Riddle of the Copper Coin

That night Mishderesba came for her, carrying her down to the palace. The King was there, and his sons and courtiers, and behind them sat Makaarim.

"Well, little fellow," snorted the King, "I hope you have something to amuse us."

"Your majesty," Adiba replied, "if you will but provide me paper, ink, and a brush, I will show you something worth your time."

The King had all these things brought forth, and Adiba began to write, as the jinn gathered around her and marvelled at the cunning of her brushwork. Gradually the work took shape, words flowing into the shape of a tree, branches spread wide. Tree I am, but from my forests strayed Leafless branches clad in leaves men made Fruitless, I bear every kind of fruit Rootless, held to earth by iron root. "Oho! A riddle!" cried Karrakanash, and the jinn began to speculate on what the answer could be. Amasp suggested a gallows (Adiba did not like the way he looked at her when he said that) and Minbidim proposed a book, but Makaarim frowned and shook her head. "It almost works, but what is the iron root?"

After much thought, Lellinalak said, "A wooden ship, with sails, and cargo, and an iron anchor."

"Very good!" said Adiba. By that time she had already written out the second of her riddles, this one shaped after the very same ship that had brought her and Fadil from Sweet-Cinnamon.

The sea-master was a funny fellow His face was white—or was it yellow? He guided ships past ragged rocks And brought them safely to the docks, Grew thin at sea, then fat once more Then thin again. From shore to shore He journeyed far, from east to west— Then sank into the ocean's breast. The Princes fell to arguing. Lellinalak, who knew something of human illnesses, thought the answer might be a man suffering from jaundice; others thought of admirals and explorers from Cathay. But Karrakanash stood wordless, frowning, until at last he said, "I have it. The moon."

"Quite right," said Adiba. She regaled them for a while with stories she had heard from travellers, and stories she had read. Then she said, "Well, I have one more riddle for tonight. You solved the others, no doubt you can solve this too." This time her words formed a circle: Two kingdoms made a copper coin Two royal faces closely join'd More precious than its weight in gold They made but one, then broke the mould.

This one perplexed Karrakanash and his sons most of all. They guessed at many things: day and night, sun and moon, long-lost monarchs that Adiba had never heard of. She just shook her head and laughed. In their bafflement they grew angry.

"This is nonsense," said Minbidim. "There is no answer."

"You are deceiving us," said Amasp. "Tell us the answer, or I will dash your brains out and tear you to pieces."

But Adiba shook her head. "You may tear me to pieces if you like," she said, "but I will not give you the answer. You have not earned it."

Amasp's eyes blazed in fury, and he took a step towards her, but the King just chuckled. "Very well, little human, you have given us a pleasant diversion. If you will not spill your secret, I suppose we will have to think on it ourselves. But for now—Mishderesba! Back to the tower with him! See that he is well fed, and comfortable."

Afterwards, back in her own quarters, the Princess thought for some time on Adiba's riddles. Then she penned a letter and called for the most faithful of her maids. "Take this note, and see to it that it is hidden in the basket that Mishderesba takes to the prisoner."

* * * * *

"Rafi?"

No answer. At some point during the story, sitting up on my bed had turned to sitting back, and then to lying back, and now my housemate was crashed out on my bed.

Should I have nudged her awake, guided her back to her own bedroom? Maybe. It was the obvious thing to do. But I found myself making excuses: she was very tired and she'd stayed up late for me, it would be kinder to let her sleep.

Then I started to think about why I was making those excuses.

Oh.

Between Lucy and my ankle, I'd been walking wounded for long enough that I'd fallen into taking it for granted. Not the dramatic kind of sadness, just the quiet gnawing sort that tinges everything grey and drags on and on.

But somewhere along the way, the misery had slunk away; it was only now that I went looking for it and found it wasn't there any more. When I rolled Lucy's name around in my mouth, it no longer had the power to spark thoughts of regret and bitterness. There was a faint ache—perhaps there always would be—but it no longer overwhelmed me as it had done.

And in its place...

Rafi was lying on what had once been Lucy's half of the quilt, head at the foot of the bed. I folded my half over her to keep her warm (or was it to keep her from waking?) and put a pillow by her head in case she wanted one, then sat a while and thought about things. The way I'd waited up for her, the way I'd felt when she called unexpectedly from Perth to continue the story, the way I felt now about having her asleep alongside me...

