Love Will Find Out the Way

Zolf still isn’t completely sure this is a great idea, but, well, he’s never broken his word in his life and he’s not about to start now. So here he is, four months later, wheeling himself up to a set of really imposing doors and hoping he doesn’t muff it.

This house is…not designed for someone like him, he can tell that at a glance. It doesn’t have steps leading up to the doors, at least, which is a plus, but it’s got so many bloody levels. Probably all the living spaces are on the upper floors. Not that he’s going to be living here by any means, or even staying here, but still, it strikes him as the kind of place where the ground floor isn’t used for anything but a check-in point by most of the residents.

Blimey, what’s he getting himself into?

He reaches the door, steels himself against the urge to just barge in, especially since he’s already sort of done that with the gate. Knocks. The person—probably a servant—who answers at least looks in his direction first, but Zolf has to throttle back his instinctive reaction to the different emotions that range over the guy’s face.

“Can I help you?” the servant asks officiously.

Zolf presses his lips together for a split second. “I’m here to see Hamid? Ah, Hamid Selah Haroun al-Tahan.” He’s sure he butchers the pronunciation, but he tries at least.

He expects to be challenged, maybe have the door shut in his face while the servant decides whether or not to let him in, but to his surprise, the servant opens the door wider and steps aside. “This way, sir.”

Zolf has to force himself over the threshold—luckily he’s pretty strong, and he’s used to it at this point—and then concentrates on not getting hung up on the rugs scattered about or slamming into any of the (surprisingly few) tables along the sides of the walls. After five years, it’s more or less second nature for his assessment of a room, which once would have been centered on threats and strategic weak points, to mostly involve accessibility and how to work around a world that’s designed for people with all their limbs. As he maneuvers the space behind the guard, he looks around as best he can. Minimal décor or not…bloody hell, he knew Hamid’s family was rich, but he’s never seen it before. Everything in the house whispers discreetly of wealth acquired across…well, years, anyway, if not generations. Zolf’s not completely sure how long Halflings live, or how old Hamid’s parents are. Hamid’s pretty young, comparatively, but he’s also a middle child, from what Zolf remembers, so who knows?

It strikes Zolf all of a sudden that, for all he knew Hamid’s family was rich, for all it had been mentioned before, Hamid never bragged about it or traded on it unless it would benefit them. Probably why he’s never realized exactly how wealthy the Tahan family is, despite knowing they own one of the biggest banks in the world.

The servant leads him to a door, knocks discreetly, and in response to a muffled noise from within, pushes the door open slightly. “Ah, sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hamid, but there’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Gentleman. That’s the first time anyone’s called Zolf that anything but sarcastically. Hamid’s voice comes out of the room, sounding surprised. “Oh! Of course, I’ll be right there.”

“No need, sir, I took the liberty. He’s right here.”

“Thank you, Faruq.” Hamid sounds genuinely grateful, at least as far as Zolf can tell. He’s never been all that great with people.

The servant—Faruq, Zolf guesses—looks over his shoulder and nods to Zolf, then steps into the room, holding the door open. Zolf takes a deep breath to steel himself and wheels himself into the room.

It’s a library, or a study maybe—on the smallish side, but absolutely packed with books. A couple of armchairs sit in the center, a small table between them, and Hamid is in front of one of them, awkwardly half-risen from his seat. He’s the most dressed-down Zolf has ever seen him, in nothing but a shirt and trousers, and from the way he’s tugging at the sleeve, the cuffs dangling open, he probably had them pushed up to his elbows at least. A smoking jacket is laid carefully over the back of the other armchair.

“Hamid,” Zolf says, a bit awkwardly.

“Zolf! I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Hamid smiles, and it isn’t forced, but there’s…something behind it. “C-come on in. Have a…um, can I get you anything? A drink, o-or—”

“No, no, I’m good,” Zolf says quickly. There’s a soft click behind him as, presumably, the guard discreetly makes himself scarce. “I’m—sorry for just dropping in like this, but—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re always welcome.” Hamid starts to reach for the smoking jacket, then pauses. “You don’t mind if I—” He gestures at his shirt.

