Yasmina

Men came to the edge to look, and one big, ugly young man near her age stepped to the edge and let out a lustful smile, like he could see what lay hidden inside her abaya and niqab where only her eyes showed. “Nidaros, in Norway, a land so far to the north, even the bears turn white in the snow, if you know what snow is.” He chuckled. “I am William Brantsson, and you are?”

“I am Princess Yasmina of Mecca and Medina,” she said over al-Rahim’s and Aisha’s protests. “William is not a Norwegian name. How did you come by it?”

“My mother. Inga the Volva of Trondelag.’

“Is Inga still alive?” Yasmina asked.

“Yes,” the man said, and his expression turned to pure curiosity.

“And is Buttercup still her friend? And how are Yrsa and Alm?”

“How can… How do you…”

“William,” a gruff voice interrupted the conversation. Three older men, near fifty came to the railing, and the one in the middle spoke. “I am Captain Knud Frodeson. What can we do for you?”

“You and all your men can help,” Yasmina said. She smiled, though they could not see it. She smiled harder when she recognized the two old men that stood beside the captain, and then the pressure on her became too great to resist. Yasmina went away, and Kirstie took her place and came dressed in her well-known armor, her shield and battleaxe at her back. Kirstie was a good four inches taller than Yasmina and her eyes were bright blue as against Yasmina light brown eyes. The rest had not been noticeable under all of Yasmina’s clothing, but Kirstie knew she still had Yasmina’s smile in place.

“Knud,” she said. “Are you still raising puppies? Oswald and Edwin, is your mother still alive? How is your brother, Sibelius?”

“Lady Kristina of Strindlos.” Knud shouted. “You don’t look a day older than when I saw you.”

“It is Oswald the Elder now,” the old man said of himself. “And Edwin the Dog.” he pointed and the old man on the end appeared to be crying. “Mother passed away some years ago.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Kirstie said.

Knud got hold of his voice. “But how can you be here? what happened to that young girl?”

Kirstie did not answer them. She said, simply. “Bring your men and weapons. We may have to defend the docks and your ship.” She turned and reached out to kiss al-Rahim’s cheek. Unlike Yasmina, she did not have to get on her toes to do it. “Thank you for taking good care of me,” she added and took Aisha’s hand. “And your cousin says thank you, and she never thought of making herself appear older, obvious as that is.”

“Maybe you didn’t need older,” Aisha said. “Yasmina needs as much older as she can get.”

Kirstie listened to Yasmina protesting in her head before she agreed with the elf.

The next stop for Kirstie, even as the Vikings began to come to the dock, was the longboat from the Amalfi ship. This time al-Din shouted first.

“Francesco!”

“Al-Din,” Francesco responded, and he hurried to get to the dock. “I’ve been looking for you for more than a year. I was beginning to think what the governor said was true, that you met your end among the Fatimids. You know, I went there a few years ago searching for Yasmina. I opened trade with the Fatimids for all the Amalfitani. I have been up the coast, all the way to Syria and beyond, to Roman territory, but I have heard nothing of her.”

Kirstie paused in her conversation with William Brantsson to respond. “I was held captive in the palace in Mahdiya. I was forced to marry al-Hakim, the Mahdi’s grandson. Sadly, or maybe fortunately, he had no interest in marriage, at least to a girl. I had to kill him because he was serving the Masters. I suppose that makes me a widow.”

“Who is this person?” Francesco asked al-Din.

Al-Din smiled hugely because he thought he understood. “Yasmina, except she is not Yasmina at the moment. She is…”

“Lady Kristina of Strindlos,” Aisha said with an equally big smile.

“Stop it,” Francesco said. “I have searched for Yasmina for these past four years, and though I have not found her, I will not be giving up.”

“Why is that?” Kirstie asked, even if she knew it was cheating.

“Because I want to tell her that I love her, though we hardly spent a week together. She sets my soul on fire. I kissed her once and I will not rest until I can kiss her again and every day for the rest of our lives. I may get old and die looking for her, but so be it.” He made a determined face. Kirstie thought he looked a bit silly, but Yasmina protested and said he looked wonderful. Meanwhile, the pressure in the other direction became too great and Kirstie traded again with Yasmina. She stayed in her armor, though the battleaxe and shield got replaced by a smaller shield such as a horseman might hold, and a sword, while Yasmina’s scimitar appeared at her side. She also came with her cloak, hood up, but her veil down so Francesco could see her face, and she spoke, not what Kirstie would say, but from her own heart.

“Did you mean it?”

Francesco gawked at the transition, but only for a moment before he stepped forward and took her in his arms. They kissed for the next few minutes and that settled matters nicely for the both of them.

