, determinedly ignoring the world around him. The color of the light changed from clear to red to gray, and Jafar only paid enough heed as to light a lamp, and still he worked on. His eyes moved over endless documents, his hands sorting, making notes, and drawing up replies. The world outside his window could have vanished in a mighty clap of thunder, and still Jafar would have kept working, oblivious to all.

Oblivion. Precisely what he wanted.

The decision he had made in the morning's confusion promised only loneliness, but there was nothing new in that. From a purely pragmatic standpoint, it would be a shame to lose the Repository Head as an ally, but there would be others allies he could find. Jafar had set himself onto a certain road long ago, and so he would continue down it. With every line of words and numbers, he pulled a shell about himself, shutting out the outside world, totally focusing himself, forcing the pain out of his mind.

The night's thick darkness pressed tightly around Jafar's desk, barely held at bay by his flickering lamp. Stars rose and swirled across the sky in their endless migration, and Jafar saw only the words in front of his nose.

The light of the waxing half moon was beginning to creep past the window sill when quiet, almost hesitant, one-two knock intruded though the soft night sounds. Jafar's head snapped back at the sound, like prey sensing the first quivering presence of the stalking hunter. He newly crafted shell nearly cracked for a moment, but then iron bands solidified around his mind.

He stood carefully, rolling forward onto the balls of his feet, stretching his legs after long hours in his seat. He then crossed his office, unhurried, to the door. The door opened smoothly, and unsealed the portal between his safe hidden self and all that lay beyond.

Anjum stood on the other side, looking more composed than she had when she fled earlier, but still had an air of rattled fragility about her. She raised her eyebrows in greeting and opened her mouth to speak, but this night it was Jafar's turn.

"Good evening, Lady," he welcomed her coolly. The distinct lack of warmth seemed to hit her like a physical strike, for she took a sudden step back in shock. A small voice in Jafar's mind protested this cruelty, but was violently silenced. If any part of his mind still cared about her, then this was the wisest course.

Wasn't it?

"What happened to you today?" Anjum asked quietly, her voice barely stirring the air.

"I don't understand your question," Jafar lied smoothly.

Anjum took a step forward, intently peering at him. Then her searching gaze solidified into one of disgust.

"You think I'm some damn fool woman, don't you?" she hissed. "After all this time, you think I need someone to depend on." She laughed a short, bitter laugh. "Perhaps I made a mistake calling you a friend. A friend is someone to trust, and if you think so low of me, I was obviously wrong."

"Of course not," Jafar purred, and was almost too shocked to continue. He sounded like his father! But Jafar swallowed away the bile that had risen in his throat at that horrifying thought and continued.

"I'm sure I must apologize if you feel misled, but we are only colleagues. There is nothing more between us."

Anjum's eyes flashed, then hardened, turning into furious sapphire flakes.

"Nothing more." She repeated Jafar's words in a low, icy voice. Her whole frame tightened, which was something Jafar had seen many times in his few months at the palace. Anjum had a fiery temper, and even after years of self-training, she had to work diligently to keep herself from lashing out.

Let her hate me, a low voice breathed grimly in his mind. It's for her own good after all.

"There is far more between us than you may care to admit." Anjum's voice stung like a harsh wind off the desert. "If nothing else, you owe me your life." Her eyes narrowed even further. "And you owe me so very much more than that."

"I am quite grateful for your actions," Jafar replied, "but I don't see what more I owe—"

He was cut off as Anjum's hand blurred suddenly through the air, connecting with his jaw, the sound of a resounding slap arcing through the room. Jafar glanced hurriedly at Anjum in consternation as he instinctively cupped his aching cheek. But to his surprise, she wasn't glaring, her face wasn't contorted with emotion, and she certainly did not look like a woman who had just slapped someone in the face.

She looked quite calm and composed, as a matter of fact.

"Now then," she said, breezing past Jafar, "you are going to sit down, and tell me what this is all about."

"What what is all about?" he asked, wincing as the reddened skin of his face stretched and contorted.

Anjum didn't speak. She merely pointed to one of the elegant chairs next to the overflowing desk.