Zolf shakes his head. “Doesn’t bother me.” He’s never understood the need to be formal all the time. Oscar’s the same way, always impeccably dressed when he’s greeting visitors or anything like that. Zolf’s not the kind of person to equate clothing with respect, though, so he doesn’t care one way or the other.

Hamid nods and sits back down slowly. “It’s, um—it’s good to see you again. What brings you to Cairo?”

Zolf could lie. He could make something up. He wouldn’t be great at it, but then again, he has no idea how much of Hamid’s ability to see through lies over the years was magically enhanced and how much was just him, so it’s possible he could get away with it. But the idea just makes him…tired. Maybe he hadn’t spent as much time with Hamid as he had with Barnes and Carter, maybe they haven’t always got along perfectly well, but if anyone deserves the truth out of him, it’s Hamid. Well, Hamid and Wilde.

“Promised you I’d come get the rest of those Campbell books,” he reminds Hamid. “I didn’t…I figured at the time I’d just, I dunno, stop by on my way through or something, but…I had enough money saved up for the trip, so I…you know, I just thought I’d come…stop by.” He huffs. “Actually, if I’m being honest, I kind of forgot about that account you told me you’d set up for me after Prague until Oscar asked me about it. Turned out it was still active, so…might as well use some of it, yeah?”

“Yeah. You earned it.” Hamid gives that same smile again. “I can get those for you. They’re all together, but…you’re not in a hurry?”

“No. No real plans. I’m just—sorry, look, I don’t want to take up your time if you’re busy, but…I’m just sort of here. For a while.” Zolf shrugs, hoping it comes across as casual, but there’s something tightening in the pit of his stomach. “Never been to Cairo before.”

“I—if you’d like, I can show you around a bit,” Hamid offers. “Not right now, unless you really want to, but…”

“I’d like that.” Zolf wonders if he’s lying. It doesn’t feel like a lie. There was a time when he would have rather chewed off his own right arm than spend downtime with Hamid, but that’s gone by the wayside. Weirdly, their awkward reunion four months ago cleared out a lot of cobwebs Zolf hadn’t realized were still there. He recognizes something of himself in Hamid, although he’s not sure what.

Maybe they’ve got more in common than he thought.

“I finished reading them,” Hamid says after a bit of a protracted pause. “The Campbells, I mean. They’re really quite good. I-I mean, I know you know that, that’s why you have them all, but…I don’t know why it took me so long to read them. I’m sorry I was…judgmental about them before.”

“I’m sorry I held onto the resentment over that,” Zolf says ruefully. “Uh, which one was your favorite, out of curiosity?”

“I—well, the Hearts of Fire series was good, obviously, but a-actually, I’ve reread Two Nights in Jodhpurs about four times,” Hamid admits. “I keep going back to it. Something about Penny…”

“Yeah, I could never quite put my finger on it, but that conversation between her and Annabeth—”

They devolve into a surprisingly detailed discussion; it’s been a while since Zolf has had someone new to discuss the books with, any book, and Jodhpurs is one he rarely gets to talk about. There’s none of their usual awkwardness, probably since they’re not discussing anything personal, until Zolf invokes the scene between Penny and the stablemaster and Hamid freezes and cups a hand over his mouth, his eyes suddenly flooding with tears.

“What?” Zolf asks, worried.

“Oh, my gods, she’s Sasha,” Hamid whispers. “That’s why—that’s exactly the way she—that’s why I keep going back to Penny. She reminds me of Sasha.”

Zolf’s stomach lurches. “Blimey. You’re right.” It explains why he had to put it aside after walking away in Prague, why he didn’t reread it until after loaning it to Barnes, why he felt physically ill when he tried picking it up on the airship after Japan.

