Desert Wind

Chapter 2

***

After everything I had learned from Agira, my head was spinning. I really wanted to believe what she told me, but life had taught me to be skeptical until I saw something with my own eyes.

I looked around carefully, making sure no one had overheard us. You can never be too careful. As usual, Agira seemed completely unconcerned. She stood nonchalantly, leaning against the wall, a gold coin flashing in her hand as she deftly moved it between her fingers. Regardless of the situation, my friend always managed to remain composed and calm, like an immovable rock against which waves crash violently during a storm. I've always wondered how she does it, how she finds the strength to control both her mind and body so effortlessly. Some people thought it made her cold and withdrawn, but to me, her behavior sometimes resembled putting on a mask. This armor of restraint provided her with the security that had been missing in her life from an early age. It certainly helped her climb the criminal ladder.

I glanced out from the alcove where we were standing. Everything was as before. Caravans moved lazily between the stalls lining both sides of the narrow street. It was noisy. Children, chanting and waving their arms, ran among the merchants engaged in trade. A short boy with delicate features and a dark complexion ran past us, pursued by an older friend. He dived under a stall selling leather products. Seeing the angry merchant, the older boy quickly turned and ran the other way, leaving his friend to face the man alone.

"Thief! Catch him! Dog!" the stout, red-faced owner of the stand screamed, grabbing the boy's trouser leg as he tried to disappear under the wooden table. The boy lost his balance and scraped his body over the dirty stones. "I've got you, rat. Now, let's see what's in your pockets," the child squealed as the thin fabric of his trouser leg tore, leaving it in the hands of the cursing trader. Without hesitation, the boy got up on all fours, fled under the stall, and darted into the narrow street. The entire incident didn't last even five minutes. A small group of onlookers gathered around.

"This reminds me of Orestes when he was little. He was always seeking adventures where he shouldn't," Agira remarked, pointing to the spot where the little boy had disappeared.

"Not just him," I laughed, giving my friend an amused look. Orestes, Agira, and I had known each other for a long time, and I was well aware of what they were capable of. "I remember when we were ten years old, and you decided to throw lit papers stuck to stones from the library window."

"The idea was much more complicated than you think," she retorted, clearly outraged. "First of all, in our version, it wasn't paper but dragons that were supposed to attack the city. And secondly, it's not our fault that you lack imagination." She grinned and nudged me with her elbow.

"I lack imagination?" I raised my eyebrows. "From what I remember, you didn't consider that even small, lit pieces of paper could start a very real fire! I still recall everyone running around with buckets, trying to put out the flames because of your antics."

"We made sure there was order in the city," she laughed, kicking a small stone. "I guess you forgot that all we burned was garbage and a few plants." Agira conveniently omitted that the culprits of the fire were never found.

We passed the haggling seller and headed towards the eastern part of the city, where the daytime bustle carried far along the old cottages, reaching all the way to the sea line, where the masts of cargo ships moored in the harbor could be seen. A pushy shopkeeper on my right tried to force a fan into my hand. I shrugged him off and pushed my way through the large crowd. Cursing, we slowly made our way to the other side of the throng.

Two women were at the center of attention. One appeared to be from the aristocracy; she wore a long, navy blue dress embroidered with precious stones and an elaborate hat with a long feather. She held an umbrella in her hand, her fingers clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her face was red, and she looked as if she was about to throw herself at someone in a fit of rage. Her interlocutor, despite being dressed in a thin dressing gown that left much visible to the gathered audience, seemed amused by the whole situation. On the left side, peasants were running with buckets, extinguishing the last flames escaping through the window of a small hut.