Jafar did not sit. He looked Anjum straight in her anomalous blue eyes.

"You don't want to know," was all he said.

"That is incorrect," she replied quietly, not moving her pointing hand. Jafar felt his face grow warm with frustration. He had prepared himself for an outburst, a tirade of emotion, perhaps the wrenching numbness Anjum hid her emotions behind. But this? This perfect composure? This defied anything he could have expected.

He sat.

"You will tell me why you are doing," Anjum paused, then gestured vaguely at Jafar, "this, and then I will fill you in on what you need to know." Her eyes darkened. "What you missed."

"And what more I owe you?" Jafar asked, honest curiosity piercing his self protection. Anjum stood still for a long moment.

"We'll see," was all she said. Jafar hesitated a bare moment before responding.

"I was not lying," he said, "when I said that you truly don't want to know why this is happening. You just need," his breath caught here, and he had to compose himself before continuing. "I need you to accept that this is what it is."

Anjum looked at him, her expression unchanging. Jafar grew instinctively uncomfortable under her still gaze. After far too long, she closed her eyes, relieving Jafar of the pressure of her intense stare.

"You know I can't do that."

The wall of protection that Jafar had built around himself began to crumble. If he couldn't persuade her to sever all ties with him, then perhaps it would be wiser if she knew the truth.

Or perhaps it would only make things worse.

"Fine." A humorless smile compressed Jafar's lips. "You may wish to sit down. The story is rather…long."

Anjum nodded slowly, and sank into the second chair. Jafar leaned back, gathering his thoughts, and prayed that he was doing the wise thing.

"This morning you called me 'friend' and in doing so, brought to my attention the great danger I have placed you in. Anyone who is close to me is in danger, and this creates a particular threat to me. This is why there was no one close to me." Jafar felt his jaw tighten. "Until now."

"Begin at the beginning," Anjum said, sitting unusually rigid. "If you begin in the middle you'll only make a mess of things."

"The beginning?" Jafar closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists, nails cutting deep into his skin. "The beginning was a very long time ago."

"Then start a very long time ago." Jafar opened his eyes, and threw his fate to the four winds.

"Many years ago there was a man. A very powerful man, and it grew that power was all he craved. He was a member of the aristocracy, and he turned his eyes to the throne. To make a long story short, the man failed in his coup, and was executed, along with his wife. But the man's son escaped. The son learned from his father's failure, and sought new roads to dominance, roads that were more concealed. The son found himself an alchemist, and convinced the alchemist to take him on as a student.

"The alchemist had a daughter who could speak to spirits, and the son wanted that power for himself. But he never could manage the trick, so he married the girl. Once the son had learned everything he could from the alchemist, the alchemist…disappeared. Astonishingly, the girl stayed with the son, even produced two children for him. The children were brothers, and were raised to hunt for power. The boys learned alchemy from their father and necromancy from their mother. When each one turned thirteen, he was sent into the world to seek his own knowledge. The idea was that they would have different strengths and support each other. By this point, the whole thing had turned into the idea of a dynasty, with each generation growing stronger, and more hidden than the former.

"The elder of the brothers found an old zealot, and learned of the dominance of the mind, and how that dominance could be projected onto other people. The younger learned how to walk in the shadows, and how to bend darkness to his will. Both masters of the two brothers disappeared once the tutelage had been completed. The two returned home, and were instructed by their father to sire children. After all, the dynasty had to survive." Jafar's mouth twisted in distaste.

"One brother married; the younger one. The elder didn't, but one day he came home carrying a little boy. The boy had the same eyes as the elder brother. The child didn't make it past its third year, however. So the future of the family was pinned on the younger's offspring. The younger brother married a woman from a line of prosperous merchants, so she brought an immense dowry with her, which is why my father chose her." Jafar stopped suddenly. He hadn't meant to say that. Not yet. He knew Anjum would most likely deduce that this was his family history, but it was easier to tell as if it was a legend.

Anjum's face didn't change, for which Jafar was almost grateful. She simply sat, quietly attentive to his foul words.