It also kills the conversation, and they sit in awkward silence for a few minutes. Zolf lets his gaze travel around the room, desperately seeking something else to make conversation about. He is terrible at this and it’s only got worse over the years since they saved the world. Small talk has never been his thing and he’s floundering without a goal.

His eyes light on the little table. There’s a book on it, and some paper and a pen—Hamid, or someone, has clearly been taking notes. He swallows and nods at it. “What, uh, what’re you working on?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Hamid blinks at the papers on the table. “I was just going over the course catalog. They only sent us one copy, which is fine, of course, so I was just…making some notes.”

“Course catalog?” Zolf repeats, a bit bewildered.

Hamid takes a deep breath. “I’m going back to university in the fall. There are…a few that are starting up again. Not many. But, um, Ishaq and I got into the same one, so…I thought I’d give it another go. Never gave it a fair chance, really.” He sighs again. “There are a lot of things I never gave a fair chance.”

“That’s—that’s good. Genuinely.” Zolf means it. Hamid getting kicked out of university all those years ago wasn’t his fault, or at least not entirely, and he knows how big Hamid is on fixing past mistakes if he can. Not graduating is a big one. Or at least Hamid sees it as one.

“It was Oscar’s—” Hamid pauses. “Well, no, he didn’t really suggest it. He just sort of…let me talk at him until I suggested it myself, I guess?”

“Yeah, he’s good at that,” Zolf grumbles, but with affection. “Did the same thing to me, more than once, actually. What are you going to study, then? Not—” He catches himself before saying not magic, obviously. It’s still a raw point for him; he can only imagine how it is for Hamid.

“No, not—I’m going in for mathematics. That’s what I was studying before, um, before I switched the first time.” Hamid laces his fingers together and twists them, obviously fidgeting. “It’s something I’m still good at, and something I can…use, maybe? I don’t know. It helped on the Vengeance with navigating.” He looks down at the floor and adds, “I’ve got to start somewhere, I guess.”

That surprises Zolf, actually. “I kind of thought you’d be going for engineering or something like that. You were picking up on what Cel was doing pretty well.”

“I—I did okay, but…but I had so many magic items helping out and…Zolf, I’m still not sure how much of what I thought was me all those years was just magic,” Hamid confesses, his voice incredibly small. “I tried tailoring, I thought I was good at it, but I didn’t know how much magic I was using until…i-it doesn’t matter. I was never very strong, or any good with a weapon really. The only thing I was ever any good for was magic, and now it’s gone and I’m just…useless.” He swallows and closes his eyes. “I don’t belong in this world anymore, Zolf. There’s just not a place for me.”

Something deep inside Zolf twists painfully. He knows that feeling, or thought he did anyway. Without his magic or his legs, he feels pretty useless himself—he’s got all the knowledge to fix things, or at least know how things could be fixed, and none of the physical ability—and he’s been struggling to figure out what his place is, too. Hence why he’s staying with Wilde. But he at least knows he has something to contribute, he just has to figure out a better way of doing it than he’s been trying to do on his own for the last five years. What Hamid is saying…well, sounds a lot more like what Zolf said about himself in Paris all those years ago.

He wishes Sasha were here. She’d probably know what to say…or, well, no, she wouldn’t, he realizes. She’s—she was a lot like him in that she didn’t ever have a clear idea of what was going on. The difference was that she just said whatever was on her mind, while Zolf tends to bottle it up. Maybe he ought to give the Sasha Rackett method a go.

“I didn’t hire you for the mercenary company because you could do magic,” he says. “If you can remember that far back. I hired you because you were able to talk us out of a tricky situation and because you had more skill with diplomacy than, well, anybody else I’d hired at that point, including me, not that that’s hard. And it wasn’t magic that got through to Myriad, it was you talking to them, explaining the situation, getting them to see sense. All the times I thought of you while you were…missing, too, I didn’t—it wasn’t like I wanted you there to blast monsters out of the sky or whatever, it was more needing you to help me see straight through to the end of things. Think that’s why we had such a hard time after you came back, actually, is because I thought I’d taught myself to compensate for you not being there and I wasn’t ready to acknowledge that I wasn’t seeing as clearly as you would have.” He takes a quick breath. “I ain’t saying magic isn’t—wasn’t important to you, or that it wasn’t a big part of you. I get it, believe me. It’s bloody hard to lose something that you’ve used to define your whole life and figure out what’s left over. But what I am saying is that magic was never all you were good for. This world might not deserve you, but it damn well needs you.”

