/lit/ - Literature

>>9661696

By the time Anton reached the ground floor, the fireworks ended as expected. The last of the crowd lounged in the portico open to the innyard. Above the hum of their conversation could be heard the burble of fountain-water.
Anton took great care to navigate past their tables. The entire time he latched his eyes to the scattered carpets as if enchanted by their patterns. When at last reached the counter, he was all too relieved to see a familiar face behind it – a familiar hijabed face.
Even in this dim corner of the chamber, Anton recognized Fatima by her almond-irised eyes. At one time it struck Anton as unseemly that Ali would let his daughter attend to his establishment. But then again the Chief of Kabyles had his own way of doing things - as did Fatima. She flattened her muslin-sleeved hands on the counter, leaned toward Anton, and whiffed him.
“So.” Her voice came as a coin’s splash in the fountains. “What is your fragrance this evening?”
Anton tittered in self-satisfaction. “I call it Lavender Musk.”
Fatima curved her face amusedly. “I prefer your Tangerine Tempest.”
Anton flicked some pretend dust off his sleeve. “I can teach you some lighter aspects of the craft, you know. By the time I depart, you’ll be able to concoct perfumes by your own hand.”
Fatima tapped a finger to her chin. “Only if you also teach me a thing or two about the shadier aspects as well. Poisons and sedatives, particularly.”
“Your father would disapprove.”
“He’s the one who encourages me to learn.”
Anton yawned in what first came as a gasp. From the start he surmised that Fatima had a hand in the shadiest of her father’s ventures, even the more mercenary ones that made some men squeamish. But to hear it aloud was something else entirely - akin to seeing an unwritten law being broken.
“I’m not so inclined to do your father’s bidding. Not currently, at least,” Anton returned in a tone curter than intended.
To that Fatima fixed him with a searching gaze. Finally, she prompted, “Do you recall that one fable - the one about the tortoise and the hare?”
Anton caught her implication as soon as he heard it. “I know my Aesop. Were you eavesdropping upstairs?”
Fatima shook her head and laughed with the resonance of wind chimes. “It’s plain on your face.”
Attempting to mask his unease, Anton jested, “In that you have an advantage.”
She offered another laugh, though it lacked the former’s luster. “My face is plenty visible. You need only learn the signals.” 1/3