The Bones of the Old Ones (Dabir and Asim) by Howard Andrew Jones Page A

experienced when touching the spear, but seemed less satisfied the more he learned. Then he sent me back to our house to retrieve some old scrolls and a book. I did not ask why. Before I left I saw to it Kharouf was posted outside, for, while inexperienced, he was serious by nature and a capable soldier.
    When I returned, I watched until late in the afternoon while Dabir turned the spear every which way and laboriously copied each mark he discovered on the old weapon, regardless if it seemed a carving or a scratch. Occasionally he’d pause to rifle through references. He grew completely absorbed in the work, as he was whenever presented with a compelling puzzle.
    I did not interrupt him, even though I wondered why anyone would bother making a weapon from a bone. Perhaps its use was merely ornamental, for surely the edge would break under strain. I sat with my arms crossed near the brazier slaves had brought in, and my mind returned repeatedly to Najya. We were supposed to be informed when she recovered. I hoped the silence did not mean that her condition had worsened.
    Dabir could not be parted from his studies for food, so I alone joined the governor, Shabouh, and several other court intimates. They pressed me for details about Dabir’s discoveries but I could only shake my head. “Dabir never likes to speculate before he is more certain of an answer. He would not wish me to say.” This was true, of course, though I could not have told them Dabir’s theories even if I wished, for he had not shared them.
    After evening prayers at the governor’s side, a servant informed us that the woman had roused and asked for Dabir and me, so I excused myself and went to find my friend.
    Kharouf still leaned against the wall outside. Inside, a partially eaten meal of stewed dates and lamb rested near at hand, but Dabir was otherwise as I had left him, studying a text and making notes. A densely packed ring of candles now burned off the encircling darkness.
    “Najya is awake and asking for us,” I told him.
    “Ah. Good.” He nodded, glancing up. “You should go talk to her.”
    “She asked for both of us,” I said, though I was not entirely sure the servant had truly conveyed the lady’s request.
    “Yes, but I am busy.”
    If he was at all interested in her, he was doing a poor job of showing it. I began to think it was the problem, and not the woman, which held his attention. “What do you want me to say?”
    Dabir looked blandly up from the scroll. “Convince her to come with us.”
    “Cannot the governor simply order her to do so?”
    “Nay—she is not a criminal, and she is not of Mosul. The governor, being a just man, will not exercise authority over her he does not have. And she must accompany us, for her own safety.” He looked back down. “Oh—ask if she, too, witnessed anything when she touched the spear.”
    Feeling somewhat useless to him otherwise, I had Kharouf point me in the right direction and then found a servant to lead me to the well-appointed room where Najya waited. There were braziers there, and a platter of breads and cheeses, and also a girl attendant who was brushing Najya’s hair by candlelight as she sat on a couch. Najya had removed her veil and did not bother affixing it on sight of me. Without the fabric she proved even more lovely, with a clear complexion, a small, full mouth with bright lips, and a delicate, rounded chin.
    I had a sudden misgiving about why I’d been thinking of her all day, and didn’t realize I was staring until several uncomfortable moments passed while she waited for me to speak. I think she’d acknowledged me with “Captain Asim.”
    I brought myself back around with some effort. “It is good to see that you are well.” I then noted that she wore a dark blue dress and decided to comment upon it, for women delight in such things. “Is that a new garment?”
    “It is a gift from the governor,” she said with disinterest. “Captain, the servants say I am to