Hamid looks up at Zolf, his face open and vulnerable, and then manages a small smile. “That…that means more to me than you know, Zolf. Thank you.”

“Call it payback. I-I mean…I meant that, you know, I wasn’t making it up. But…you did the same thing for me, once upon a time.” Zolf doesn’t bring up Paris, or Mr. Ceiling, but it hangs in the air between them like a lead balloon. “I still owe you for that.”

“That’s not how this works, and I think you know that.”

“No, I—you’re right. Still.” Zolf sighs.

Hamid sighs, too, and they fall into another silence, this one still weighted but, oddly, less awkward. This time, Hamid’s the one to break it in the end. “How long are you in town for?”

Zolf shrugs. “Dunno. Hadn’t thought about it, really. Been staying with Wilde, and…blimey, I needed that, but he’s got some big…thing next week and I didn’t want to have to tell him no if he asked me to go with him. So I said I was going to come pick up those books like I promised, but I didn’t exactly give him a definitive answer for when I’d be back.”

“You’re welcome to…I mean, the, um, the guest wing isn’t really…I’ve been sort of trying to get something set up on the ground floor, but my mother doesn’t think that’s proper and I haven’t been able to explain why it’s so important to me,” Hamid says, surprising Zolf yet again. “But i-it’s…we have space. You’d be welcome as long as you like.” He pauses. “Or at least as long as I’m here. Ishaq and I are leaving in three weeks, but…”

“Well. I can probably manage to stick around until you leave and…I dunno, go with you as far as I can? If you want?”

Hamid swallows and nods. “I’d like that. I-I have missed you, Zolf. Genuinely.”

“Likewise,” Zolf says, and means it.

“Well then.” Hamid manages a smile. “If you don’t have somewhere to stay…”

“No, I—I actually came into town last night. I’m staying at…” Zolf hesitates, reluctant to admit it, but finally admits, “Uh, I’m staying at the Heart of Healing. It’s, it’s the only place that could handle…me.”

Hamid’s lips press together momentarily, but he nods. “I haven’t been by there since…everything, but I know the place. You’re still—if you’d rather stay here, I can try to set something up for you. Just tell me what you need.”

“Thanks, but I’m okay.” That does feel like a lie, but Zolf’s hoping Hamid doesn’t catch him out on it.

The look Hamid gives him tells him his hope is in vain, but then his face softens. “You don’t have to just be okay, you know. You don’t have to settle for good enough. You deserve things too.”

Zolf swallows against a sudden lump in his throat. “Let me think about it, okay? I promise I won’t…I just need to think about it.”

“Sure. It’s your choice.”

Zolf settles back a bit in his chair with a sigh. He’s about to try to find another avenue of discussion when something suddenly pops up over the arm of Hamid’s chair and lets out a roar that’s almost more reminiscent of a lion cub than a mighty dragon.

Zolf actually flinches back. Hamid jumps, too, then turns with an overly-dramatic hand pressed to his chest. “Oh, my!”

The tiny Halfling girl half-crouched over the arm of the chair starts giggling madly. Zolf blinks, trying to get over his surprise as he looks at her. She’s very neatly dressed, very expensively dressed, with dark hair falling to her shoulders and sparkling brown eyes that seem to take up a lot of her face. She scrambles the rest of the way up, clutching something in one hand that crinkles as she moves. “I surprised you!”

“Yes, you certainly did.” Hamid smiles at her. “What are you doing here, Little Candle?”

The girl holds out what’s in her hand—a piece of parchment. “You said if I did the whole translation of the poem, you would finish telling me the story about the sea monster.”

