I put stakes in the middle of Market road so the cavaliers couldn’t race. It was early morning before Fajr while the town still slept. I positioned the wooden poles as perfectly as possible, without any gaps for the horses to squeeze through but wide enough for pedestrians. Not sure what to do with myself after, I decided to sit by a closed stall, watching the Eastern Gate for any sight of the Blight Guard.

Cats began to gather around me, begging for food and drink. “I don’t have anything,” I said, but they didn’t leave me alone. I pulled an old almond bread from my satchel. It was from my first day in the bimaristan and smelled awful. “Here,” I tossed the entire thing in front of the animals. The young grey one sniffed it suspiciously then looked back at me, expecting something better. The others didn’t even bother.

Captain Umar eventually came yawning down the market road as the mu’ezzin’s call for prayer woke the town. He almost impaled himself on one of the poles, then stared at them confused. He jumped again when he saw me approaching. “By God!” he cried, “I thought you were a spirit.”

“Peace,” I said.

“Do you know who put these here?” he pointed to the stakes.

“I did.”

“Why?” he asked. “Listen soldier, if you’re angry with me following you the other day, it was on the Atabeg’s order, I swear.”

“It’s not that. I am your the captain.”

“Captain?”

“Captain of the Militia and Patrol,” I said and offered him a leather badge the Ra’is had given me.

“Haven’t seen this in a while,” the guard commented as he raised the badge into the light. “Looks official. Congratulations, I suppose.”

“I am your captain too, now. Of all the guards and patrolmen.”

Captain Umar shrugged, “Sure, there are only two of us though.”

“Who else?”

“I think you met him already, Amjad. He usually gate-keeps and does the torches at night. I open in the morning.”

“Alright, don’t change anything. Keep to your schedule until I decide if anything needs to change.” I pointed to one of the torches down the wall, “that one wasn’t lit last night.”

Umar scratched his chin, “Amjad must’ve missed that one.”

“Bring him to me when he arrives for duty.”

I let Umar go to his gate with some specific instructions. Gates were crucial in these times, and the Emir had declared that only essential caravaner and family members of citizens be let inside the walls. Anyone else was suspect. I went a step further and requested that he ask for the business and matters for every visitor. Umar didn’t know how to write so he agreed to memorize.

That left myself and the eighteen-year old Muneer without a post. When the youth arrived, he was already wearing his vest and balancing the spear on his shoulder. He was chewing some hash but I forced him to spit it out.

We walked up and down the main road, chatting with the vendors as they set up their stall. Most were happy to see a new face, or simply relieved at a soldier carrying the spear than a gang of boys and almost all took the time to complain of the lack of caravans and supplies flowing through now that the Numayri were harassing the roads. Some wanted to know when the ordeal would end and life would return to normal. No one dared suggest that this conflict would eventually require a winner. As if one day, they would wake up and the Numayri would be peaceful neighbors again. Just foddermen and Salamiyya’s source of milk.

Around Zuhr, when the sun was highest, we decided to visit the cotton and laundry yard and see if I could properly introduce myself to Lady Sumayra.

When I turned into the alley that cut towards the bimaristan, I came across a group of clerks bothering a little girl by one of the apartments. She shrugged off questions shyly, staring down at her feet.

“Why are you speaking to the girl?” I asked the eldest, a graying man in rich silk robes and a green cap. He was an agent from the Exchange.

“Just waiting our turn,” he said absently. The men turned around, finally noticing the spears, and especially Muneer, who had lowered his spear point carelessly and it pointed directly at them. I didn’t bother correcting him.

“Why were you speaking to the girl?” I repeated.

“My name is Abdullah Al Ruway,” the eldest began, “I ask for their father.”

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t think you should be questioning me like this, son,” Abdullah said and made to leave but I blocked his way. He disrespects you so openly.

“Please answer my question,” I said.

The man adjusted his cap, eyes narrowing defensively, “I could be needing a servant, or offering my condolences, anything. This is one of the farmer refugee quarters. Am I being threatened?”

“All possibilities,” I nodded. By God, he will know respect. Or you will have to-

“We’ll go,” he nodded to his friends, or servants, or whoever they were. A little annoyed at the sudden capitulation, I laid a hand on his shoulder.

