A month ambled past. The heat leant heavily on Agrabah, climbing up the horizon and squeezing the life out of the skyline.
Jasmine consistently refused to see her suitors. A strange change had come over her demeanour. She played more with Rajah and her little doves, covered the womanly extremities of her body, sat and talked a great deal with her father. Sometimes she did not even talk, but laid her beautiful head on his ample chest, listening to him tell her stories about nothing much in particular. She visited her mother's grave often, with fresh young flowers that always withered away by nightfall. Her modest dress was particularly noted with disappointment by the rest of the palace.
Jafar mentioned it one day to Iago and Suzuki, whilst they were debating a suitable policy for dealing with trade unions. Suzuki had looked up, smiled wonkily (she could not help it) and stated, "She doesn't want to be a woman yet. She's hanging on to the last of her childhood."
That evening Jafar did not go to Suzuki. Iago had located the whereabouts of a friend of the Egyptian vendor, who knew where the other half of the 'trinket' was located. He was about forty, bald, with a strong profile and coarse, casteless hands. He was also an honourable fellow and sat many hours with the tall dark stranger in the tavern, repeatedly refusing to tell him where to go.
The next day he was arrested on charge of plotting with the enemies of Agrabah and high treason. He was informed the tall dark stranger had been the general of an enemy army, and the entire tavern could swear on their lives he was a traitor. He was ceremoniously dragged to a dungeon, where the stench of dead flesh and the cold of murder chilled the summer air and snapped the summer light out. Heartless hands tied him to a rack.
A shadow disengaged itself from a noisome corner and stepped forward. It was the tall dark stranger.
"You!" the potential informant gagged.
"Isn't there something you'd like to tell me?" whispered Jafar. He lifted up a knife and showed the edge to the man. It was clean and true. When the man had not answered, Jafar had smiled with angelic delight and slowly, luxuriously, slid the knife underneath the skin, then slitted his way up the torso. The informant held back a shriek.
Jafar's expression was one of a man faced with a most divine beauty. "Do you know how much skin you can remove from a human being before they die?" he asked in a whisper. The informant whimpered and shook his head. "Neither do I. Yet. Where is the scarab?"
The screams were awful. The smell was worse. The strange hide that Jafar took from the torture chambers, however, was definitely the worst of all.
Two nights later, Jafar had made a small compilation of the relevant information he had acquired so far, and decided he deserved the night off. He had not visited Suzuki in her bedroom for almost four days.
He entered with characteristic silence, stripped Suzuki with fingers grown deft (though her obi still presented a minor difficulty) and handed her the toy. This had become something of a ritual for them. Often Jafar was simply stood stock still in front of her, perhaps with one hand planted in the middle of her chest to hold her down, and watched, sweat drops beading on his high forehead. On this occasion he did not touch her but curled into a foetal position and watched her from the floor. His breathing was uneven.
When he was satisfied, he would join Suzuki upon the bed. Suzuki had learned to be malleable, otherwise she ended up with bruises. Some nights Jafar was tender and responsive, working to make her ripple under his fingers. On these nights she had looked deep into his elegant black eyes and seen, staring boldly back at her, the very expression Iago had described with such terrible glee. Other nights Jafar was selfish and priggish, barely paying attention to her and simply working to achieve his own ends before falling into a profound sleep on top of her. Other nights still he paid especial attention to her body, but only to cause her unusual and fascinating pain. She had become accustomed to all these facets of her honourable master, and would react accordingly.
Tonight, she was pleased to find, Jafar was in 'tender and responsive' mode. Some time passed, politely averting its eyes.
Afterwards, they lay in the warm exhaustion side by side, holding hands. Suzuki turned to Jafar.
"Listen, Jafar," she said seriously. "I've something urgent to tell you."