“Well, well you do clean up nice,” Calliope approved as she glanced over Neil’s new attire. He looked every inch the dashing Imran Kaffir who was rumored to have gained the secret of magic for mankind by stealing the food of the Djinn. 

 

“Shame the baths are segregated,” she teased and saw Neil smirk as though he had been having the same thought.

“Quick questions, who are these Seven Princes and are they going to kill us?” Neil asked. Calliope shrugged eloquently, her jewelry jingling slightly as she did so. Shrugging wasn’t a natural gesture to women of this region, to whom absolute control of their shoulders was taught as proper posture from birth.

 

“I think a cartel of local wizards, probably the greatest in the city. The sultan is in charge but there has to be some sort of hierarchy among the local mages,” she reasoned. The reading she had done had not covered politics in anything like so granular a fashion.

“As for wanting to kill us, I don’t imagine so, showing us a little charity establishes a pecking order,” she explained. It was a fairly common practice. If you accepted gifts from someone, you were effectively acknowledging their superiority to you. That might be a problem if Calliope wanted to marry into the Sultanate, but given her goal was simply to use the place for a base while she hunted for the tombs on their map, it didn’t seem likely to be an issue. Further discussion of political altruism was forestalled by Rashim’s return.

“Come, come, all is prepared,” he informed them. Calliope was hungry, but was ready to beg off attending a formal banquet in favor of something more intimate. Fortunately the issue didn’t arise.

“These are your rooms,” he informed them, opening a teak paneled door to reveal a large open room flanked by rows of stone columns. A bed chamber stood at the end with hanging silks cordening it off. The central section was dominated by a large table and several comfortable looking chairs. Both sides of the central room were flanked by smaller areas, set off by waist high balustrades of intricately carved timber but not by any wall that would block a line of sight to the center. A large table stood in the central room on which brass dishware was stacked, some were covered and clearly hot, others were open to reveal candied dates, fresh fruit, confections and other things Calliope couldn’t name. A large central basket of woven leaves held a heaping of golden rice. Pitchers of wine stood at the four corners of the table, each with the head of a different animal worked in cunning bronze.

“I will leave you now,” Rashid declared, “if you should require anything, you have but to ring.” He made a gesture to a silken rope which lead to a silver bell, and then turned and slipped from the room, closing the door as he went.