Al-Rahim spoke to the Amalfi skipper. “Bring your fighting men to the dock. We may have to defend your ships and crew, depending on how things turn.”

At that moment, a young Arab came up with a young woman in tow. The woman shuffled along with her feet and never looked up. A middle-aged man came from the other direction, and he had his sword drawn. Al-Rahim turned to the swordsman first because he knew the man.

“Zayd the Christian.”

“Mubarak is dead,” Zayd said. “Some went to the house and Abu ibn Suffar is reported to be dead. I cannot confirm that, but many will be along shortly.”

Aisha hardly glanced at the Young Arab man, because she knew the girl from their time in the governor’s palace. She spoke because Yasmina was busy. “Sharin. Speak to me.”

Sharin finally looked up when she heard her name, and she breathed a great sigh of relief. “Oh, lady Aisha. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Here is the need,” Aisha spoke sharply like a commander on the battlefield, or in the kitchen as the case may be. “We need to get a few men, Princess Yasmina, and myself in to see the governor when he is not near Suffar or the Jinn. Perhaps in Princess Badroul’s chambers, if that can be arranged.”

“Oh, Lady. Men in the chamber of the Princess will be killed,” Sharin said.

“Only her Fiancé. There is precedent, as long as Captain al-Rahim and Ziri, Yasmina’s harem guard are there to chaperone, and maybe if you know a friendly guard in Badroul’s harem, that might help.”

“Sharin hardly had to think. “Harun and al-Asad are still here. They survived the pirates, though Harun limps. They have been assigned to the guards. They may help.”

Yasmina took a breath. “Harun and al-Asad are alive,” she said, and went right back at it with Francesco.

“It will take some time to arrange,” Sharin stated while her face showed that she was thinking about exactly how to arrange things. “Come to the princess garden gate in two hours.”

Francesco took a breath. “We can climb over where the tree is again,” he said, and returned to his preoccupation.

“We may need the two hours to calm these two down,” Aisha said and looked at the men who were all standing around, grinning at the couple.

“Come along Nasr,” Sharin said. She grabbed the young Arab’s hand to drag him behind her, and he did not seem to mind at all.

Yasmina pulled her head back for a minute to see. She said an aside to William Brantsson. “Like your mother once said, it must be in the air.” she paused long enough to think pressing up against poor Francesco with her chain mail could not be very comfortable. She thought of Kirstie’s blue dress, having just been Kirstie, and called to it. The dress instantly replaced her armor and weapons. It left her head and hair completely uncovered and showed a bit of her arms above the wrist and her shoulders. It even showed a bit down the front, which made Yasmina feel completely naked, but Francesco liked it. He almost fell over to look at her, but she held on to him so they could squeeze together and go for round two.

Yasmina

Two women in full length, straight cut abayas made of black died Egyptian linen, and wearing full length niqabs so only their eyes were revealed came and knocked on the door to inquire about al-Din, the owner of the house. An old man, a retainer of some sort stood beside them, and a young man in traveling clothes complete with a veil of his own did most of the talking.

“We have come from Burqah in the west at the invitation of Ala al-Din to partake of his gracious hospitality as he offered in his many letters. My lord is in waiting to see the governor, and he sent his daughter and her maid ahead so that they might be refreshed. Is this not the house of al-Din?” Ali asked.

Al-Rahim determined that both Ali and Sulayman had both the brains and the courage that their leader Omar lacked. He ordered Omar to be in charge and told Sulayman privately to watch the horses and watch al-Din, and to keep al-Din’s face covered against being recognized and keep him out of trouble.

Ziri, the last Berber with them put on the appearance of a typical Bedouin guide. He was the one who went ahead through their long journey and spoke with the Berbers and Bedouin they encountered along the way to secure food for the people and fodder for the horses. They stopped at many farms and paid generously for what they received. Al-Rahim made sure he packed plenty of silver in the saddle bags for the journey. But often Ziri, or when he was still with them, Gwafa would do the talking. Now, in Alexandria, Ali got to do the talking. Ziri’s Arabic had a definite western accent. Al-Rahim’s was near enough perfect, but he and Yasmina had a slight accent and their being from the Hejaz might be noticed in certain word choices and phrases.

“Alas,” the man actually said the word as several other servant men and women came up behind him to listen. “Our young master al-Din went on a mission to the west, to the Fatimid fanatics. He has been declared dead by the governor and the property has been given to the governor’s vizir, al-Suffar. He is now the owner of this house, and his son now rules in al-Din’s place.”

“You do not sound happy about that,” Aisha spoke out of turn.

The man paused to look around at who was listening in. “No, no. We are all happy here,” he said without any conviction. “But Abu ibn Suffar does not like visitors. Please go away.” He sounded like he wanted to say, “Please run and save yourselves.”