“I meant I would finish telling you the story at bedtime tonight.”

The girl crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, you didn’t say that part.”

Zolf coughs to hide a laugh. “She’s got a point, Hamid. Ought to know you have to specify these things.”

The little girl gives Zolf a slightly suspicious look, as if she’s only just noticed he’s there. Hamid touches her hair lightly. “Zolf, this is my niece Yara—my brother Saleh’s daughter. Yara, this is my friend Zolf Smith.”

“Uh, hi,” Zolf says, not sure what else to say.

The wariness on Yara’s face melts away at once, replaced with a very familiar smile. “Hi! Are you here to listen to the story too?”

Hamid starts to protest, but Zolf cuts him off. “Absolutely. I missed the first part, but I’m sure I’ll catch up.”

“If you need it to start over, I don’t mind listening to it again.” Yara turns big, soulful eyes up at Hamid and clasps her tiny hands in front of herself. “Please, Uncle Hamid?”

Hamid’s expression softens as he looks at his niece. It’s a look Zolf is very familiar with, especially these days, because he sees it on Wilde’s face whenever Wilde thinks he isn’t looking. For the first time, he’s able to identify it—it’s the look of someone regarding something indescribably precious, something treasured beyond words. It both warms and humbles him to realize that, even though, deep down, he’s always known. “All right, come here.”

Yara slides down the other side of the chair’s arm and settles herself onto Hamid’s lap, tucked under his arm, and gives him a beaming smile full of delight and trust. Hamid’s smile is almost identical…almost, but not quite. That something in Zolf’s stomach twists again as he realizes that the spark Hamid’s always had isn’t there anymore. He’s been knocked down and dragged through life, and the optimism and naivete that had often annoyed Zolf but that he’d also, in the smallest and most secret part of himself, fought like hell to protect is gone. Maybe for good.

Hamid pulls his niece closer. It reminds Zolf, a little bit, of the way Azu held Hamid in the cell under the inn in Japan all those years ago. “Now then, let me see. Where were we?”

As Hamid tells the story in a remarkably warm, soothing voice, Zolf at first lets himself drift, figuring he’ll pretend to be listening and it’ll be fine. After a moment, though, he realizes the story isn’t a made-up one. Hamid is evidently in the middle of telling his niece about Shoin’s mechanical kraken. Zolf begins listening more closely.

Hamid’s a surprisingly gifted storyteller. There’s no untruth in what he says; Zolf remembers everything in sharp, vivid detail, and Hamid doesn’t alter any of them. He does focus on the kraken, though, and not on anything else, which is fair. Yara doesn’t look old enough to know about the Kobolds and what Shoin was doing to them, or for that matter how they treated Hamid. She’s also evidently tired, or else getting lulled by the gentle cadence of Hamid’s voice as he talks, or possibly both. Her lashes flutter as she snuggles closer to his side, trying to keep her eyes open and fixed on his face. It doesn’t exactly work, and as Hamid reaches the end of the story—or at least the end of the part of the story he’s clearly willing to tell—they drift shut as she curls against him, her breathing settling out.

Zolf waits a few beats, then asks softly, “Is she…?”

“Out like a candle,” Hamid says with an affectionate smile down at her. “She’s still little enough to take naps most days, really.”

“How old is she?”

“Six and a bit. She’s…her mother was pregnant when Saleh went to jail, but they didn’t know it yet. She was born, um—she was about a year old when we fought the Battle of Elizabeth Tower.” Hamid gently tucks a curl behind the little girl’s ear, then looks up at Zolf. “Gamila disappeared not long after Saleh got sentenced. She’s never been back. Mother’s kept Yara with the family ever since.”

Zolf supposes that makes sense. “How long is your brother going to be in jail for? Or is he out? I don’t even know what he was in for.”

