Chapter 11: In Our Favor
May 20th. 7:16 AM.
Ja'far suppressed a yawn as he focused on the fabric in his hands. The night had been spent napping and talking, but for once the activities of the two didn't overlap, so Ja'far was sitting beside the bed, steadily repairing the slash in his uniform's shoulder from the night before. It was a small tear, but Ja'far was anything but a procrastinator, and keeping his equipment in repair was high on his list of priorities.
He sewed the final stitch and finished, snipping away the excess thin thread. Then he put it down and examined his work. It'll do. After years of repairing his uniform and clothing, Ja'far was adept at this kind of thing, although he was by no means an expert. He raised his eyes to glance next to him. Sinbad was sprawled out on the bed, mouth slightly agape as he slept. One hand dangled off the side, centimeters above the floor. Ja'far shook his head slightly at the sight, then turned his attention to his other side. Sinbad's sheathed sword rested against the wall, and Ja'far set aside his sewing to pull it in front of him. He didn't like using swords - much preferring his throwing blades - but he still knew how to use one and how to maintain one. He pulled a thin cloth out from the thin set of drawers and began polishing the blade slowly, pausing every few minutes to look at the window, where sunlight was beginning to filter through the thin curtain.
Ja'far blinked several times, trying to shake off the beginnings of sleepiness that were beginning to overtake him. He was far too comfortable, sitting like this... then all traces of sleepiness vanished as he saw something fluttering at the window. In a flash - without conscious thought, born of years of reflexes - his knives were out, and he almost impaled the pigeon that fluttered in through the window and landed next to the mattress.
It tilted its head inquisitively at Ja'far, as if asking, What are you doing with those sharp objects? Ja'far stared for a moment, then let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. Around the pigeon's neck glinted a faint medallion that bore the royal crest, so... he shifted, still tense, to Sinbad's side and kicked the pallet. Sin woke up with a jump, limbs scrambling around for a moment until he sat up, alarmed. "Wha-" he began, seeing Ja'far's blades in his hands, then his gaze shot to the pigeon now staring at him. He relaxed immediately, which reassured Ja'far enough to lower his blades (but not enough to put them away). Sinbad grinned and crouched on the floor next to the bird, examining it. "It's okay, Ja'far. These are the messenger birds used only by the palace - and I don't think it's going to attack, so you can put those away."
"You're sure of that?" shot back Ja'far, as he stowed his blades away and tried to banish the image of Sinbad being attacked by an evil red-eyed pigeon. It humored him way more than it had any right to. Sinbad just nodded for once, preoccupied with the thin note that he had unraveled from the pigeon's leg. "How'd it find you?"
"They're trained - don't ask me how, I don't know - to follow energy traces or something like that. Only a few people know about them - my generals and a few other people," said Sinbad absently, eyes skimming over the message. His eyebrows furrowed. "Apparently a few other generals were attacked too..."
"What?" They must not have been hurt, or Sinbad would have been looking more anxious.
Sinbad frowned as he rolled up the message. "Well, they had no idea where I was - just that I was probably still alive and free, considering they sent one of these messengers," with a nod to the bird strutting around Ja'far's floor. "I'll send a message back... do you have any paper?"
Ja'far nodded silently and moved to draw the needed materials from the drawer, handing them to Sinbad, who immediately started writing. He hoped that someone wouldn't see the pigeon leaving the window, but as things were, Sinbad needed to alert the palace. He watched Sinbad re-tie the thin roll of paper to the bird's leg, walk to the window, and toss it outside.
Sinbad turned to him, yawning, and his deep purple hair shone in the light of the morning sun. Then he smiled at Ja'far, and Ja'far's worries seemed to slide away from him, and he could only blink up at the other.
"Things will turn out in our favor. Don't worry, Ja'far!" Sinbad grinned, with that irrepressibly cheerful smile, and Ja'far didn't know why, or how, but somehow he felt that Sinbad was completely correct.
And before he could help himself, he smiled back.