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Ibrahim

Chapter 52

The Idea

Approximately ten minutes until Nadir would arrive to my apartment.

And four days since the dinner at the de Chagny estate. Three days to the next one. Raoul, it seemed, thought it important we meet before then. He sent me a note explaining his desire to meet to "analyze the book about street cats". A coded message, of course - he wanted to discuss something related to our job.

Initially, he asked to meet in my home, but with the amount Nadir was around, I suggested meeting elsewhere. Normally, the man gave a specific time he'd come by, but he was also known to sow up unannounced, and I felt more inclined to avoid all conflict than turn him away, only for Azizah to inform him that someone named Vicomte de Chagny arrived to discuss how to help thieves take down a respected member of society.

Azizah would likely not understand a word of it, anyway, so I suppose there was no harm in letting Raoul here.

But also, I'd not left the apartment once in two days, so conducting our business elsewhere would be welcome.

So I sat in the parlor with Azizah waiting for Nadir to come by. Until she spoke a significant amount of French, I felt it best that someone was with her until I was gone. She agreed. And Erik and Christine wanted today to themselves. So. Nadir.

There was silence in the room. Not uncomfortable, just quiet. Dilara slept in her lap while my sister gazed lovingly down at her baby. That she was so fond of her abusive husband's child was a testament to how open her heart was. I would not have faulted her if she'd not wanted the baby at all - not that any of it was Dilara's fault, but if I was Azizah, I wouldn't have been able to let go of the resentment.

But that wasn't my little sister's nature.

She caught me staring and met my eye. "Ibrahim?"

"Yes?"

"How are you?"

"How am I?" The question caught me by surprise. "I'm fine."

She nodded slowly, but looked a touch disappointed. "Good. I'm glad."

"And you? How are you?"

"I'm well." She smiled. "Very well. Happier than I have been in a long while."

And I was happy to hear that. Truly. I just wished I could ignore that hollow feeling in my stomach. "That's wonderful, Azizah." A short pause. "Why did you ask me how I am? Do I not seem fine?"

Her smile faded. "You seem distant. Not yourself."

I looked down. "I am sorry that it appears that way."

"Are you still adjusting to the move? I know I am, though it's becoming easier."

"No, I am all right."

"Are you tired from the baby crying?"

I smiled. "Yes, there. I suspect that's all it is. Tiredness."

Again, she nodded unconvinced. "Is it Nadir?"

I sighed. "You - already know my feelings about him."

"I really do think he's doing the best he can. And he's a very good father. You know that Reza's nanny is married to Nadir's servant now - what was his name? Darius? And the two of them are wanting to move back to Persia. They told Nadir, who told me."

I raised my brows. "And he's all right with that?"

"He doesn't want to keep them here against their will."

"Right. So he's out a caretaker for Reza soon. Which would explain her absences recently if they are preparing to move back."

"Nadir paid them an advance so they can make the journey and get settled to find work."

"Kind of him." My voice was dry. It actually was kind - I just didn't want to really admit it.

"And - he's so good with Dilara." She looked at her baby. "His wife was lucky."

I stared at her.

"I think," she whispered, "I have some feelings for him."

This was both obvious and a shock. I'd suspected as much for a while, but hadn't expected for the words to be spoken aloud. A picture formed in my mind of Azizah going to live with Nadir, the two of them raising Reza and Dilara together. Having even more children. And me, sitting in a silent apartment, watching the clock and waiting for de Chagny's dinners so that I had some reason to be. That hollow space opened, and the world grew darker in tint, colder in feeling. It wasn't sadness I felt. It was apathy. Numbness.

"Is that all right?" she asked softly.

I grimaced. No, I wanted to say. It wasn't. No, you are the only family I have and if I lose you then what is the point? Christine has Erik. You have Nadir. What do I have? Money. Money and time. But nothing warm.

What I said, though, was, "Of course it is all right. Do not ask me for permission to feel how you feel. In fact, do not ask me for permission at all. You are your own person. You can make your own choices."

A knock at the door. I answered. I'd never been so relieved for Nadir to be here - I couldn't stay in this apartment for a second longer.