After six years of friendship, suddenly I was crushing on Rafi, and that scared me. I had no idea whether there was any future there, and I was afraid of fucking up a precious friendship. But it was an exhilarating kind of fear, if no less terrifying for that.

Somehow I managed to switch off my brain long enough to sleep. When I woke in the morning I expected to find her gone, slipped away or even just something I'd dreamed, but she was still there curled up under my quilt. I climbed out as quietly as I could, and went off to grab breakfast. A few minutes later I heard Rafi heading for her morning shower.

When next I went back into my bedroom, Rafi had made the bed. But she'd left the pillows where I'd placed them, mine at the head of the bed and hers at the foot, and they were still there that night when she came to me again to continue the tale.

* * * * *

This time, instead of dry bread and water, Mishderesba brought a basket that held fine fruits and a delicious cordial made of mint and honeyed vinegar—and at the bottom, hidden under a jar of olives, she found a message written on thick paper.

A coin, you've called me? Well, my suitor, Some men lock their coins away, Misers hoarding unspent treasures— I don't mean to live that way.

If you merely wish to own me Like some prize upon your shelf You'll bring me no satisfaction— I'd rather amuse myself.

I've no fear of being lonely I need no husband above me But a suitor who's my equal Such a one might be quite lovely.

I was born to shine and sparkle Like a coin under the sun See the world and try its pleasures I intend to have some fun.

So, if you still wish to befriend me— Tell me how you think you'd spend me.

Adiba read the letter with some consternation. She had never intended to court the Princess, never thought to do more than bring her home to her mother. But clearly Makaarim had taken her for a suitor and was willing to be courted. And Adiba wondered what she ought to do, whether to reveal her sex and her errand to the daughter of Queen Sharifah, or to go on playing the part of Adib the suitor.

* * * * *

"What do you think she decided, Penny?"

"Hmm?" Her question had caught me by surprise, and I was stalling for time to think.

"Did she tell Makaarim the truth? Or did she let the flirtation continue?"

I wanted to say both, but I couldn't quite find the nerve. "I think...I think she felt guilty about the deception, but she wasn't sure of her own intentions. So she didn't want to say anything she couldn't take back, not until she knew her own mind."

"Very well then." Rafi sat up. "I'll tell you the next part tomorrow."

"What, already? That was a short one. I mean, I'm not ungrateful..."

She patted my knee. "Penny, let me tell you something. Adiba and Makaarim, they are story-tale people, and they can toss off a poem or a riddle just like that. Me, I am not so quick. It takes me bloody ages, and I don't have the next bit ready yet. I couldn't tell you it tonight, even if you wrapped your tail around me and threatened to smoosh me to death."

"Pretty sure I don't have a tail. Not last time I checked...uh, by the way, does Makaarim have a tail?"

"I don't know. Does she?"

"Hmm. Yes, she does. A long slender one that she hides under her clothes, smooth like snakeskin."

"That seems reasonable. And now, it's my bedtime. I really shouldn't deprive you of your quilt two nights running. Until tomorrow!"

* * * * *

Sometimes unscrupulous folk rip off other people's work and publish it as their own. If you're reading this note somewhere other than the lit erotica dot com website, the work's been stolen, and I'd appreciate it if you'd report the theft.

* * * * *

But the next night, Rafi took things in a different direction. As she told me, Fadil had not drowned after all; at the last minute, he and the captain were plucked from the sea by a pirate ship, and sold as slaves. The story that followed was a long and elaborate one, well worth hearing in its own right, but I don't think it's what you're waiting for. I wanted to hear more of Adiba and Makaarim, and I'm sure Rafi knew that, but she kept me waiting for two weeks before she picked up that thread again.

* * * * *

Once again, Adiba watched the City of Jinn from her high prison as the sun rose, but this time her attention was on one garden. And as she watched, once more Princess Makaarim emerged to wander in the garden, admiring the flowers and tossing grain to the peacocks. But this time Adiba did not look away.

At length the Princess came to a small pool, fed by a fountain, and there she shed her clothes to bathe. And still Adiba did not look away but instead admired her, every inch of her—even to the tip of her tail, which was long and slender and smooth, like snakeskin. She watched as Makaarim stepped into the water, and the fountain splashed her so that droplets of water clung to her and glittered in the morning sun, rolled down between her breasts and over her belly to the fuzz below, and thence back into the pool.

