A/N: I spent part of my morning sharing my critiques with a writer friend on her first draft of her second novel, and in my advice about why I was struggling to resonate with her main characters, I realized that after reading her first and the now second books, her characters weren't making enough mistakes. They weren't causing enough drama or conflict through their own actions. They were being too logical and rational and working out all their troubles in their heads before acting... and frankly, that makes for a pretty boring story. And, in this explanation, I realized why I endear myself to temperamental characters who make irrational, impulsive mistakes, and thus was struggling to embrace her characters: I AM AN EMOTIONAL SADIST... which is why I wrote this chapter for you. Clearly, I'm the reason we can't have nice things.
Strap in kids. This is where it starts to get real.
Another set of guards passed her in the empty street, and Jasmine clenched her fist in the fabric tp resist the urge to adjust her headcovering again. Unlike the shaylas she would normally wear to cover her hair and arms outside the palace, the linen headpiece had no openings. Closer to the burqas that some women wore in the more conservative parts of the Islamic world, the linen covers were designed to fully cover the upper body. Honestly, she had seen much more elegant burqas than the plain, but practical, garment she had draped over her body. Comparatively, she felt like she was wearing a rice sack with eyeholes. Perhaps calling them eyeholes was a bit of a liberty — the screen that allowed her to see wasn't much better than a moth eaten scrap of rectangle shaped fabric that had been sewn into the front.
Her basket was much lighter at this point in the afternoon. Even if there was enough light left in the day to continue visiting homes, the amount of food and water she had been able to carry with her had limited her reach. She had just enough provisions for one more stop, and unless she wanted to risk sneaking back into and out of the palace again, that would leave her grand total of families helped at five.
At first, it had been hard to tell the homes full of the sick apart from those who were trying to keep them out. Most of the windows and doors on the street level homes had been barricaded with whatever wood scraps could be found. The only way she had been able to tell the difference was to note which side the scraps had been nailed. Those who had self-quarantined to keep out the spread of illness had secured the barriers from the inside.
The alley she had been traveling dead-ended into the backside conjunction of several buildings all squeezed together as the road curved on the opposite side. Turning around, she only made it a couple steps before she heard a squeaky hacking in the eerie silence that had fallen over Agrabah. Moving in a circle to pinpoint the direction of the sound, she continued to see nothing until another cough drew her attention towards a hanging partition she had overlooked. The dust stained, grimy curtain blended seamlessly into the aged sandstone and unpainted stucco of the surrounding walls. Another distinct cough erupted from behind the partition, higher pitched than the first.
Children. At least two of them. Cautiously, she approached, adjusting the basket to prop it on the swell of her hip. She could hear shuffling behind the curtain.
"Hello?"
The shuffling stopped dead, but she was close enough to hear the soft wheeze of labored breathing.
"Are you hungry?" She asked. "I have food."
Another silent moment passed before the blackened crescent moons of dirty fingernails curled around the edge of the curtain. A portion of a timid woman's face appeared, mostly obscured by the partition.
"Salaam," Jasmine offered, holding up the basket so she could see the provisions inside.
"Salaam," the woman returned, a hint of suspicion, peering into the basket.
Deciding that Jasmine was on the level, she drew the curtain open for her to enter a space barely wide or deep enough for an adult to lie down in either direction. Nothing more than a gap in the wall where two ill fitting buildings came together. Examining the small space they had cobbled into a shelter, she found the source of the coughing. In a pile of discarded clothing and carpets laid two little girls, one about five, the other an infant who had yet to see the completion of her first year.
The older child began hacking again, and the mother jumped to attend her, raising a cup to the girl's mouth after she had finished. Standing there, Jasmine felt rather useless, still holding the basket and watching. A small cry broke into a wail from the baby, but the mother's hands were still occupied, one helping to hold up the older daughter upright, the other to manage to cup at her lips.
"May I help?" Jasmine offered.
Glancing between her two sick children, the mother nodded, "Please."
Setting down the basket, Jasmine scooped up the infant. Her body felt limp, languid, and it scared Jasmine to handle her. Trying to be mindful of supporting her little body in all the right places, she bounced the baby gently. When that didn't work, she hummed and swayed back and forth instead.
In that moment, her lack of maternal skills was woefully apparent. She was thankful that as a newly crowned Sultana, she would be let off that particular hook for a least a few more years before anyone started making comments about producing heirs. Feeling rather inept, she looked back to the mother, realizing now that she had a moment to observe her, Jasmine realized was barely out of childhood herself. The girl had to be several years younger than she and Aladdin, not having even reached her second decade. That was how she ended up on the streets, Jasmine decided. It was a harsh assumption, but having her own experience with an overreactive father, Jasmine didn't have to jump to many conclusions as to what would have been the fate of a young, unmarried pregnant girl. Now, to make matters worse, she had a third mouth to feed while the city was ravaged by a plague.
"She's hungry."
The young mother's words knocked Jasmine out of her own head. "Oh! Yes. Let's trade."