Hamid sighs. “He owed money to Barret Rackett. Barret offered to write it off if he’d break into one of the vaults of the bank, but…someone died in the process. Saleh thought he’d killed her. Turned out he hadn’t, but…i-it’s a long story. Anyway, according to Saira, he got fifteen years for his role in everything, so he’s still got a few years before he’ll be out.” He pauses, then adds, “Our father tried to take the blame for it. He wound up being sentenced to five years for making a false confession. Or should have been.”

Zolf almost says something cynical and bitter about Hamid’s father being rich enough to buy his way into a shorter sentence, but stops himself. There’s something in Hamid’s eyes he can’t quite identify. Whatever it is, though, he wants to reach out and pull Hamid into a hug.

He doesn’t, partly because he isn’t sure he has the right, partly because he isn’t sure he can reach, and partly because he doesn’t want to wake Yara up. “What happened instead?”

“No idea,” Hamid says softly. Regretfully. “He got transferred out of Cairo sometime while I was…gone. The family didn’t know where. And once…everything was over, nobody else seemed to know, either. I-I keep hoping he’s just…he did something stupid and they extended his sentence, but…I don’t know, Zolf. I’ve got a terrible feeling.”

“I’m sorry,” Zolf says just as softly, and means it.

Hamid manages a smile. “Maybe we’ll find out. Someday. Just…for Mother’s sake, I hope she gets some closure. He wasn’t always the greatest father in the world, I suppose, not that I knew that when I was younger, but…still. Whatever happened, I hope he didn’t suffer.”

Zolf looks down at Yara, cuddled against Hamid and sleeping with an attitude of total trust and contentment, tiny fingers wrapped in the fabric of his shirt. “At least she’s got you as a role model.”

Hamid strokes Yara’s hair tenderly. “Of everything here…I’m going to miss her the most. I’ll be able to come home for the holidays, of course, but it won’t be the same.”

Zolf can understand that, to a degree. It’s been a long time since he’s had a home, or anyone waiting for him at one, or anyone to miss when he’s gone for long periods. Now he does, and it’s an odd sensation. Staying with Oscar, he feels more grounded than he has in a long time. And he’s going back after this, he knows he is; he’s no closer to figuring out what to do next than he was four months ago, and he won’t figure it out here. Probably. But he gets where Hamid’s coming from.

“Where—you know, I didn’t even ask where you were studying. You just said you and your brother got into the same place,” he muses. “Which university? I don’t—I ain’t all that familiar with them or anything, and it’s not like I’ve paid that much attention to which ones they’ve set up, but…”

Hamid swallows. “Um, actually, the University of Paris. We’re both fluent in French, so…” He trails off. “I can’t say I’m all that thrilled about it, actually, but it was the only university I applied to that accepted me.”

That surprises Zolf. “Really? I’d’ve thought…”

“Well, you know…my record. And I’ve been out of school, any school, for almost seven years.” Hamid hesitates. “And I applied blind.”

“You…what?”

“I used an alias on my applications. I wanted to see what I could do on my own merits, rather than…well, trading on the family name, I guess. And the only school that judged me worthy on those was Paris.”

Blimey, no wonder Hamid’s feeling so negative about his place in the world. “Well. You’ll just have to prove them all wrong, won’t you?”

Hamid looks up at Zolf with a smile, and it seems genuine. “I guess I will.”

Zolf smiles back. “Uh, you know…if you’re going to Paris, that means…if you’re heading through Calais, I can go with you at least that far. If you’re all right with that. I mean…” He gestures at himself, at the wheelchair, at the general circumstances that make traveling with him awkward at best and bloody irritating at worst.

“Zolf,” Hamid says with absolute sincerity, “I can think of nothing I’d enjoy more.”

“Well, then.” Zolf huffs. “Gives us three weeks for that tour of the town, I suppose. Assuming you get to stop being a living armchair any time soon.”

“We might have a tag-along,” Hamid warns him. “At least for part of the time.”

Zolf watches the love, and a little bit of the person he remembers, rekindle in Hamid’s eyes as he looks down at his sleeping niece again. “I think I can manage to survive that.”