No. A quester had to be pure. It would be shameful to trick a slave. Besides, while he didn’t know the price of such women, he was sure he couldn’t afford to pay one to travel with him for months on end.

While Jebel considered his dilemma, the cloth over the doorway was swept back and an um Wadi staggered out, a woman on each arm. He was laughing, and the women were pouring wine into his mouth.

“Take me where there’s song!” the man shouted. He was drunk but not entirely senseless. “This is a night for singing!”

“I can think of better things than singing,” one of the women purred.

The man laughed. “Later. First I want to…” He spotted Jebel and beamed. “Do you wish to join our party, young one?”

Jebel stiffened and turned to leave.

“Wait!” the man barked, spotting the tattoo on Jebel’s shoulder. “You’re one of Rashed Rum’s boys, aren’t you?”

“Who’s asking?” Jebel replied cautiously — it was never wise to reveal your identity to a stranger.

“J’An Nasrim,” the man said, pushing the women away. They yelled angrily, but he ignored them and walked over to grasp Jebel warmly. “Surely you remember your father’s old rogue of a friend.”

“Of course,” Jebel said, smiling. “It is good to see you, sir. I’m Jebel, his youngest son.”

J’An Nasrim and his father sometimes played cards together. J’An was a trader who traveled widely. Rashed Rum enjoyed listening to his tales of far-off lands, even though he always said the pirate’s neck would wind up on his block one day.

“What are you doing in Fruth?” J’An asked. He waved a hand at the women. “On the prowl?”

“No, sir,” Jebel chuckled. “I…” He coughed. “I have business here.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” J’An said, putting his palms together in the age-old sign of goodwill.