“What happened to Princess Badroul, his true love?” Yasmina spoke before the man could close the door.

The man looked around again before he answered in a whisper. “Al-Suffar wishes her to marry his son, but she has resisted. She claims she will not marry until she hears for certain whether al-Din is dead or alive. The pressure to marry is great. I fear the governor may force his daughter. But that would be terrible for the girl. Abu is… sometimes…” He decided not to finish his sentence. “Good day,” he said and shut the door.

“So, we go to the palace and confront the governor,” al-Rahim suggested, but looked at Yasmina for confirmation.

“We will,” she agreed. “But first we need some inside information. Suffar is likely at that palace, and we want to get the governor alone and out of the influence of Suffar or the traitorous Jinn. She began to walk toward the docks on a whim, wondering if a friendly merchant might supply them with some information. She honestly thought of Francesco, but she hardly expected to find him.

Yasmina did not expect to get entirely accurate information, but she did find one of al-Din’s merchant captains, and he willingly shared what he knew. “The governor is hardly more than Suffar’s puppet. I heard rumors that a mighty Jinn is the power behind Suffar’s sudden rise to power, and I believe it has to be something like that. The man, Suffar, is as cruel and selfish as any I have ever seen. Now that young al-Din is gone, it is insufferable to work for the man, and his son is even worse. You were lucky to catch me in port. I have been considering sailing away and not coming back, but taking myself, my crew, and my ship to work for someone else.”

Yasmina remembered that Suffar was a sorcerer of a sort. But she concluded that the Jinn was the key to everything. “Well,” she said. “I can at least assure you of one thing.” she smiled for the captain as she called. “Aladdin.”

“Princess?” Al-Rahim questioned Yasmina’s decision s al-Din stumbled forward. The captain looked, fell to one knee, and praised Allah and the prophet for bringing the master home. Yasmina explained to al-Rahim.

“We need allies, back-up. Maybe an army of sailors and merchants who would rather work for al-Din. Captain Hazem al-Zahir is the first, and I bet he knows who to contact among al-Din’s people.”

The man stood at al-Din’s insistence, and al-Din hugged the man which both surprised the captain and put a look of determination on the man’s face. “I know exactly who to gather. Al-Suffar has elevated the three worst men to oversee the business. One runs the dock. One runs the house. And one, Mubarak, runs the stables and warehouse where the caravans gather.” He turned to call his nearby crew to come to him so he could send them to fetch the good men ready to rebel.

“The same Mubarak?” Yasmina asked Aisha. The elf had to pause and look at the sky before she produced an answer.

“I believe so.”

Yasmina smiled. “It’s a small world,” she said, and then looked at Aisha with a touch of fear in her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Aisha said. “I won’t start singing.”

“Princess,” al-Rahim got her attention and pointed. “It appears the Amalfi are coming into the port.”

“Maybe they will help,” al-Din said. He had excellent trade relations with the Amalfitani through his friend Francesco d’Amalfi.

“Francesco?” Yasmina could not keep the desire from her voice.

“It may be,” Aisha said. There weren’t any imps, elves, dwarfs, or fee handy in the water to check for her. She grew up in the Hejaz, as did Yasmina. Aisha had some minimal contact with the sprites in the red sea, but she did not know any in the Mediterranean. She was a spirit of the earth and not automatically connected to the spirits in the water, air, or fire, so all she could do was shrug.

“Wait here,” Captain Hazem got her attention. He looked to the sky to judge the time. “Three hours and we will be back with plenty of men.”

Yasmina interrupted the man. “What I need is someone who has contacts inside the palace. We need to get al-Din alone with the governor where Suffar and the Jinn cannot interfere. It would be best to settle matters peacefully if we can.”

Hazem nodded as he stroked his beard. “I’ll see who I can find. Meanwhile, Ibrahim here will stay with you until we get back.” The man smiled and bowed to al-Din. Captain Hazem bellowed his orders and the crew split off in several direction to disappear in the crowd around the docks.

Yasmina’s eyes shot back to the Amalfi ship dropping anchor in the bay. She hoped it might be Francesco but she had no reason to suppose it was, or that the man ever even thought of her. He was Italian, hot-blooded, and probably had a girl in every port. She sighed and then caught sight of a ship pulled right up to the dock, and it was the last ship she ever expected to see. She stood from the chest she had been sitting on and walked straight to the ship. Of course, Aisha and all the men had to follow her.

“Princess?” Al-Rahim asked where she was going, but Yasmina did not answer. It was an actual Viking Longship, and she just had to know.

“Norsemen. Where are you from?” She asked in Kirstie’s Norwegian language.