The Stone Lions (15 page)

He disappeared without further protest, and
Layla sighed in relief. “We can figure out where to keep him as
soon as the Northerners leave. I hope it’s soon.”

Ara turned in a small circle. “Did you hear
that sound before? I thought I heard lions roaring.”

“No, nothing. Could it have been voices
echoing from outside?”

“Perhaps.”

They hurried back inside, where Layla’s
mother waited. “I assume you girls have resolved the basket
problem.”

“Yes, Mother. I don’t think it will be a
problem again,” Layla said, blushing slightly. Ara said nothing,
struggling to remain still despite the tickling whiskers at her
elbow.

“Then let us go.” Maryam urged the girls
ahead with her hands as she walked. “We are late.”

The murals adorning the ceiling of the Hall
of the Kings always fascinated Ara. No geometric shapes above them.
She wondered who had painted these pictures so unlike the art in
the rest of the palace. Pictures of kings and their court looked
down from above them. Knights and damsels moved above in lifelike
splendor. A wild-eyed man, clearly crazy, decorated one panel. He
stood frozen, forever holding a bloodied sword. Ara deliberated on
that picture, trembling at how much he reminded her of the wazir.
The room was crowded: women in tightly fitted, low cut dresses and
funny pointed hats; women unseen inside their hijabs with dark eyes
shining out. Men wearing turbans and long beards, and men
bareheaded with tightly trimmed beards. Seeing people of both
cultures mixed together shook her, a replica of the ceiling. She
blinked and refocused.

Breakfast was being cleared from the long low
table. The wazir stood behind her father, a vexed expression upon
his face. Her father sat surrounded by his advisors and two of the
Christian ambassadors. Papers for the trade agreement were laid out
before them. A discussion seemed to be going on. Her father glanced
up at her from his chair as she entered. At a flick of his fingers,
a servant rushed to her side. “His Eminence, may Allah protect him,
has requested that you sit by the Lady Anna.”

“Tell my father that I am honored.
Alhamdulillah
,” Ara replied formally as she
joined the others at the table. Layla and her mother sat next to
Zoriah, farther down.

“Ara.” Lady Anna smiled up at her. “I hoped
you would join us this morning. Would you care for something before
all the food is removed, or have you already eaten?”

“I’m not very hungry.” A nip on her elbow
startled her. “Oh, wait, maybe a little food would be nice.”

Ara tucked her feet under her as she sat next
to Lady Anna. Tahirah, dressed in her white woolen cloak, was
caught up in an animated discussion with the sisters who were
Christ’s wives. She looked over at Ara for an instant before
refocusing on her conversation.

Lady Anna fidgeted uneasily, then, “I wanted
to thank you for your kindnesses last night and assure you that
Enrique has been firmly reprimanded. I was much relieved that your
lovely cousin was not harmed. Enrique was showing off for the other
boys, and it got a little out of control.”

“It was my honor and privilege,” Ara replied,
embarrassed at how eagerly she had wished for them to leave.
Another sharp nip reminded her of her hidden companion. A tray of
pilaf sat an arm’s length away. She scooped some onto a plate and
ate unhurriedly, “accidentally” dropping a few grains of rice into
her lap. Her left arm rested unseen beneath the table. Suleiman
began inching his way out of her sleeve, trying to reach a grain of
rice just beyond his grasp.

The sultan stood, and all attention turned to
him. “This has been a great moment in history. Our cultures have
come together to establish mutually beneficial trade agreements and
resolve crucial boundary issues. We have worked to dismiss age-old
conflicts and start anew. As an outcome of this meeting, Christians
and Muslims and Jews shall continue to live in peace and
prosperity,
inshallah
.”

The Aragon ambassador stood. Before speaking,
he bowed politely to the sultan and thanked him for his
hospitality, expressing his desire for peace and prosperity.
Several other Northern dignitaries came forward and bowed, trotting
out their own speeches. But Ara watched others. Not everyone was
pleased. The wazir and the Castilian liaison huddled together,
words whispered between them.

Finally, the meeting was over. The
Northerners bowed once again before turning to leave. The wazir
hurried to the sultan’s side, attaching himself like a leech. Ara
dug her fingernails into her hands with worry. He was up to
something. Something with the Castilians.

Zoriah tapped her shoulder, and Ara jerked
upright. She rapidly translated, summarizing the speeches for the
women.

Finally, it was over. Lady Anna thanked Ara,
holding her hand tightly before she stood and signaled her
companions that it was time to depart.

Ara, after furtively pushing Suleiman back
inside her sleeve, rose to her feet. A small squeak of dismay came
from that sleeve.

Lady Anna looked at Ara in surprise. “Did you
say something?”

“No, just a burp of pleasure,” Ara said,
blushing furiously as she walked with their guests. Servants and
slaves of both Christians and Muslims gathered, helping to move
luggage and boxes onto the waiting carts.

Ara watched them depart, waving to the Lady
Anna as she disappeared through the Gate of Justice. The sultan
retired to his private rooms. The wazir remained outside.

The women of the harem celebrated with an
ululating call, and Layla danced around in glee that the meeting
had gone well and was over. Suleiman hung onto the inside of Ara's
sleeve, his tiny feet scrambling to stay hidden within her garment.
She moved to the window, watching the wazir and wondering what he
was plotting.