“The next time you want to speak with farmers,” I said, “you will send a servant-woman, or come to me.”

“Are you the new captain, correct?” Abdullah began conversationally but I left him at that and knocked on the door. “Hello?” I called.

“Wait your turn!” A gruff man’s voice called from inside. The door was unlocked so I pushed it open, “This is Captain Munqidh, open up.” Before I could step inside, another green-capper appeared in front of me. Vultures! They circle these poor farmers like vultures!

I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out, “Who are you?”

“Stop!” A woman followed the struggling man, slapping me on the shoulder to let him go. “Stop it, stop it.”

“Who is this?”

“They’re here for Ayesha,” she cried.

“What do you mean here by that?” You are missing something here. Is she selling her daughter to the highest bidder?

“That is not your business,” she cried, getting emotional. “Who are you? Who are you?”

I let the man go and he shoved me away, grumbling curses at all of us. “Insane louts, I’ll have you all thrown out. Useless thugs!” He picked up his cap and stalked away. The woman tried to stop him but he pushed her away too. Muneer stuck his spear out and the retreating agent stumbled trying to avoid it. The boy chuckled.

“How dare you,” the man snapped like a child and confronted the young man immediately.

“Sorry, Master Hamid,” Muneer said, “it was an accident.”

“I’m telling your father!”

Muneer grinned from ear to ear. “That’s enough, Muneer,” I said, “let him go.” The man hobbled away and Muneer watched him leave, fiddling with his spear restlessly. I would have to be careful of his energy. The boy had a strong spirit and desire for action, but he had no discipline. Respect. They all need to be taught respect.

“Why are you giving Ayesha away?” I turned back to the woman.

“Leave us alone,” The woman retreated into the apartment and slammed the door. The little girl, Ayesha, had sat down on the straw mat by the door and avoided eye contact.

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“You don’t need to work, or join any other household,” I told her.

“I don’t want to.”

“Good.”

“When can we go back home?” Ayesha asked Muneer. He shrugged and sucked his hashish stained teeth.

“Just stay in this neighborhood, alright?” Muneer said. “And if anyone else comes talking to your mother—”

“When can we go back home?”

“If anyone comes talking to your mother, tell Captain Munqidh,” he finished.

“But I want to go home!”

“Ayesha, be quiet,” the mother appeared at the door again, less angry and finally some semblance of shame.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “Just leave us alone.”

***

We found Yaseen playing dice with the seamstresses in the laundry yard. When he saw me, he bolted over and begged to be a part of the patrol. After the struggle with the widow, he was a welcome sight and I couldn’t say no. I enjoyed his company. And Muneer wasn’t much of a talker and when he did speak, it was to comment on a passing maidservant and other juvenile remarks.

“Keep him close,” I ordered Muneer and he nodded, taking Yaseen by the hand. Lady Sumayra wasn’t available to speak with anybody, but Mina gave us some salted jerky and offered fresh coffee. I couldn’t be away from the main road for too long so I declined, to her disappointment, and we returned to the Market Road. As I’d expected, several vendors crowded around me. They complained on every small thing that had happened since I was away.

“Please, stand down,” I said and it did nothing.

“We are not your soldiers, son” Abu Kaseem said. He was the only seller with fresh fruit in his supply. His caravan had been the only one allowed to enter. He stroked his beard, nodding along to others but held back. Musa was the loudest, wagging his finger at me. He wanted to know if he could get more shade but there was little space left under the market’s rafters.

“Abu Kaseem,” I called to the calmer fruit seller, “Make some juice for everyone, the Ra’is will cover you.”

Happy for some business, Abu Kaseem nodded and rushed off to his stall. Musa was still frustrated with his situation. “I will find a canopy or cushions for you,” I told him and the old man nodded begrudgingly, joining the others heading to Abu Kaseem’s for a fresh drink. The fruit seller was passing out some pears, despite my allowance for only juice.

“Can I get a pear too?” Yaseen asked.

“Yes, go ahead,” I said, hoping the Ra’is would cover the costs without too much trouble. Muneer looked at me hopefully.

“You want to go?” I asked.

