“In over his head?”
Zainab jumped, and saw a few other thieves turn pale. She’d dealt with quiet robbers. Even Alibaba could be sneaky when he tried. The Sindrian minister Ja’far was a ghost.
“Is Aladdin okay?” Alibaba pounced, apparently not at all fazed by dealing with a white-haired bundle of silent death.
And he’s not. Zainab looked at her cup, and wondered if the blond had had too much wine, or not enough. But he faced down Cassim, too.
“He’s still asleep,” Ja’far reported, gray gaze flickering to his king for just a moment. “How is he in over his head? Besides….”
Alibaba waved off whatever the white-haired menace didn’t say. “When I met him, he didn’t know that food might belong to somebody else. Or what they might do to him for eating it.”
Zainab’s thoughts screeched to a bewildered halt. That was… no way… come on, the little magician had to be at least ten, and slum kids were born knowing better than that!
Hassan snorted, helping one of the Troupe finish bandaging his arm. “No wonder you picked him up. Softie.”
“He’s learned a lot since then,” Morgiana said quietly.
Alibaba sighed. “You found him locked up in a bandit den.”