And when the Princess looked up to the tower, Adiba did not shy away, but met her gaze. From that distance it was hard to tell, but she thought Makaarim smiled at her before completing her ablutions and dressing herself.

That night Mishderesba brought Adiba back to the court, and once again she amused the King and his children with riddles. The first one was written out in the shape of a serpent, and it went like this:

A one-eyed snake, with but one fang Once lost, it's hard to find him A maiden bade him burrow deep And leave his tail behind him.

"A man's zabb!" said Minbidim.

"Oh?" replied Makaarim. "Does that fall off when his business is done?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Adiba, "although I am largely innocent of such matters."

Lellinalak solved it before long: "A needle and thread."

"Indeed," said Adiba, and she gave them the next, this one in the shape of a scimitar.

A woman took a wooden sword She shed black blood upon the plain Ten leagues away, her suitor saw And hastened to her side again.

Lellinalak frowned. "There are places where oil gushes from the ground, if one digs in the right spot. A wooden shovel?"

"A good thought," replied Adiba, "but not the answer I had in mind."

"A miscarriage," said Amasp.

"Really? And he would see that from ten leagues away?" Adiba shook her head.

They were quite stuck until Minbidim, pacing the room, glanced at Adiba's writing materials. "Aha! I have it! A wooden pen, ink on paper, a love letter."

"Splendid!" said Adiba. "For what could any suitor relish more than a love letter from a beautiful woman?" And beneath her veil, Makaarim blushed.

She told them more stories, and then as it grew late she yawned. "It's almost time for me to sleep. But since none of you were able to solve the riddle of the coin last night, I shall give you another chance." And she picked up her pen and wrote out more verses, once more in the shape of a coin with the words spiralling inwards.

The coin lay in a fountain Clear water splashed around It ran between two mountains From there it trickled down

It flowed o'er plain and forest Till at last it reached the sea If my fingers could trace where that rivulet ran I'd carry that coin off with me.

A man may spend his coin but once And then it's his no more But if I had that copper coin I'd spend it o'er and o'er

I'd journey round those mountains And I'd wander through the plain I'd tarry in the forest— There I'd spend that coin again.

With that coin I'd travel far And keep it as I spent it I'd let it sparkle like a star And praise the One who sent it. The King read Adiba's riddle, and then the Princes. Last of all, while they were bickering amongst themselves as to its meaning, Makaarim read it, and looked up at Adiba with a degree of warmth that her veil could not entirely conceal.

Once again, the Princes and King Karrakanash were perplexed. Lellinalak attempted to relate the geography Adiba had described to places in distant Cathay, and Karrakanash suggested an old thieves' device, a coin on a slender thread that the owner might spend and then surreptitiously retrieve, but Adiba shook her head to both. Once more Minbidim argued that there was no answer at all, Amasp threatened her with all manner of violence if she did not tell them the answer, and once more Adiba stood her ground.

"Well," said Karrakanash, "is there nothing that will induce you to tell us?"

"O mighty King," replied Adiba, "tomorrow I will give you a few more clues, and perchance you will solve my riddle then, for the reward is greater to those who discover the answer themselves. If you cannot solve it tomorrow night before the sun rises, then I will tell you the answer and my purpose in coming to this city. But in return you must promise me my freedom and safe passage, and a boon of my choosing that you will be well able to afford."

"I accept," said King Karrakanash. "I swear by the seal of Sulayman that I will honour this arrangement. Now, Mishderesba, return our guest to his quarters, and see to it that he has all the comforts he may desire."

* * * * *

Rafi was beginning to falter towards the end, and I could tell she was on the verge of sleep. I might have said nothing, and let her drift off once more to sleep the night beside me. But it would have felt dishonest.

And besides, when you're dealing with somebody who doesn't drink, sometimes sleepiness is the next-best way to find the truth.

"Rafi?"

"Huh-mmm?"

"What are your intentions? Regarding me, I mean."

Silence, and I began to think she'd dozed off while I was talking.

"My intentions..." It was quiet enough that I could hear her taking a slow breath. "I am very, very fond of you, and maybe more than that. But I don't want to be your rebound fling in between Lucy and whoever comes after. I don't do flings, Penny."