As they left the Hall, Tahirah walked
alongside Zoriah, “Now that I have returned, I would like to
continue the girls’ lessons. I hope they are available later this
day.”

Zoriah raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You
just returned. Surely you are exhausted from your journey. The
children can wait. Your well-being is more important.” As an
afterthought, she added, “Are the girls badgering you? I know they
missed you, but I don’t want them imposing on your kind
nature.”

Tahirah laughed. “No, not at all. I agreed to
see to their lessons, and then I set them adrift. I enjoy these
two. Their company has been Allah’s gift to me.”

“What are you teaching them?” Zoriah asked
after a short pause in the conversation.

“We are exploring mathematics and science.
With students as bright and attentive as Ara and Layla, education
almost plots its own course.”

“Interesting,” Zoriah said with a perplexed
tone and look. “You’re certainly welcome to start the girls’
lessons any time you wish. The sultan is pleased that they are
getting so remarkable an instructor. I’ll tell Su’ah to send them
to your rooms, but let me know if you change your mind and want
some peace and quiet.”

Tahirah smiled. “I believe the girls and I
will do quite well together,
inshallah
.”

Chapter 22

“Where is Suleiman?” Layla asked as Ara
struggled to remove her caftan.

“He’s in here somewhere. He moved up my
sleeve and won’t stay still.” Angrily, Ara reached behind her head.
“I’m going to grab him by his tail and…” A loud, prolonged squeak
came from behind her.

“You’re squooshing me,” the mouse shrieked,
wriggling deeper into her hair. Layla gently tried to remove the
mouse from the tangle.

“Stop being a baby,” Ara yelled back,
flapping her hands at the back of her head. “You should have stayed
where I put you—ouch, that hurt!”

“Ara, be still,” Layla said as she
disentangled the upset mouse from the equally upset girl. “He keeps
wiggling and you keep wiggling. Stop it. You’re both making it
worse.” Ara held her hands at her side while Layla worked.

“There!” Layla triumphantly cupped the mouse
in her hand. “He’s free.”

“Girls, what’s all that racket?” Su’ah called
as she shambled into the room. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Ara,
what did you do to your hair? I had it so neatly braided. I don’t
understand how you get messy so quickly.” She went over to the
girls, hairbrush in hand. “It looks like a rat’s nest. What have
you done this time?” Evaluating the devastation, she added, “Even
for you, this is remarkable.”

Layla and Ara looked at one another. Layla
placed the palmed mouse in her sleeve and, smiling sheepishly,
began, “We were in a hurry and Ara, um, Ara—” she began.

“I thought I felt a bee in my hair,” Ara
finished.

“You were in a hurry, and you felt a bee in
your hair,” Su’ah repeated, slowly looking from girl to girl. There
was silence while she mulled over their story, a frown on her face
while she tugged the brush through Ara’s long black hair with
well-practiced strokes, stopping to unsnarl each knot. “Well, I
suppose that’s as believable as many of your stories. Tahirah wants
you in her rooms. You’d better get a move on. Her servants are
waiting outside for you.”

“Allah be praised,” Ara muttered and started
to pull away, but Su’ah pulled back.

“Not this moment,” she amended. “Let me
finish braiding your hair. At least you’ll start out tidy. Bees,
hmm.” She yanked Ara’s braid a bit harder than seemed
necessary.

As soon as Su’ah was satisfied that Ara was
presentable once again, the girls rushed out of the room. Tahirah’s
servants were hard put to keep up with them in their eagerness to
tell her of Suleiman’s latest transformation.

“We only have five and one-quarter days from
when he changed into a mouse,” whispered Layla. “What is the next
pattern of symmetry we have to find?”

Tahirah was crouched, working with something
on the floor when they entered. A servant followed behind them
bringing in steaming lemon tea. “Thank you,” Tahirah said to the
woman, who bowed and left.

“We have much work to do,” Tahirah said over
her shoulder to the girls, “and little time. I felt a healing in
the fabric of the Alhambra this morning. You must have found a
horizontal symmetry, the broken one.”

Ara nodded and came closer, saying excitedly,
“Look, Suleiman’s changed into a mouse.” Layla carefully set the
rodent on Tahirah’s shoulder.

The mathemagician tensed and slowly turned
her head to stare as the mouse busily cleaned his whiskers and
smoothed down his fur. “I am grateful the spell is unraveling,” she
said slowly, “but there are other animals I would have been more
pleased to see.” There was a long pause before Tahirah finished
flatly, “Mice bring back very bad memories for me.”

“But I thought you weren’t afraid of
anything,” Layla burst out and quickly cupped the mouse into her
hand.

“Everyone is afraid of something. Some more
than others,” Tahirah said slowly, still watching the mouse. “Most
of my family died from the Black Death. The plague came, and whole
villages died.” Her eyes had a faraway look. “It isn’t a pleasant
death. Some said it was Allah’s will, but I knew it was not. Allah
is joy and beauty. There was neither joy nor beauty in this.

“I was very young, a year or so younger than
the two of you, and just learning the power of mathemagics. The
plague passed me by, but I was unable to save my family.

“Thousands of people died that year. No one
was safe, from the lowest of the low to sultans in their walled
palaces. All died. And always, the rats and mice were there,
hundreds and thousands of them, crawling over everything. They died
too. Everything died.” She shuddered and took a breath.

The girls stood transfixed, unsure how to
react, while Tahirah continued to wrestle her memories.