It was a restaurant a few streets from me called La Cuisine de Madame Louise. Upon entry, I could see that this was no Cat's Eye Tavern. The tables were set with cloth and silver, lights hung brightly from the ceiling, and the only alcohol here was fine wine served by men in black and white to guests dressed in their best. Lunch, it seemed, was bustling.

Not that I was complaining but - why did Raoul take me here? We could easily have met at one of Vincenzo's establishments.

A host appeared in front of me. "Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a reservation?"

I glanced around. I didn't see him at any of the tables. "I am meeting the Vicomte de Chagny."

"Ah." He dipped his head. "And your name, sir?"

"Ibrahim Ali."

"Very good. Vicomte de Chagny is expecting you. Right this way, if you please."

Then the man turned and walked, leading me to a staircase hidden by a wall at the back of the restaurant, near the kitchens. At the top, there was a hallway with three doors on either side. He took me to the one at the far end on the right.

"This will be the private dining room Vicomte de Chagny requested," he said, and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said Raoul's voice. The host did. He was already at the table, two glasses of white wine, menus, small plates, and silverware set for the both of us, with a basket of brown bread and a square of perfectly cut yellow butter in the center. There was also a silver bell placed there - I guessed to alert serving staff should the diners decide to keep the door closed and the conversation private, as two men in suits were waiting outside the door. The table could likely seat six - and I was used to seeing full tables at the Shah's palace, so looking at him there by himself looked remarkably lonely. The only saving grace for this depressing scene was the light pouring through the half-open window, the green branch of a tree visible, a squirrel scurrying across.

Raoul watched me enter as the host said, "Enjoy, my lord. Monsieur."

"Keep the door closed," Raoul said.

"Of course, my lord." He obeyed.

I went to sit across from him, in front of the glass of wine meant for me.

"Egyptian," he said in greeting, meeting my gaze for only a moment and then swiftly looking away.

"Vicomte," I replied, giving my most charming smile and picking up my wine.

I thought I saw a flush of pink on his face when I gave that grin, but perhaps it was only the warm lighting. "Not too much on the wine. We-"

"I know, yes, I know. We need to keep level heads. Not to worry. I will stay perfectly, annoyingly, boringly sober."

His lip quirked. "I think you'd be an actual nightmare drunk."

"I'm a delight, actually." I picked up a slice of bread, still warm from the oven. I nodded to it. "What about this? Am I allowed to indulge in this?"

He scowled, but his eyes revealed something other than irritation. "Oh, don't be an ass. Bread won't affect your mental state."

"Unless there are poppy seeds on it." I tore off a piece and popped it into my mouth. "I don't see any. I think we are safe."

Raoul turned to the seat next to him and picked up a book, bringing it to the table. He opened it to the first page, the title page, where two words were written: Philippe and Duchesse.

"I wanted to discuss this with you," he said. "There are two characters in this book. The king." He pointed to his brother's name. "And the Lady in Waiting." His finger went to the Duchesse. He met my eyes. "Do you understand?"

I did. I think at least. As I was about to respond, there was a rather loud gurgling sound - Raoul's stomach, it seemed.

Raoul sighed. "Let's decide on this then, first, I suppose." To my surprise, he opened my menu for me. Then hesitated, like he realized what he was doing. He moved his hand quickly away. "Sorry."

"Worry not."

He swallowed, then gestured tightly to the list of food - all of which was unfamiliar to my palate. "Please...get whatever you would like. Regardless of price."

"Well," I said, "you certainly do know how to treat a lady."

His eyes widened. "No - sorry. No, I wasn't intending to insinuate-"

I laughed. "You went so quickly from insulting me to apologizing."

He cringed. "Sorry."

"And you do not need to pay. I was planning to purchase my own. I am certain I can afford anything on the menu."

His back straightened. "I was planning on it even still. Since I invited you here, it's only fair, I think."

I waved a hand. "That's entirely unnecessary."

"I'd like to." He looked at the tablecloth, head high. "I insist. Get whatever you'd like, and I will pay."

"Hm." I watched him as he avoided my eyes, and opened the menu. "All right. Whatever you say, Vicomte."

