A/N: If there’s a known problem with a certain model of fridge, and something that sounds like said problem is reported, why are you not carrying the part?
Sigh. And Cassim probably still hates me. 😉
Cassim put down the pen before he splintered it. Sharpening quills was a pain.
My gang’s doing okay. That’s what’s important, right? And we’ve got coins and goods hoarded for when the plan goes up in smoke.
Because it would. It had to. Things just didn’t go right for a brat from the slums. Ever.
Even if the brat’s a prince.
Not that most people outside his lieutenants had any clue about that. He’d stomped his foot down about that hard the first time he and Alibaba had come to terms on what the Fog Troupe would and wouldn’t do as part of Merhdad’s plan. Alibaba’s smuggling alias, not the missing prince; because the people needed to stand against the nobles on their own two feet-
Alibaba had agreed with him. Fervently. Which had felt like winding up to smash in a door the hard way, only to have someone open it from the other side. Argh.
It didn’t make sense. Alibaba was born royalty. Why wouldn’t he want people following the third prince?
But he didn’t. Cassim had seen that every time he’d made contact with another merchant or street kid Alibaba had dazzled… just by walking by sometimes, it seemed like. Some of them hadn’t even met him, given the stories Hassan and Zainab had picked up from a few ex-slaves that had made it here all the way from Qishan. They just knew that their sadistic Lord Jamil was dead, dead, way dead, that Alibaba had bought them all free and stuck around long enough to make that stick after a new lord came in – and then he’d vanished.
Where the hell did Alibaba get the coins to free a whole city’s worth of slaves?