“Where are we, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject and looking around.
They were resting in the wide intersection between three broken-down buildings with no particular purpose. There was no one in sight, and the desert breeze blew mournfully through the few dry grasses and weeds that tried to grow in edges of the hard-packed roads.
The only other noise was from a fight somewhere nearby, shouting punctuated by terrible, wet-sounding blows.
Aladdin suddenly realized what this must be like for the girl. Alone with a stranger, in the middle of nowhere, no idea how to get back to wherever she was from. If he had been the wrong sort of person—the more dangerous kind of Street Rat—that was exactly the kind of place he would have taken her before divesting her of all her valuables. A place no one would hear her scream.
“Well, I could tell you, but it probably won’t mean much,” he said, trying to sound friendly. He stood up and whirled his hands as he talked, a perfect tour guide. “We have officially entered the quaint, residential section of the poorest part of Agrabah. A lot of these streets don’t even have names. We just call them ‘the eastern way by Hakim’s,’ or ‘the stinky alley near the rat catcher.’ The closest major landmark is the old Ottoman mosque, over there…hasn’t been used in centuries, except by pigeons and the homeless when sandstorms come in off the desert.”
The girl was frowning. Not angrily, more like she was desperately trying to understand something. Something Aladdin was saying—so very simply—was eluding her.
“Uh, where’d I lose you?” Aladdin asked. “Was it ‘pigeon,’ or ‘sandstorm’? Or ‘stinky’?”
“Actually, it was ‘homeless,’” the girl said slowly. “People…live in the old mosque?”
“Not all the time. It’s a little creepy. Some say it’s haunted. Hey, speaking of homes, is there someplace I can take you?”
It was the right thing to do, of course. Save the pretty girl, take the pretty girl home. Refuse the reward. All right, maybe take the reward. If there was a reward. Wasn’t there usually a reward? Probably in reality they would take one look at him, grab the girl, and order him off at the point of a pointy scimitar.
He hoped she lived really far away so it would take a long time to get her home.
Like in an oasis, out in the desert. That would be perfect.
He was pleasantly surprised when she shook her head. “Show me your home. I want to see where you live.”
Aladdin found himself blushing, a very unusual condition for him. He tossed his dark hair so she couldn’t see. “Oh, you don’t want to see that. It’s nothing special.”
It was, in fact, really nothing at all if by home one generally meant four walls, a roof, and some sort of door.
“Come on!” the girl begged, having recovered her breath—and her enthusiasm. “I threw myself down in camel dung while playing along with you. Do you think I care what your house looks like?”
Aladdin realized he was grinning.
“All right, but remember, you asked for it!”
He took a quick look around, evaluating the best route. Then he led her around to the back of one of the ancient, crumbling houses and began to scurry up a rickety old ladder.
“Um…” she asked skeptically, wincing with each rung she stepped on as if she feared the whole thing would break. “What are we doing?”
Aladdin hopped onto a balcony and offered his hand. She pretended it wasn’t there, nimbly leaping once she saw what she was to do.
“Remember the bit about ‘poor’ and ‘stinky’? Uh, I mean, I’m not stinky, but I don’t live in exactly the safest part of Agrabah. I figure it’s better to get off the streets where we might be seen.”
“What’s wrong with being seen?” she asked.
“I don’t know. What’s wrong with not paying for a piece of fruit and then giving it away?”
“I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off.
“That you have to pay for things?” Aladdin finished, smiling gently.
“All right, it was my first time in a market,” she admitted. “I’ve never actually bought anything before. I never thought about how it was all worked out, prices and money and things. You caught me.”
He couldn’t help looking smug. He had been so right when he’d pegged her as a rich girl in disguise.
But the girl narrowed her eyes and gave him the sort of look he usually expected from the Widow Gulbahar.
“I don’t see a purse of gold coins on you, smart guy. How do you pay for things?”
Aladdin found himself—quite possibly for the first time ever—speechless.
“That’s…clever of you,” he finally said. “But that’s totally different! I only steal because otherwise I’d starve!”
“So it’s all right for you to steal—because you need food. But it’s not all right for me, who didn’t know any better? And was just trying to help a little child?”
Aladdin crossed his arms.
“All right, yes, you are totally and completely clever. Let’s just say that the reason we’re going up here on the roofs is because apparently you don’t know what stealing is, and I do, and I’m used to…that sort of life. Look there.”
He crouched down on the balcony and pulled her next to him. In the shadow of a crooked tower, a small group of children and a couple of teenagers sprawled desultorily. They wore rags and had shadows under their eyes. Two of the youngest tried to play a game with a pebble, tossing it back and forth. The older kids were dusting their arms with ashes. Making themselves look sicker than they were.
“The moment anyone—and I mean anyone—except for another Street Rat comes through here, these guys will leap up and surround him. Or her. Begging.
“And if he—or she—doesn’t give them something, a crust of bread, a coin…or sometimes even if he does, while one child is crying about her hunger, another will be picking that person’s pocket.”
The girl looked horrified.
“They’re all just pretending to be poor?”
Aladdin chuckled wryly. “No, they’re not pretending. They’re not pretending to be poor, or shoeless, or homeless, or starving. All of that is very, very real. But sometimes it takes costumes and makeup and playacting for people to see the truth that is right under their noses.”
She watched the children and he watched her face as she tried to process everything she had just learned. She was innocent; that was true. But there was intelligence in those large eyes. She picked up things very, very quickly. It was more than Aladdin could usually say about those who weren’t Street Rats. What a waste, for some father to trap such a smart, interesting girl behind a garden gate, like a prized animal.…
“Where are their parents?” she asked.
“Dead. Or sick. Or out trying to find work. Or food.”
“Where do they…? Why can’t they…?”
Aladdin watched as she tried to find words for ideas she had never experienced before.
“Why isn’t anything being done about this?” she finally asked, anger in her voice.
“Oh, come on, who cares about us Street Rats?” Aladdin asked, a little more sadly than he meant to. “The sultan stays locked up in his palace, playing with his golden toys all day. He only comes out to observe an eclipse or fly his kites. Who knows if he’s even aware that half his city is starving?”