Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

"Father, you must drink," Ruqayya pressured him, shoving the skin to the ailing Andronicus' lips.

He was a husk of his former self. Where once this great maritime merchant was robust and broad of shoulders, he now lay bedridden and bony, a fraction of his former weight.

Where his lush auburn curls had once cascaded past the small of his back, a rigid disheveled mess of grey now took its place.

When once his guffaw of laughter drowned out all misery and his radiant smile evaporated the darkness of any room, he now lay dreary eyed and drooling.

Such had been his condition for the past few years. Ruqayya had been helpless in the wake of her adoptive father's illness. She watched him wither away into nothing over the years, as she labored as merchant by day and governor's servant by night. It was all to afford the herbs at first, but now...ever since the famine struck, water was scarce and food even more so.

Father would not accept the drink. He knew she had sacrificed all her meals for the past three or so days and she had not refurbished her dry throat with water in an eon.

"Andronicus," she pleaded to no avail.

Father Rochbert the Frankish priest and Ruqayya's mentor put a calming hand on her arm, staying the skin away from Andronicus.

"It's best to let him rest, child," Rochbert told her.

Ruqayya struggled to hold her tears as she refused to heed her priest's advice.

"Malaka!" Rochbert's wife, Coelsige the merchant, cursed in Greek.

"Let the man be!" Coelsige continued in a thick Arabic accent.

"No," Ruqayya insisted, shoving the skin to Andronicus' lips once more.

Only this time, no response came.

"Father!" she wailed, yanking his chin. His head bobbed and there came no response. "Father!"

Rochbert found his feet and held the shrieking Ruqayya in his arms as she beat her fist against her chest.

Coelsige closed the dead man's eyes as Ruqayya wailed and kicked and wept.

Ruqayya knew that she did not shed tears for grief. They were tears of anger.

Her screams were not a hopeless woman's wails. They were wanton bellows of vengeance.

For she knew exactly who to hold responsible.

***

It was later that night that Ruqayya found herself walking through the doorway of the governor's chambers. It was well past dark. Tomorrow would be Andronicus' funeral and burial.

But now was not the time to grieve. Vengeance hung in the balance.

She had not wasted one moment since Father Rochbert had prayed on the dead body of the man who raised her. Ruqayya had almost immediately arranged meetings with al-Fustat's most prominent armorers, blacksmiths and carpenters.

From among the ashes, she would rise with great fortune. And avenge the one man who deserved to call himself 'Father' in the process.

Now is the time to converse with those with true influence, she thought with resolve that resounded in the way her feet pounded confidently on the ground. There could not be a moment's hesitation. She knew that all those months of eavesdropping would only riddle her slate with sin. She regretted her contribution with just a few more nails that agonized their lord and savior.

But sin would come in handy this day. Today was not the time for Father Rochbert. It was not the time for turning the other cheek.

It was the time for evil to hold sway. Sin. Pride. Conspiracy.

Vengeance.

"Assalamu 'alaykum," Ruqayya greeted him. Peace be upon you.

She knew the governor would not be present. Not at this hour. Not so early.

His aide rose to his feet. Muhammad ibn Abu Hudhayfa. Second in command in this city, and as a result, in all of Egypt.

"Wa 'alaykum al salam," he greeted her back.

"You are fretting over the Khalifa's letters," she accused him, nodding to the parchment in his hand. "He will not respond positively to your concerns."

Ibn Abu Hudhayfa was predictably taken aback at her casual demeanor. Appalled, even.

"How dare –" he began, not finding the words. "A Nazarene...a woman –"

"Listen," she cut him off in a firm voice. She tugged at her braid. "I understand you're reluctant to openly dissent the governor. But it is necessary to act."

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner?" he demanded, face flushing red. "Do not presume to lecture me on my duties. You ought to respect –"

"How do you demand respect from others when all you do is whine and sit on your hands?" Ruqayya cut him off again. Her voice was icy cold. She had reached the point of no return. She did not care. There was not much left to lose anyway. "I can organize a revolt elsewhere. Among the Christians. All I require of you is cooperation. A similar arrangement will be reached with Muhammad ibn Abu Bakr and the troops."

Ibn Abu Hudhayfa struggled to find the words. The meek and timid girl who had served so silently and dutifully for years in exchange for a meager reward was giving him orders in his own headquarters. Ruqayya understood his position. But as the man struggled for words, she struggled to care.

"I don't," he gulped. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"My father died," she blurted out as soon as he shut his mouth.

Ibn Abu Hudhayfa's jaw dropped even lower. He gagged some more, searching for the words.

"It could have been prevented," Ruqayya continued, the iron façade slowly unraveling, revealing the bloodthirsty demon that lurked beneath the surface. Her belly churned with a rekindled fire, her passion strengthening an already overwhelming resolve. "But then the famine hit. And then ibn Abu Sarh demanded higher jizya."

Jizya was the poll tax required of Christians living within Muslim dominion. With food and water in such scarce supply in times of famine, coin was rare to come by.

"Allah is eternal," Abu Hudhayfa lowered his head in respect. "My condolences."

"I don't need condolences," Ruqayya half whispered, leaning forward. "I need satisfaction. There is only one way I can achieve that."

Abu Hudhayfa slowly raised his head again. "Which is?"

"I need you to listen to ibn Abu Bakr," she lowered her voice even more. Ibn Abu Bakr was the general that sowed the seeds of dissent in the aide's mind. "I want you to lead."