Draped in Shadow

Faruk

Faruk was frustrated.

And hot. And tired.

After being locked up in a cell for a week, held on trial, and jumping from a window, he had been quite ready to take a break and rest with a plateful of sekeris and the pile of books in his hotel room.

But when he and Jules were finally back in the Haunt, and he'd just sat down with some qahwa Jules had made in a chipped mug, Zara had strode into the room, boots clattering on the floorboards, black coat billowing in her wake. Usually, she was the wind – strong, fierce, cold, calm. But this time, she'd been a hurricane, her brown curls ruffled, bright spots of red on her brown cheeks.

She'd walked up to the coffee table in front of the sofa where Faruk and Jules had been sitting, then slammed a piece of paper down onto it. The flame in the lantern on the table had shuddered, light dancing over the hollows under her eyes, pronouncing her cheekbones and blade-like nose.

She'd leaned forward, gesturing to the sheet. 'Look at what was slipped in at the hotel'.

Faruk had placed his mug on the table, then picked up the paper. The note on it had made him go cold.

'We know who you really are, spider. Your comings and goings, your bartering and your goods. You want proof? We have proof. The guns being supplied to the gangs in the different districts. The bottles of black wine that somehow make their way to the cellars of Geyik, the disappearances that have plagued the gangs for the last year – Amir, Emet, Suner ... the list goes on. And casibe.

Let's reach a deal, shall we? You give us fifty percent of your regular casibe supply, and we'll keep our mouths shut. Starting next week. You don't, and we let the authorities know your real name. By the time you reach Sekeri Kafe, you'll spend another spell in prison. Your business will collapse in on you.

Come, spider. You don't want your precious hotel to go down in flames, do you?

There had been silence. Faruk had dropped the letter onto the table, in front of which Zara had been kneeling. Jules had taken Faruk's mug, sipping it with a trembling hand, face pale.

'What are we going to do?' Faruk had whispered.

'Our casibe shipments have stopped coming through', Jules had choked.

Zara's grey eyes had pierced into Faruk's. 'The question is – how do they know about us?' Propping her elbow on the table, she'd placed her pointed chin on her fist, fingering the edges of the paper.

'We have to have casibe ready to supply while we figure out who we're against', Jules had murmured.

'Right – and the university has a large stash of casibe they collected from circulation'. Zara had drummed her fingers on the table, her head tilted.

'Zara', Faruk had said – 'Don't tell me you are...'

'Jules, take the whole casibe stash from the university.'

'Today?'

'Yes. Today'.

'Zara', Faruk had protested, 'We just escaped a trial today. Jules might well be recognised – it's too dangerous'.

Zara had reached into her coat pocket and shoved a sheaf of paper onto Faruk's lap. 'While you were gone for a week, up until the trial, I was bribing my way to purchase your innocence. The trial is officially over, and Kizdir's judiciary is very ashamed for accusing such a brilliant, hard–working young man as you'.

Faruk's mouth had dropped open, and Jules had leaned over to get a better look at the documents.

She'd pushed herself to her feet. 'Jules will be fine – he's been to the university a million times at this point. Faruk, I have a job for you, too'.