Ara sputtered, “But he can’t have an owner. It’s Suleiman.” And then more thoughtfully, “This must be serious. The wazir must know it’s Suleiman in dog form.”
Layla sat in a daze, stunned that she was being hauled before her uncle.
Suleiman circled in the corner, whining—his ears pinned to his head and tail tucked under.
Three guards awaited them outside Tahirah’s rooms. Tahirah positioned herself between the men and the girls, politely but firmly refusing to allow the girls to be taken to the Palace Court without her. No rope was permitted on Suleiman no matter how the guard argued. Finally, the guards agreed to wait outside while the group prepared to set off for the Hall of the Ambassadors. As they rounded up scarves, caftans and shoes, Tahirah assessed the situation. “Yes, I sense the hand of the wazir in this. He can’t be certain, nor can he prove it without divulging what he has done. We know that Suleiman doesn’t have an owner. Let us go prepared to deal with the worst possible likelihood, though perchance it is but a misunderstanding, inshallah.”
Grabbing her caftan and trying to tidy herself up quickly, Ara muttered, “I hope that this is only Zoriah upset about finding a dog in her spotless rooms.”
Tahirah looked over at Ara. “I also wish this is so, but the note said the owner of the dog was there. Someone thinks—or wants the sultan to think—we have their dog.”
She captured and held each girl’s gaze. “You two must show your best side. We shall proceed carefully until we know what this is about. Whatever happens, be exceedingly polite and respectful. The sultan is in an awkward position. You know how much he loves you,” she reminded them, “but as sultan, he cannot be seen to support his daughter and niece over another of his subjects. I will do as much as I can to help, but you must be seen as gracious and cooperative.”
Ara’s eyes brimmed with tears. “He does love me, doesn’t he? Even though I spilled the dye in the Court of the Lions? He’s not spoken to me since. I know I do things I ought not, but...”
Tahirah rushed over and held her close. “He loves you very, very much. You know this is true. You can demonstrate your love by making him proud of his daughter and by trusting him.” She gently smoothed Ara’s hair and smiled encouragingly at Layla.
Ara wiped away her tears and rubbed her nose. “I can do this. I am a sultan’s daughter.”
Tahirah nodded. “Remember, head high, and keep on the lookout for rotational symmetries. Time is not our friend.”
When they stepped out into the gardens, the impassive guards again moved to grab the dog, but Tahirah stopped them with a look and a few firmly spoken words. Layla, to everyone’s surprise, sauntered along whistling. The guards, stiffly proper, kept glancing nervously at her until one of them finally broke into a grin.
Tahirah laughed. Suleiman got caught up in the pleasure of the melody and, untucking his tail, pranced alongside.
Ara grinned at her cousin before joining in with a bouncy harmony.
Tahirah laughed again. “That’s a strange tune for you to know. How did you learn a gypsy song in the palace?”
Layla blushed at the attention. “I heard two servants singing it last month in the kitchen. I thought it might cheer me up, and it did.”
Tahirah looked at their little group. “I think it cheered all of us.”
At the doorway to the Palace of the Myrtles, they hesitated and smiled assurances at one another before proceeding into the Hall of the Ambassadors. At the far end sat the sultan, grim-faced. Three veiled women in hijabs sat stiffly erect on the side benches. Layla spotted her father standing quietly to the side. She gasped upon recognizing the man talking to him but quickly recaptured her mask of poise. Two advisors stood near the sultan cloaked in brown caftans, perplexed at the uproar over one dog.
The wazir, who stood before Layla’s father, was obviously retelling his tale, waving his hands as he spoke. He turned as their feet tapped across the stone floor. “That’s my dog,” he said loudly. “That’s my newly-purchased dog.”
The sultan’s jaw clenched. “Abd al-Rahmid, sit down, please. We will conduct this as a fair and objective discussion. All will be questioned and, by Allah’s hand, the truth will be known.”
The wazir made a motion toward the girls but checked himself as the guards tensed and reached for their swords. He stood rigidly in place, his eyes turned toward the girls, then fixed on the dog.
The sultan watched, his eyebrows pulled down in a frown. “Sit, I said.”
Eyes still on the dog, the wazir bent and folded his legs beneath him.
Satisfied with his advisor’s compliance, the sultan addressed his daughter and company. “Thank you for coming so quickly. A matter has been brought to my attention. A matter of a dog. An almost inconsequential thing, some might say.” He looked at the wazir and shook his head. “But it has been addressed to our royal self to resolve. So it will be done, inshallah.”
Ara bowed low. “We are your loyal subjects and strive to assist as we may.”
A look of pride flashed across her father’s face then was gone. “We will begin. Abd al-Rahmid states that he recently purchased a dog.”