"My mother had been accustomed to a life of luxury. When she discovered her life was not to be quite as fine as the one she had known she became very…mean spirited. Who knows, perhaps she always had been, but hadn't been given a chance to show it. She grew to hate my father for taking her away from her soft life, which couldn't have pleased my father more. All he wanted was her money and her capacity to produce an heir to the family's power. Anything more he considered a distraction. And so, I was born into a family craving power, and steeped in empty hatred. I," here he paused for a moment, "and my sister." At this, Anjum finally reacted.

"You have a sister…what is she like? What is her name?" Jafar's lips contorted into a hideous mockery of a smile.

"My dear twin, Nasira, is devoted to me, although I can't imagine why. She is much more our father's child than I am. My father and uncle began tutoring us at a young age and she took to the Skills quite readily." Jafar noted Anjum's questioning glance and explained: "'The Skills' is my family's private term for the various crafts that have been collected and passed on. At any rate, Nasira always had a flare for the more mystical side of our upbringing than I did. This infuriated my father to no end that only one of his children met his expectations. At least…" Jafar trailed off, eyes narrowed in thought.

"At least?" Anjum questioned.

"Nothing," Jafar lied easily. "A passing thought." The thought was not passing, though; it was earth-shaking. He didn't have his sister's gift with the Skills, and had fled his family home…and yet, here he was, in a position of steadily increasing power and influence. It couldn't be possible that his family had manipulated him into such a position. After all, as open and visible as Jafar was ought to make the position of Royal Vizier the last place he would secrete himself away. And yet…

A cold wind blew in through the high open arched windows, setting parchments rustling and causing the oil flame to gutter and spurt. Perhaps it was only Jafar's imagination that made him so suspicious, but no good would come of underestimating his family. He glanced around. The room was full of shadows, and he couldn't tell if there were translucent eyes hidden within them. Jafar repressed a shudder. For the past several years, he had put as much distance between himself and his kin as possible, and here he was, conjuring them for Anjum when he should have thrown her from his office.

"Well?" Anjum prompted quietly; obviously impatient for the rest of the tale. The explanation that hopefully won't kill us both, Jafar thought grimly.

"I ran away from my lessons as a child. I hid, but every time I was swiftly discovered and dragged back to my instructors. There were numerous punishments; my uncle was an inventive man. So was my father, but he was also much more practical. When I kept running, he would flog me. He was a sizable man and I… I was not." Jafar's mouth twisted, his eyes staring, unseeing past Anjum. He was caught in the shades of his past now.

"That was why I started playing the mizmar," he recalled. "My family didn't waste time on music, and it set me further apart from them. It was something that was mine, something that they couldn't touch. Nasira, of course could never see the problems. 'Try again,' she would say. 'You will melt into the shadows if you just try, and then Father will let you go your own way.'

"Suffice to say, I grew thoroughly exhausted of the whole charade. My family decided it needed to be hidden so as to hone its powers, so I went the other way. I was sick of the shadows; I wanted to stand in the daylight. I wanted a chance to live life, not just scrape up dark powers. So I did apply myself to my lessons. I learned how to persuade people, and Nasira and my mother taught me the abilities of gemstones. Not just their value in alchemy, but how far people will go for greed.

"Mother always hated Father, so she fought him the only way she could: she became a tight fisted, shrieking harridan. Of course, since Father was involved in our creation, she hated her children as well. My sister she hated because Nasira could go beyond what Mother felt a woman should do, and she hated me for being my father's son. But, her loyalties could be bought. She came from wealth, and wealth is what she wanted. I have never seen anyone driven as hysterical as she was by the sight of a glimmering gem.

"By the time I was seventeen, my father and uncle seemed to have decided that I wasn't fully incompetent, although they had relegated me to bring in wealth while my sister took care of the mystical side of things. My uncle set out to find a woman with a fortune to shackle to me. Nasira, I recall, had caused an uproar; quite unlike her. She was determined that she wouldn't marry as she didn't want some 'new man to control her fate', I believe she said. Father was distracted by his perfect student finally rebelling, and I took my chance.