“No, I am—”

“Leave your post, then. If you want to act like a child,” I said. Muneer reddened despite himself. A few servant-women entered the canopies of the vegetable stalls, and finding them empty, came to me.

“The farmers are over there, at Abu Kaseem’s. They’ll be back,” I assured them and they nodded shyly and waited patiently by the goods.

I settled down on a cushion between two stalls and waited. I noticed I’d almost sat on a cat, when the animal burrowed itself from behind me and circled around.

“Sorry, little one.”

The grey cat blinked its sleepy eyes and paused, looking around at me curiously before sitting down a few feet away. It was time for Asr and the sun would still be hot for a few hours. I wished I could curl up beside the animal and enjoy the shade too. Just throw away my spear and sword belt. Take off the itchy leather vest I’d been given, and make a bed out of the cushions that ran behind the stalls. But I’d be sleeping on duty.

“Muneer,” I said. The young militiaman had a sour look when he turned to me.

“Go ahead. Get some fruit before it runs out.”

“I’m fine.”

“I said go,” I repeated but he looked unsure. “It’s fine. You’ve earned it.” I pushed him and he finally walked off, joining Yaseen and the others.

The cat blinked and studied me again in half-slumber. She seemed harmless. Thoughtful even. But I knew that deep within her, the cat had the capability of becoming Blighted since she was a predator. There was a collar around her with a green slip, indicating that she was checked for the Blight. Or maybe no one had for months and she was left to wander around. I would have to remember to ask the bimaristan for updated records of all the cats in Salamiyya. Any predatory animal within a city’s walls had to be accounted for and checked for the Blight every month. Despite her calm demeanor and harmless looking paws, she was a killer. And one susceptible to madness at any given day if it was destined.

Yaseen returned with a cup of juice for me, and when he noticed the cat, bent down to pet her.

“Careful, she could—”

The cat hissed at his touch, flinging itself away and scampering down the stalls.

“Did I hurt her?” Yaseen said.

“Did it scratch you?”

“I grabbed her neck too strongly.”

“Maybe, but did she scratch you?”

Yaseen was sucking on a finger. I grabbed his wrist to look closer and there was a reddening cut on his forefinger. “It’s in her nature. You need to be careful when dealing with predators, alright?”

Yaseen nodded. “Can we go to the maydan, after?”

“Alright, after you eat something.”

“I’m not hungry! I just had juice.”

“Hold still,” I said. There was some balm left in my satchel that Samir Ali had given me for my wound and a ball of bandages that I cut into a slim patch, wrapping it around the boy’s finger. “Don’t suck on the balm. And keep it clean, alright?”

Yaseen nodded, but he was distracted by the noise at the Eastern gate. The wooden gate was creaking open as Captain Umar dragged it by the ropes and leaned his weight into the straps. The vendors hurried back to their stalls, hoping for caravan or any new face from the outside world. But it was only a cavalier. A purple and gold coated horseman with the heads of dead Faskeen hanging off his saddle. Blighted small game. He had no edible meat, only Blighted creatures. It was the sign of a poor cavalier who returned from the hunt with only diseased carcasses but no fresh meat for the populace. His crossbow was still cocked with a bolt and some extra in the pouch next to it.

The young man tapped his foot impatiently, edging his mare through the opening before the gate was fully open. He thanked at Umar and broke into a gallop through the vegetable market heading straight for us. I moved Yaseen out of the way.

The horse came to a halt, stomping her feet threateningly but not aggressive enough to invade my space. “Good day, brother,” said the cavalier.

“No racing,” I said.

“I’m not racing,” the cavalier replied simply. He wiped his sweaty forehead and braids with a small cloth. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you around here.”

“Just a patrolman, Faris,” I held up a hand in peace, but kept one on my hilt.

“The militia carries swords, now?” The cavalier said with an amused twitch of his lips. “Al Muhtiz is getting cocky.”

“I’m just warning you, no racing,” I said.

“Warning?”

The cavalier slipped off his mare energetically. I could feel the vendors around us becoming still.

The cavalier smiled innocently, “My name is Hoshyar. Where do you come from? I see your braids are not local…”

He paused, licking his lips at the hilt on my waist, perhaps noticing the beaded hand-guard. “Shayzari,” he whispered. “You… Faris?”

