Spirit of a Mountain Wolf by Rosanne Hawke Page A

had already tried the door handle, but it was locked. Mr. Malik sat in the front seat next to the driver, and Razaq caught him glancing at him in the rearview mirror. He had a small smile at the corner of his mouth that made Razaq more worried.
    The car pulled up outside a house with high white walls made of cement. There were numbers on the gate. When Razaq was ushered inside the house, he saw there were many rooms. They walked down a hallway, past a room where children were still awake and watching TV. The place looked like a fancy madrasah and Razaq’s spirits lifted a little. Perhaps Aslam was wrong; maybe he could learn some more English words here. If he didn’t like this job, he could find another. Razaq stopped himself and thought of Kazim’s restaurant. That wasn’t really a job—how long had it taken him to work that out? Too long. He probably wouldn’t have escaped from Kazim again, but was he any better off now? He wasn’t sure. Mr. Malik had paid much money—would he be more strict?
    Razaq glanced up at Mr. Malik’s face: it looked hard, like sunbaked mud. He walked tall, his back straight like an army general’s, his hands big.
What are those hands capable of
, Razaq wondered.
    “This is where we will start, my mountain prince,” Mr. Malik said.
    Razaq looked into the room. It held a huge white trough with taps. He stared at it, uncomprehending, and Mr. Malik chuckled.
    “It is called a bath. No doubt you washed in a river?”
    Razaq nodded.
    “Here we can capture water. We can capture anything in the city.”
    He looked at Razaq as if he was thinking he could even capture boys like him. Razaq gritted his teeth. He was sure they would drown him in that bath—he couldn’t swim—and he kept his feet rooted to the floor. Mr. Malik called out and immediately two people rushed into the room. One was a young man, as tall and heavy looking as Nasir Ali but quicker on his feet, and the other was a woman.
    “Bathe him,” Mr. Malik said. “Bring him to me when he is ready.”
    Razaq fought valiantly, but the young man was so much bigger and the woman surprisingly strong. It wasn’t long before his clothes were stripped off and he was in the bath with only his tarveez on, being soaped and scrubbed with a tough brush.
    “Ow.”
    The woman grunted. “It will hurt more if you struggle. Hold him, Murad.” Then she murmured, “This one will be trouble. Already he has been beaten, but it seems it hasn’t worked.”
    Razaq tried to pull his arms away from Murad’s grasp to cover himself, but Murad was too strong. Never before, not since he was a tiny child, had Razaq been completely naked. The shame daunted him, then suddenly the scrubbing was over.
    “A jao, come out,” the woman said. “The boss will be pleased with you, I expect, but do what he says.” She picked up a towel and roughly wiped him. “Do not let his nice words fool you.”
    With that piece of advice given, she kneeled to clean out the bath and Murad twisted Razaq’s arms behind his back and pushed him toward the door.
    Razaq turned his head toward the woman. “My clothes.”
    “You can’t put those filthy things back on, you’ll get dirty again,” the woman said.
    Murad gave him another shove into the hallway. To Razaq’s relief, no one else was there to see him naked. He couldn’t hear the TV so maybe the children had gone to bed. He was pushed into a room on the left where Mr. Malik and another man were drinking chai from glass cups.
    “So.” Mr. Malik turned as Razaq entered. He raised a hand slightly and Murad disappeared. Razaq glanced behind him at the doorway. How far was it? Perhaps he could run.
    “Don’t even think about it,” Mr. Malik said. “Kazim told me he had to beat you, but I see he hasn’t broken your spirit. That is good.” He took another sip of tea while Razaq tried to cover his front. “Now that Farida has given you a bath, I see you are even fairer than I thought.” He looked at the other