"I quietly stole as much food as I could carry, as well as some gold, basic equipment and a concealment charm my grandfather had crafted. While my uncle was absent, my father distracted by Nasira, and my mother consumed by an emerald I'd planted in her room, I made my escape. I slipped out in the dawn and headed west. The charm worked, but not as well as I'd hoped. Nasira was able to scry me out, even when our father and uncle could not. She was furious that I had abandoned her, but I managed to convince her that there was no place for me with our family. She was hurt, but offered me a warning: that I would be tracked wherever I went, until our father could lay his hands on me again. She did promise not to help the search, even if she didn't promise not to hinder it. Nasira is devoted to me, but she is loyal to the family teachings."

Another gust of chill air hushed through the room, and Jafar slowly emerged from the past. He looked around his office, at the life he had built for himself, and sighed.

"In all those months we talked, we never brought up our pasts. I assume you had your reasons, just as I had mine. You see, one other thing my family tried to instill in my head: emotions betray you, and make you easy to snare. Anyone who is close to a person can be a target, to manipulate and control. That is why I let no one near me, until you slipped in when I wasn't looking." Anjum flushed slightly, although with annoyance or embarrassment, Jafar could not tell in the flickering oil light.

"Have you heard from any member of your family in the intervening years, to make you so cautious?" Anjum asked. "Or is it just a natural tendency of yours to hide?" Her words were empty of venom, but Jafar thought he detected a slight gleam in her eyes. Jafar grimaced.

"My sister keeps managing to find me." He caught Anjum's eye, and hastily added, "It's not that I'm not fond of my sister; I am. But if she can find me, then perhaps so can the others. As I said, her loyalty is to her family…all her family. I doubt that she enjoys keeping my secrets from them. Despite her promise, she may one day decide that it would serve her best to have all her family together again." Jafar spread his hands. "She's something of a sentimentalist like that."

Anjum leaned back in her seat.

"Then tell me, what were you thinking, entering a visible position like that of the Vizier?" Her brow wrinkled with thought. "Moreover, how did you manage to gain this position? The Vizier is normally selected from within a small pool of noblemen."

"A visible position is worst hiding place in the world," Jafar agreed, "which is why it is the last place that a person would think to look. Besides," he hesitated, "I spent enough time on the streets to desire something a bit more comfortable." His eyes narrowed with memory. "This part of the world demands a strict adherence to the status quo. There is not room to live as you please; you are either part of the pattern, or else you don't belong. The fact that my family managed to secrete itself away to build its little dynasty is a wonder. But they taught me enough that I could slide through the city unnoticed as I worked my way up."

"Why not just set yourself up as some minor nobleman?" Anjum queried.

"Minor noblemen have to do things like pay taxes and appear at court and get shipped off to be ambassadors. If I had to be in the civil service, why not be at the top? Besides," here, a light grin broke through his serious monologue, "no taxes."

"And this concern about your family," Anjum spoke slowly, each word deliberate, "is why you felt that you had to be the noble hero and debase me?"

Fury rocked Jafar to the core. He was trying to keep Anjum out of harm's way, out of the baleful eyes of his family, and she had the gall to be insulted? Yet, before his rage could come shrieking out, something in her face halted him. It was a look he'd seen a few times; her face was at its most serene, but there was a glimmer in those strange blue eyes. She was pushing him, ever so quietly. Jafar had watched her do this before; gently nudge the situation until she found the line of safety. Normally, that was where she stopped. But Jafar had a feeling that Anjum would keep pushing him until the last grace point of safety was lost behind them.

But why?

Jafar fixed Anjum with a steady gaze of his own.

"I have just given you more insight into my life than I have ever granted another person. Now I think it is time for you to fill me in on what happened…everything that happened, I think." Jafar heard the breath catch in Anjum's throat. For a split second she appeared as lost and fragile as she had earlier that morning. Then something hardened behind her eyes, a resoluteness that straightened her spine and flared her nostrils in determination.

"Perhaps I do, at that. Perhaps I do."