His skin shimmered, and for a moment he felt like a vision; about to disappear into the heat wave. And then came his caution. But I wanted something else. I wanted his fear. So I slid my sword to reveal it’s swirling pattern. A trap. The hunter lays his trap.

“You’re a patrolman?” Hoshyar said again.

“You’re going to race and endanger these people. I need to do something about that.” My mouth was dry and my heart raced faster as Hoshyar grew anxious. Do something. He’s a danger. You have to do something before he does, Balak.

Someone was calling my name but it was distant. “You’re going to do something, aren’t you?” I heard myself repeat.

Hoshyar stumbled back and I realised my blade was pointing to his neck. The cavalier surprised me with the flash of excitement that emanated from him. I didn’t want excitement though. Why wasn’t he scared of me?

Hoshyar smiled and drew his own blade. “I wouldn’t mind a bout this early,” he replied.

He slapped my blade away lightly and it began the back and forth. Like a sparring session, we traded blows that he’d clearly practiced everyday. We stepped over cushions, kicked aside baskets, and Hoshyar watched his footwork on the uneven cobblestones. The fool thinks this is a spar!

“I think you’ve been—“

I cut his cheek. He wasn’t expecting it. My slow jabs to his body had caught him unprepared for the sudden viciousness. And there it was, the fear. Hoshyar’s heart dropped to his stomach as he jerked his head back in shock.

I turned his basic footwork against him. He’d been circling right, I forced him left. He’d been depending on his strong arm, I forced him to his weak arm.

When the young cavalier was sweating with the effort, I made him turn awkwardly to defend his side and then a trip that sent him into a stall. Apples rolled down between my feet as he crashed.

The stall itself broke under his weight and sent the vendor shrieking. He cried and began slapping the fallen cavalier on the head. I snatched the old vendor off of him, then fought the urge to run my blade through the cavalier’s exposed neck as he jumped up to his feet.

“Munqidh!” Yaseen cried.

I dodged Hoshyar’s flailing as he tried to cut me. I managed to stab him in the stomach a few times. His mail lined coat absorbed the blows but he still doubled over after the third or fourth hit. I slammed his wrist, and it sounded like bone snapping, forcing him to drop his weapon.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Umar was at my side, shoving me away but Muneer had begun kicking him too and had to be pulled off by Abu Kaseem and the other vendors. The cavalier pushed himself off the ground, spinning around furiously for anyone else trying to attack him. He quickly scurried back to his horse, scrambled up the saddle and broke into a gallop. The mare jumped skillfully over the wooden stakes up ahead.

Umar slapped Muneer as he came close, “who told you to start beating him?”

“The Captain was fighting him!” Muneer exclaimed. Umar spared me a worried glance before trying to calm Abu Kaseem and other vendors. The market was mostly empty now, though. And the servants had scurried back to their households.

Umar sat the sobbing Abu Kaseem down on a cushion under the shade. Muneer and I cleaned up his spilled goods and the broken counter. I sent Muneer to go find a canopy as soon as possible.

Musa came trudging over and watched me closely, “What happened, Captain?”

I ignored him. I didn’t want to remember what I had felt. So I took my time wiping my face and dusted my clothes.

“Captain?” Musa asked again.

“A scuffle with a child, nothing else,” I replied tiredly.

“You need to be careful with these. I know you think you are going to make changes around here and God knows what else you’ve—“

“My apologies, aba,” I interrupted. “Is there anything else?”

Musa sighed. “Nothing else.”

“Do you need help cleaning up?”

Musa lived behind the cotton-carders compound, with his widowed daughter Mina. I offered to carry him home and wrap up his goods.

“I can’t. I need to stay the entire day,” he said.

“The Ra’is will cover you,” I said.

“That camel-face wouldn’t cover his own mother,” he said. He started cleaning the dates that were covered in dirt. He offered me one and I took it, and promised to pay him for two. “I don’t need your charity, son. I only want some shade,” he snapped.

“Right away, aba,” I said and moved his cushion under Abu Kaseem’s half-ripped canopy in the meantime.

***