Raoul picked up the bell and rang it, and a server appeared at the door. I chose chicken. Raoul picked beef. Once the server was gone again, the vicomte opened up the book once more.

"As I was saying," he said, pointing to the two names, "the King and Lady in Waiting - I recently discovered that they are having an affair. Now-" He nodded to me. "We both know why this is a problem."

I did. The duchesse, I learned at the dinner, was five years married to the duc, already with two children. She was beautiful, in her twenties, and charming - and, she had been one of the women to giggle at me when I walked in. If her affair to the comte became known, it would be a terrible embarrassment to all parties involved.

"I have some ideas for how the...Prince-" He pointed to himself, "and the Jester-" He gestured to me, "will take the King down with this knowledge."

"Jester?" I whispered, incredulous.

He shrugged. "You brought that upon yourself with your asinine behavior." His voice was just as quiet.

"Surely we can change it to - oh, I don't know. The dashing warrior."

"It doesn't actually matter-"

"Or the quietly handsome servant."

"It's not important to-"

"You could have even made me the rugged barbarian."

"Focus-"

"I would have barely cared if you'd changed my gender to make me the Princess."

He glared. "I will throttle you."

That brought a grin, wide and gleeful, to my face. "If you insist, Vicomte, my darling, but should it become too much, I will give the clue to stop and say 'harder'."

Now.

To be clear.

I was joking.

I'd said something similar to both Nadir and Erik at some point. Erik gave it right back to me, which I liked. Nadir absolutely hated it, which I liked even more.

But Raoul reacted with neither wit nor disgust. His reaction took me entirely off guard. He went completely red in the face, eyes large with emotion. His shoulders, arms, hands, neck, all became tight. Fingernails dug, seemingly involuntarily into the tablecloth as his gaze went down. To the right, left. Up. Anywhere - anywhere but to me.

"Yes, well-" His voice cracked like an adolescent's. He cleared his throat. "I - you - we should..." He laughed lightly, eyes darting around the table, not knowing where to look. "Sorry - so sorry. Er-"

I think, actually, that this was my favorite reaction of all.

I think I wanted this reaction from him again.

Not quite so soon, though. I'd have some mercy on him.

"I think you were saying, Vicomte," I said - well, purred, really. I simply couldn't help myself from turning my voice to a caress, not after seeing my full effect on him. His breathing hitched. I was cruel. I grinned. "Something about the King and...Lady in Waiting, was it?"

"Yes," he blurted out. He reached for his glass, drank deeply, and I noted the unsteadiness of his hand. Poor boy looked absolutely flustered.

Hm.

He really was good-looking, now that I thought about it.

Perhaps these spy missions wouldn't just be something to do, but actually fun.

The food arrived. Raoul kept his mouth closed, staring at the meals as they were delivered. I thanked the server for the both of us.

Once he got his bearings, he explained to me that he'd found a letter from the duchesse in Philippe's room. And that he thought it would be prudent for us to expose this fact. We'd have to figure out how - but he thought perhaps catching them in the act and making sure other nobles were around to see it would be the best course of action. Simply showing them the letter was no option - Raoul had stupidly not taken it the first time, as he panicked when he had to decide whether to snatch it or not. But then when he went back for it, it was gone.

Raoul also explained to me that, in the past, he had only been useful to the Alley-Cats by helping the prostitutes in the city identify Philippe. His brother, when visiting brothels, wore a fake wig, facial hair, and glasses to hide that it was him. The women who serviced him didn't know what he looked like anyway - so Raoul let them know. They sent a reporter to the brothel, who covered the story of the Comte de Chagny, a man well-known for his disdain for ladies of the night, visiting those very ladies on a weekly basis. This helped draw attention to his hypocrisy. He fell out of favor, but only among the common folk, and only for a short time. He apologized publicly, claimed he went to church and found forgiveness, and all was well again.

Since then, all Raoul had been able to do was give Vincenzo information when he could, as Philippe was extremely careful with his public persona. Almost all of the information he supplied was unhelpful, except for the recent party in which people could invite their own guests.

And now there was this.

We'd certainly do with it what we could.

When the lunch ended and Raoul paid, I already couldn't wait to make that handsome face blush again.