maps. He had a
thousand men. Maybe he’ll get lucky.”
“He outnumbers them three or four to one.”
“The numbers might be enough to make his hammer blows more convincing than Nassef’s
finesse. Your brother isn’t a thinker.”
“How well I know. Tell me, why are you so impressed with Nassef?”
“He has the subtle touch of genius. In a western context his threat to send an assassin to el Aswad would have been brilliant. Here it’s a waste of inspiration.”
“I don’t see it. That was just talk by somebody who got spit on.”
“That’s the flaw in his subtlety.”
“What?”
“There’s no one here subtle enough to see the implications of the threat. Is the assassin here already? If not, how will he get in? And so on.”
“You westerners are a devious race. We’re more direct.”
“I’ve noticed. But Nassef and El Murid are working on a different level. Their behavior
betrays careful calculation. They occupied Sebil el Selib knowing your strength and probable
response.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re confident they can hold it. There’s no point in their taking something they
can’t keep. Not at this point in their growth.”
“You give them too much credit.”
“You don’t give them enough. Despite everything you told me at Al Rhemish, you haven’t
really convinced yourself that these people are anything more than bandits led by a madman. Do you recall what you said? About El Murid selling the snake oil everyone wants to buy? I’ve
reflected on that, and I think it’s even truer than you know.”
“What would you have me do?”
“There are a lot of possibilities.” Radetic suggested several, all of which Yousif rejected as impractical or politically unfeasible. “Then be direct. Murder El Murid. People will scream, but they will forget quickly enough. And Nassef won’t be able to survive without him. Not at this point.”
“I plan to try. Assuming Fuad fails. You haven’t given me a thing.”
“I know I’m overlooking the financial and political difficulties. You asked for options. I laid out what I see. Hell, it’s even remotely possible we could ignore them till they all die of
indifference.”
“Megelin, my recovery wasn’t spontaneous. I’ve been lying here for two days, aching more in
mind than in body. I’ve thought of it all. And the only workable option is to fight and hope we get lucky. If we can’t get lucky, then we’ll try to keep them contained.”
“This is depressing. We’re talking ourselves into accepting a defeat before the event.”
“Drop it, then. Megelin?”
“Yes?”
“You can do one thing to brighten my life.”
“Wahlig?”
“Stay here when your contract is up. I may need the outsider’s viewpoint desperately before
this is over.”
Radetic was surprised. This was the first time ever that Yousif had treated him with more
than minimal respect. “I’ll consider it, Wahlig. I’d better go. I left Ali in charge of my class.”
Yousif chuckled. “Yes, you’d better.”
“I’m a political historian, Haroun,” Megelin explained. “That’s why I’m going to stay. Why I
have to stay. I can’t leave during the political storm of the century, can I?”
The boy seemed slightly disappointed. Radetic understood, but did not have it in him to lay
out the true, emotional bases for lengthening his stay. He did not understand all his motives himself.
“You see, I’m the only one here at the heart of it. History is written by prejudiced parties, Haroun. By winners, usually. This is a unique opportunity to capture the truth.”
Haroun looked at him sideways, wearing an amused little smile. After a moment, Megelin
chuckled. “You devil. You see right through me, don’t you?”
He had his excuse, though. It would be good enough to prolong his stay as grim weeks piled
into months and years.
Haroun whipped into Megelin’s room, almost falling as he swung through the door, almost
overturning the
thousand men. Maybe he’ll get lucky.”
“He outnumbers them three or four to one.”
“The numbers might be enough to make his hammer blows more convincing than Nassef’s
finesse. Your brother isn’t a thinker.”
“How well I know. Tell me, why are you so impressed with Nassef?”
“He has the subtle touch of genius. In a western context his threat to send an assassin to el Aswad would have been brilliant. Here it’s a waste of inspiration.”
“I don’t see it. That was just talk by somebody who got spit on.”
“That’s the flaw in his subtlety.”
“What?”
“There’s no one here subtle enough to see the implications of the threat. Is the assassin here already? If not, how will he get in? And so on.”
“You westerners are a devious race. We’re more direct.”
“I’ve noticed. But Nassef and El Murid are working on a different level. Their behavior
betrays careful calculation. They occupied Sebil el Selib knowing your strength and probable
response.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re confident they can hold it. There’s no point in their taking something they
can’t keep. Not at this point in their growth.”
“You give them too much credit.”
“You don’t give them enough. Despite everything you told me at Al Rhemish, you haven’t
really convinced yourself that these people are anything more than bandits led by a madman. Do you recall what you said? About El Murid selling the snake oil everyone wants to buy? I’ve
reflected on that, and I think it’s even truer than you know.”
“What would you have me do?”
“There are a lot of possibilities.” Radetic suggested several, all of which Yousif rejected as impractical or politically unfeasible. “Then be direct. Murder El Murid. People will scream, but they will forget quickly enough. And Nassef won’t be able to survive without him. Not at this point.”
“I plan to try. Assuming Fuad fails. You haven’t given me a thing.”
“I know I’m overlooking the financial and political difficulties. You asked for options. I laid out what I see. Hell, it’s even remotely possible we could ignore them till they all die of
indifference.”
“Megelin, my recovery wasn’t spontaneous. I’ve been lying here for two days, aching more in
mind than in body. I’ve thought of it all. And the only workable option is to fight and hope we get lucky. If we can’t get lucky, then we’ll try to keep them contained.”
“This is depressing. We’re talking ourselves into accepting a defeat before the event.”
“Drop it, then. Megelin?”
“Yes?”
“You can do one thing to brighten my life.”
“Wahlig?”
“Stay here when your contract is up. I may need the outsider’s viewpoint desperately before
this is over.”
Radetic was surprised. This was the first time ever that Yousif had treated him with more
than minimal respect. “I’ll consider it, Wahlig. I’d better go. I left Ali in charge of my class.”
Yousif chuckled. “Yes, you’d better.”
“I’m a political historian, Haroun,” Megelin explained. “That’s why I’m going to stay. Why I
have to stay. I can’t leave during the political storm of the century, can I?”
The boy seemed slightly disappointed. Radetic understood, but did not have it in him to lay
out the true, emotional bases for lengthening his stay. He did not understand all his motives himself.
“You see, I’m the only one here at the heart of it. History is written by prejudiced parties, Haroun. By winners, usually. This is a unique opportunity to capture the truth.”
Haroun looked at him sideways, wearing an amused little smile. After a moment, Megelin
chuckled. “You devil. You see right through me, don’t you?”
He had his excuse, though. It would be good enough to prolong his stay as grim weeks piled
into months and years.
Haroun whipped into Megelin’s room, almost falling as he swung through the door, almost
overturning the
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