“A dog for hunting, shaykh,” the wazir interrupted. “Purchased at great cost.”
“At great cost,” the sultan repeated, briefly closing his eyes. “This morning, it was made known to me that a dog was found in the harem. My head advisor”—he gestured at the scowling man at his side—“stated he had lost such a dog. We now need to discover whose dog this is.”
The wazir pointed a finger at Suleiman. “That is my dog. I would know him anywhere. I have great need of him, for we are to go hunting tomorrow.”
The room stirred at the unseemliness of yet another outburst. Layla’s father kept his face carefully neutral, though his hand seemed to twitch nearer to his sword. The other advisors looked perplexed. It was only a dog after all, and Allah did not favor them.
“Abd al-Rahmid, do you have proof that it belongs to you? Has the person who sold it to you come forward, or any witnesses who can verify that it is yours?”
The wazir didn’t answer, leaving the questions to hang in the air like sharpened knives. Tahirah could sense his desperation. His eyes shifted as he searched for an answer.
The race is on, she thought. He knows his magic is failing and time is running out. She raised her head, speaking quietly but firmly into the silence. “The dog was found by the girls while in the harem. Abd al-Rahmid could not have entered there, nor could any man. The dog appeared lost and uncared for. This I swear is true.”
“She is but a woman, shaykh,” the wazir sputtered. “Easily mistaken and easily misled.” His voice rose yet again. “She’s a Sufi and bends Allah’s word to fit her own wishes.”
Several people gasped. Tahirah stood quietly, serenely awaiting the sultan’s next words.
The sultan’s eyes were hard. “Enough. She is a Sufi and a person of honor. I will not hear this again. No more outbursts or you will be reprimanded by my own hand.” His pronouncement reverberated in the great room.
“Ara.” He said in a calmer tone, “I want you to think before you answer. Is it possible that this dog is the property of my wazir?”
She looked directly at her father. “No, it is not.”
“Layla. What say you?”
She blanched but said earnestly. “Shaykh, it’s not his dog.”
The sultan leaned back in his throne. Beside him, the wazir ground his teeth.
“Though each of you report having had the dog such a short time,” the sultan said after considering, “I would think that the dog would remember his owner. I suggest we let the wazir call to him.”
The wazir walked to stand large and overbearing in the center of the room. Suleiman cowered behind Ara, leaning hard against her leg.
“Dog, come! You know your master. You must obey.” His eyes bored into Suleiman’s.
Although he did not move a paw, Suleiman whimpered and cowered all the more.
The wazir raised his voice. “Come, I say, or it will go hard for you.”
Suleiman lifted his head and stared at the wazir, the source of all his pain and misery. His hackles raised while a low growl started in his throat. His teeth bared, and his body tensed for a fight. An echoing roar sounded, from where no one could tell.
The wazir flinched, and the girls gained heart. Tahirah blinked in surprise. No one else seemed to hear. Suleiman, emboldened by the backing of a pride of lions, stood firm and continued growling, teeth still bared.
The sultan looked curiously at the wazir. “Interesting that you try to have a discussion with a dog. The animal seems not to like you.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that is telling in itself. Still, he does not go to you.”
He nodded to his daughter. “Ara, would you step across the room and call the dog.”
Ara walked away from Suleiman. After an anxious moment, he bounded after her, and growled again at the wazir on his way.
Suleiman pressed himself against Ara. She bent down to pat him and was rewarded with a quick lick of affection.
Her father cocked his head. “It seems that it is unnecessary for you to call the dog. It obviously trusts you. But as the dog is, according to Abd al-Rahmid, newly purchased, this does not decide ownership. I need more time to think on this.”
The wazir, sweat dotting his face, protested with a self-effacing smile. His hands clenched and unclenched. “Shaykh, you are right, but he should not be left in these women’s possession. He looks to be vicious and could harm your daughter. He needs to be returned to my hand.”
After a long, slow stare at the wazir, the sultan spoke. “I thank my advisor for helping me make this decision. The dog will be taken to a secure location and well treated, until I have thought further on this. It seems there is more here than meets the eye.”
Ara clung to the trembling hound as the guards approached. Her father leaned slightly forward toward her as they drew near and quietly avowed, “Upon my honor, the dog will not be harmed. I will give you an answer as quickly as possible.”
Tahirah stepped forward to comfort both girl and dog. As the guards tied a rope around Suleiman, she turned to face the sultan, her white woolen cloak hiding none of the tension in her body. “Guard him well, as you would your most trusted servant.” Abruptly, she turned and left, as if afraid of having said too much. The two girls followed, taking backwards glances as Suleiman, surrounded by guards, was lead away.
The sultan sat pondering the interest of so many in one small, rather ugly hound long after all had left.