Handing the child over to the mother, Jasmine passed her in the tight space to sit cross legged next to the older daughter. But, the mother just clutched the wailing infant, staring at Jasmine oddly. It occurred to her then how Jasmine must look, head covered, her feminine shape concealed by loose linen with the legs of her husband's striped sirwal exposed underneath. Flipping up the front of her cover to reveal her face, the woman breathed a sigh of relief, then tried to conceal her shock at the face she discovered there.
"I thought as much. You didn't sound like a man, but a girl in my situation can never be too careful." Dipping her head the best she could while still holding the child, she cast eyes downward. "Although, I wouldn't have guessed I was hosting royalty."
"Let's just say I'm here in an unofficial capacity and forgo all that propriety nonsense, shall we?" She waved her hand dismissively before she reached for the basket, dragging it over to where she sat. "When was the last time your other daughter ate?"
"Too long," the mother replied. "She's very weak."
"You take care of the little one, and I'll tend to your oldest."
"Thank you, Your— "
"Jasmine." She insisted.
Nodding in reluctant understanding, the young mother offered her own name in return. "Najwa."
Positioning the baby, Najwa sat, sliding down one shoulder of her simple abaya to allow the baby access to her breast. Removing a few pieces of flatbread from the basket, Jasmine placed a few on her knee before re-wrapping the stack, raising them towards Najwa before putting them back into the basket.
"You'll need to keep up your strength too, otherwise both of your girls will be starving."
"I know. As soon as I'm done feeding Zaynab, I'll help myself." As Jasmine returned her attention to the food on her knee, Najwa continued. "It was bold of you to come out personally, especially when I imagine there are plenty of nobles praying for a solution as easy as a convenient illness that would remove the first Sultana from her throne."
Out of all the things Jasmine had been worried about when she slipped out of the palace, that honestly hadn't even crossed her mind. Taken aback by the girl's candor, now she felt like an absolute fool. She tried to shake it off, focus on the importance on what she was doing here. If anything, she should take pride in the fact that, despite her lack of tact in expressing so, the girl was impressed that her Sultana was out doing the dirty work while most of the members of her court had taken sanctuary outside of plague riddled Agrabah.
"Obviously, they wouldn't have sanctioned my excursion, hence the need for the outfit."
"Is Aladdin going door to door delivering food in one of your colorful gowns?" She snickered, before realizing her insult, and correcting herself. "Forgive me, I mean, the Prince."
Her apology was drowned out by Jasmine's laughter. The image of Aladdin hopping across rooftops and bouncing off shop awnings in her formal attire was so ridiculous it actually made Jasmine give a very un-regal snort.
"No, though, he'd probably fit in my clothing." She shook her head, still trying to gain her composure as she tore the flatbread into smaller pieces as she mused further. "With his bone structure and enough cosmetics, I wager he would make a rather beautiful woman."
Emboldened by her Sultana's good-humored response, Najwa agreed, "He does have rather delicate features, doesn't he?"
The familiarity with which she referred to Aladdin prompted Jasmine to ask, "Do you know the prince?"
"All the market girls know Aladdin..."
"Oh, really now?" Jasmine raised a brow comically.
"I meant, from before…" She let her eyes fall back down to the infant and back with a pang of remorse, quietly adding. "He always looked out for us girls in the sooq."
That explained the second child, then. Painfully, Jasmine closed her eyes at knowing how that child had come into the world, before pushing that dark truth away. What was done, was done. Instead, the memory of a handsome, charismatic stranger bravely stepping between her and an enraged vendor demanding recompense by blade came to mind. "That sounds like my husband..."
"It was more that I knew of him, really. Everyone did. He was the most notorious thief in the city, the bane of guards. Someone to keep an eye out for," she continued. "But, he was always kind though. Kinder than he had any right to have been, considering his circumstances. He gave Badriya and me some of his pilfered oranges once." She jutted her chin towards the older girl when she said the name, smirking at the thought. "His monkey didn't seem to happy about it at the time, but I never forgot that small act generosity."
"Abu has…" Jasmine considered her words carefully in regards to her husband's partner in crime. "... a strong sense of self preservation."
"I'm happy for him," Najwa said. "Nice to see good things happen to good people. Gives me hope despite all this." She let her eyes travel, indicating the small space they found themselves in. "We're blessed to have such attentive and generous rulers, who try to provide for the lowliest of us. Who would willingly tend to the sick by their own hand."
Blushing, Jasmine didn't know how to respond. She hadn't come out here seeking praise. Reluctantly, she took the compliment.
"Thank you, Najwa."
"And, to you, Your—" The Sultana gave her a critical eye. The girl grimaced a bit, trying out the name like fitting into shoe that was a bit too tight. " — Jasmine."
"You're very welcome."
"What smells good?"
A small, hoarse voice spoke from Jasmine's side. The older girl, Badriya, blinked sleepy eyes that widened when she saw what was in Jasmine's hands.
"What? This?" Jasmine held up the bread, teasing. "No, This is absolutely awful. Worst bread you've ever had. In fact — " She reached for the basket, removing a clay jar. " — You'll need some of this to even choke it down."