"Ah. I—" But she cut me off, her drowsiness suddenly gone, in what was almost a growl.

"So if you want to take this anywhere, you'd better be serious about me. You fuck with my heart, I will never forgive you. Never."

"I hear you." I took a breath of my own. "I—"

She sat up, and her voice softened a little. "Don't say anything now. I don't need you making life decisions at midnight. Think it over, get back to me when you've had time to process it."

With that, she left. A few minutes later I heard her voice from her bedroom; it was too soft to make out the words, but from the cadences I could tell she was praying. Not part of her usual schedule; after living with her for months I knew the times well enough, and this wasn't one.

* * * * *

I missed her in the morning—she was gone to work before I was up—and by the time she got back from afternoon prayer people had started arriving for our D&D game, so there was no space for us to talk privately before the game started.

I won't bore you with the details of how Rafi's wizard and my rogue managed to trick a dragon into handing over his treasure. Suffice it to say, it was one of those great evenings where everything just falls together perfectly. Even the dice were on our side that night. I hadn't laughed so much since the breakup with Lucy, and as I looked at Rafi chuckling I felt torn; everything that made me want her was everything in our friendship that I couldn't afford to lose.

After the game was over and our guests had left, Rafi and I were in the kitchen, still buzzing from the game. I didn't want to bring it up, but I felt I had to.

"Rafi, the stuff you said last night?"

"Yes?"

"I want to say yes. I don't think it's just a rebound thing. But I don't know for sure. I can't promise unless I know."

She nodded. "There's no rush, Penny. I'm not going anywhere." Then she hugged me fiercely. "Thanks for being honest. And sorry if I came across a bit... defensive. I wasn't angry. Not at you."

I hugged her back. "Can't afford to lie to my wizard. Then who'd get me out of trouble?"

"Sweetie, you are the trouble. Now, I am going to say my isha salat, and then will you be ready for a story?"

* * * * *

I wasn't too surprised when that night she returned to the story of Fadil; I suppose both of us were wary of where Adiba and Makaarim's story might lead us, and not ready for more just yet.

So it went until the weekend, when we sat down to breakfast together. "Annie's been telling me, I need to start getting out of the house more," I said. "Might go see the new exhibition at the NGV." (That's the National Gallery of the state of Victoria to you.)

"Oh? I was hoping to catch that one, actually. Mind if I tag along?"

I hadn't been angling for that—I was still trying to keep a certain distance until I could approach things like a grown-up—but I wasn't about to say no. So we caught the tram in together and paid our admission.

The new exhibition was good, but very crowded, and standing for long periods still made my foot ache. After half an hour or so, I had to call time out.

"They have wheelchairs," Rafi said. "I could push you, if you like."

I caught myself before I could say no wheelchair; I still hated acknowledging my injury, but Rafi had a point. "Yeah, I could give that a try? If you don't mind?"

"It's no problem."

I'm a bit of a control freak, and it was weird having Rafi driving me, but I got used to it soon enough. Rather than go back into the din of the latest attraction, we turned the other way to tour the permanent collection, stopping in a dimly-lit room displaying old sculptures and paintings that couldn't withstand strong light.

Something had been nagging at me. "Rafi?"

"Hmm?"

"What you said the other night. I promise, I wasn't trying to toy with you. I'm still figuring things out, but I wouldn't—"

Rafi patted my shoulder. "It's okay. Just some old baggage."

"Oh."

She set the brakes on my chair and sat down next to me, looking at a wall as she spoke. "Queer Muslim, it's a small dating pool here. Especially when you don't want to say anything to a girl unless you know she's gay, and she's waiting for you to say something before she says something..." Rafi shook her head. "I guess these days you can go online, but they didn't have that back when I was getting started. Or I didn't know where to find it. Whatever.

"Okay, so I go to the campus gay and lesbian club... ya Allah, so many white faces, I thought it was the Oscars. Don't get me wrong, some of my best friends are white people." She squeezed my shoulder again. "But they look at me and my hijab like obviously I've lost my way and ended up in the wrong room—doesn't this scarfie know this is the gay and lesbian club? I felt like if I stayed, somebody was going to start telling me how I was oppressed and not listen to a word I said. So, not for me.