“Oh, yes.” Musa nodded emphatically. “It was very tragic. It’s why I’m here.”
“What sort of work did you do?”
“What did I do? Well, I did many things. Um, I advised, mostly,” he said. “Or rather, listened. I’m a good listener for people who need to untangle their thoughts—sometimes a listening ear can be the greatest solution to the most difficult problems.”
A listener? Musa cringed. What sort of profession was this to have made up?
“Never heard of a professional listener,” the prince said. “But I like the sound of it. I’m on my way home and I could use a good set of ears for a situation I’m dealing with. I’ll pay you for your time. Let’s see how it goes?”
Musa’s heart surged with joy, and he climbed aboard the carriage.
One day turned to two, and then three, and soon Prince Kashif found Musa’s presence indispensable. Musa’s listening ears were truly the trick the prince needed to untangle his thoughts.
As the years passed and Musa’s status grew, he thought of his parents often. He sent them money regularly, but he knew it wasn’t money they longed for—they wanted their son. But he was not their son anymore. He was Saleem now—confidant to the prince, from a land across the sea. And though he liked the idea of this new identity, the true person within felt like a sagging weight.
One day, Kashif approached Saleem for a private word.
“You have been immeasurably helpful to me,” he told Saleem. “My father and I agree that it’s time I had my own advisor. And though you are an official listener, I would like to offer that position to you. It is a role of great trust, and I trust no one else more than you.”
Saleem swallowed. It was an honor; one he couldn’t have imagined when he’d arrived to this kingdom proper with hardly anything but a few coins all those years ago. But he felt a pang of guilt—Prince Kashif placed his trust in him, and Saleem hadn’t been honest about who he was.
Seeing the hesitation upon Saleem’s face, the prince smiled.
“Of course, you don’t have to decide right this moment. Think about it,” the prince reassured him. “In the meantime, come along with me to a great sporting match. I’m ashamed I haven’t taken you to one yet. You will love it.”
Before Saleem could ask what sort of sport it was, they were off in the carriage. People lined the streets and shouted in excitement. As they neared, Saleem’s heart dropped. The large stadium. The endless rows of seats.
“A bullfight,” Saleem said weakly.
“Yes,” the prince said. “Had you ever heard of this sport back in Sulamandra?”
Saleem swallowed as they took their seats.
A man in a tight black uniform entered the ring. He flashed his feathers with a flourish.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” an announcer bellowed. “Welcome to the two hundred fiftieth annual competition! Tonight, we have a special honor. Prince Kashif has graced us with his presence.”
The crowd rejoiced and chanted for the prince. He waved a hand and smiled.
“Will you bless us with a few kind words before we begin?” the man implored the prince.
Everyone cheered, and so the prince took the steps leading to the ring.
“Thank you.” The prince turned to the crowd. He spoke of his joy of leading the kingdom and extended his well-wishes to the bullfighter for the match to come. As he spoke, Saleem startled. The bull that was to be locked in its cage was free. The gate had come undone. It slowly made its way toward the people standing in the center of the ring.
Before Saleem could cry out a word of warning, the bull charged the ringmaster, who crumpled to the ground. The crowd grew deathly silent as the prince turned, his face pale as the bull now leaned and kicked at the ground. The bull’s handlers were running toward it and shouting at it to stop at once, but the animal’s eyes were bloodred with anger.
The prince would be next. In an instant, Saleem raced down the steps into the ring, running straight to the bull.
“No, Saleem!” shouted the prince. “Don’t!”
But Saleem was not Saleem now. He was Musa Bullknower. He walked up to the bull and asked it to lay down its guard. He understood the bull’s hunger. The pain the trainers had inflicted. He urged the bull to exercise calm. He hadn’t spoken to an animal in so long, and yet those dormant parts of him came to life as strong as ever. At the sound of Musa’s voice, the bull relaxed—and kneeled to the ground, like an obedient puppy.
As people whisked away the injured ringmaster and secured the bull back in its pen, the prince stared at his friend.
“You are a man of many talents, Saleem.”
“I am not Saleem,” he said quietly. “My name is Musa. Or at least, it once was. My family is from the farmlands and I spent my life here in this very kingdom raising and speaking to bulls. I lied to you when we first met. I was too ashamed of who I was. I do not deserve quarters in your palace or to be your trusted advisor. I am not the refined man you trusted.”
He bit his lip, waiting for the prince to declare the measure of his disappointment.
“I do not judge you for where you came from,” the prince said. “I judge you for the man you are. And you are refined and well-read and well-mannered, and you are also the son of bull speakers. And you saved my life today. You are both people, Saleem and Musa, and you have in my estimation risen tenfold for making your own mark in the world without any privilege to give you support or shade along the way. If you would be so willing as to take a seat as my advisor, I would name you Advisor Musa, or Advisor Saleem—whatever you would like to be called. And I would be honored for you to help me lead. Do you accept my position?”
“Perhaps we can find a way to modify this sport so it may entertain the people but not hurt the animals in this manner?”
“Sound counsel.” Prince Kashif nodded. “We shall. Does this mean you accept?”
Musa Saleem smiled then. He said yes.
AHMED WAS poring over a gray map spread out on an angled table when Jasmine and Ali stepped into his shop. The front door chimed as they closed the door. When he looked up and saw them, his eyes widened.
“Prince Ali. Princess Jasmine. I heard about what happened. The theft. I’m so sorry. I hope they find whoever did it as soon as possible. I was looking at a map of Ababwa right here to see if there were any passages or tunnels we haven’t explored yet. Haven’t turned up anything yet, but I’m going to keep on looking.”
“Thank you so much for that,” Jasmine said. “We were here because we were wondering if we could take a look at any local maps you might have that detail the undeveloped portions of Ababwa?”
“You think he’s out there?” The man stood up and scratched his chin. “Desolate and hard to really survive on the cliffside. I don’t believe there are any dwellings out in that part of the region. Those rocks are slippery, and the salty sea spray from the cliffs makes it an unpleasant place to be for long.”