Removing the lid, the rich, oily scent of hummus filled the space, Badriya's already wide eyes lighting up. Dabbing smears of the chickpea spread onto the bite size tears of bread, she fed them one by one to Badriya, helping her to drinks of fresh, clean water in between. As Najwa fed the baby, Jasmine asked Badriya questions like they were having a chat during tea at the palace. Jasmine learned all sorts of things, like the name of her best friend, Rashida, how excited the girl was that she could attend the new school when it opened back up, and that her little sister's birthday was coming up. Najwa kept making repentant, apologetic faces towards her Sultana as the girl rambled on, but Jasmine adored it. Having finished her meal, belly finally full for the first time in who knows how long, exhausted by even this limited bit of exertion, Badriya closed her eyes again.
"Rashida is never going to believe that I ate dinner with the Sultana," she yawned contently, lazy with sleep. "She is going to be so jealous."
Rolling to her side, the little girl curled into a ball against Jasmine's thigh, and draped an arm over the leg in a half-hearted hug.
Brushing her hand over the girl's sweat soaked hair, Jasmine whispered, "Saha, Badriya. Sleep well."
Whispering a response, it was too muffled for Jasmine to hear, so she leaned closer to the girl, asking, "What was — ?"
Abruptly seized by an attack of fierce, wet coughing, Badriya jerked her head away from Jasmine's leg just as the Sultana leaned down, their faces separated by less than a foot. Stunned as the discharge of bloody sputum dislodged from the little girl's lungs and splattered directly onto her face, Jasmine froze for a second before reacting to help the girl to sit up to breathe. When the fit resided, Badriya collapsed back into her makeshift bed of rags. Lifting her head, Jasmine caught Najwa's wide eyes, an expression contorted in fear. The woman shifted the now sleeping baby away from her breast, pulled up her sleeve, and cradled the baby with one hand against her covered chest.
"My Sultana… there's…" Unable to find the words, Najwa indicated to her own face by touching her cheek.
Jasmine already knew it was there. She could feel it dampening her skin. Wiping over her left eye and cheek, she pulled back a trembling hand to see fingertips covered in viscous, bloody flem. Distracted by her pleasant conversation with Najwa, forgetting the circumstances as she reveled in the opportunity to speak so casually with one of her subjects, to be treated like a person and not an idol, to entertain the whims of a excited child, Jasmine had completely neglected to replace her head covering before attending Badriya.
"I should return to the palace."
"Is that wise, Your Majesty?" Najwa stood as her sovereign jumped up. "Perhaps the bimaristan would — "
"I hope this food sustains you for some time. May Allah give you and your girls strength. Salaam."
With that, Jasmine was through the grimy partition before Najwa could even return the blessing. Then she was running down the alley until she was far enough away that she couldn't see them, and they couldn't see her. Falling against a wall of a barricaded house, she fought the urge to break into tears. Using the bottom length of her now useless head covering, she used it to towel away the rest of the blood. It left a thick, crimson smear on the thin linen fabric.
Her mind raced back through the texts she had read on how the sickness was transferred. Her eyes had been open, so had her mouth. Even if they hadn't been, it could still enter through her nose just by breathing it. Najwa had been right. It was irresponsible of her to return to the palace, but what choice did she have? She didn't even want to imagine the panic that would erupt, the questions that would fly, if she walked into the bimaristan dressed like a commoner boy, covered in plague infected blood.
Maybe, she was just assuming the worst? Even if she had been sheltered in the palace her entire life, maybe the access to proper medical care and a steady, healthy diet meant she was stronger than most? Maybe… maybe… No... Stop deluding yourself.
As she began her trek back towards the palace, she sought the tedium of list making and the logic involved to distract her, to calm her. Ticking off tasks in her mind, she noted the first was to discreetly send for Jibril.
The tears finally began to fall.
Replacing the head covering, she wasn't sure whether it was still for the sake of her anonymity, or out of abject shame. She had promised. He had trusted her, just like all those times she had unconditionally trusted him. Aladdin was never going to forgive her for this.
No, she shook her head, heavy tears dropping to the sand, Aladdin was never going to forgive himself.
A/N: shayla — the type of headscarf that Jasmine wore in the market that looks like a long, narrow piece of silk or linen. I think in other scenes, like when she was waiting for Aladdin to come back to the palace with her hairpin, she may have been wearing one again, but the cut also kind of looked like a chador, which is longer and covers the arms and upper body more. So, if I'm wrong, let me know.
burqa — a full body covering women wear in more conservative states of the Muslim world, specifically Afghanistan comes to mind, but I honestly can't speak to the current laws regarding women's attire in the years since I was a teenager and remember seeing news coverage of the US war in the country
abaya — the dress like covering that Jasmine wore in the movies over the top of pants, at least, like the scarves, I hope I've identified it right. It's so hard to find the correct terms when you have to research such esoteric things like "Islamic medieval women's clothing" on the internet. I know that I've seen the words used in both We Hunt the Flame and the Daevabad Trilogy, but without a picture in the books to work from, I can't be sure I'm referencing the correct thing.
Saha - a blessing of health and good fortune