Please do not…

He breathed the words, making them entirely inaudible despite his sudden urge to beg it of her. Desperation, however, would have had him shouting them. And that, very likely, would have defeated his purpose. Best, then, that he forget desperation and remember that begging would win him nothing. 

Two breaths later, when she still had not called out, he realised that she was inadvertently giving him the chance he had asked for. That, or she was taking her time to gauge the risk to her wares and herself should she call anyone down on him. She had little to worry about; Renna’s guards were mostly well-aligned with their duties. He was, admittedly, surprised he had not yet been sniffed out. Maybe they were keeping the jinn among their ranks at the gates to be sure he did not try to magic his way out. He could not be certain, which meant the longer he remained, the greater his likelihood of being found where he did not want to be found. They must not search this cart. 

He waited one more breath, holding it tightly before letting it go to wrap around the urn now beyond his reach, hoping it would be enough to keep it safe until this cart was beyond any walls. 

Now that he was listening, listening so closely his heartbeat echoed off the cart’s walls, he could just barely hear her moving nearby. He hoped she was not being secretive in her alerting of the guards, but he had no more control over this situation. She held all the winning cards. There was nothing else he could do. That, being a situation he was accustomed to, surprisingly comforted Curdle, and he found himself relaxing slightly as he waited for her next move. He had given his word. It was her turn to prove trust or not. 

When her answer, such as it was, arrived in the form of angry questions, he hunched his shoulders against the accusations hiding in her words and gasped out his protest before he could think of a better response. “I am no runaway, messi.” 

As though that might reassure her. Ha! Well played, fool jinni.

He scrambled to fill in the suddenly weighted silence, not wanting to claim a worse crime as his own, but unable to fully explain what he was doing without risking discovery of the urn before everything was in place. “I did not [i]mean[/i] to run.” He amended, hoping it would fix his mistake. “Only, the Lady Gerun has died and there is a task now that weighs on my shoulders. She gave it me knowing those in Renna would not like seeing it done. Yet I must, messi, before they send me back.”

He spoke with great feeling, for all it was a very abridged and undetailed version of the story. There was some possibility that she would not approve of the task either. For all that, and the risk of being overheard, he continued quietly, solemnly. If he could not convince her of his sincerity, it might very well mean that all was lost. He had to do his best. “I was signed in blood to Fiira, messi.  No one else. They will stop me only with a forever-cage.” He’d never known any jinn to escape a sentence once it had been passed. Being sent to the gaol was either a long sentence, or a quick death. “I have more fear of my veins boiling dry should I fail, messi. Please do not call the guards.” 

That was not, strictly speaking, true. He did not suspect any such thing would happen, save perhaps his conscience flaying him in spiritual equivalent, should he not succeed. It would likely not occupy his mind for long, most especially if he was caught. He was, however, possessed of the knowledge that there were methods, during a contract signing, to ensure a more troublesome jinni suffer consequences should he, or she, require punishment or restraining. Most were aware that it was possible, and there were several theories about the results. Some did not keep the method only for quarrelsome jinn. And one aligned closely with his expressed concern. 

He did suspect, however, that he would be far more afraid of his blood boiling, if such were a possibility, than he would be any guards in such a situation. It was a heavily implied lie, but not an outright stated one. May the Five Winds forgive him. 

If that did not weigh on her sympathies, perhaps she would feel more inclined to avoid unleashing a desperate jinni near her wares. Or on the guard that would answer her call. Curdle did not like playing with words in this way. But it was his last and only chance. So, he used any card given to him that might sway the moment in his favour. Beneath the canvas, his fingers were twisted in supplication of whatever force or spirit might care to answer.