Excretion

“No, more to the right. My right!”

I was wrong about the latrine’s depth. It turned out we needed my robe as a makeshift rope, the waterskin as the weight, and the fountain as the anchor. I had reached the bottom of the pit, but it took extraordinary willpower to stay conscious in the dark and the rotten-egg stench. If the fountain didn’t hold my weight, I’d suffocate in the rot.

Fortunately, the fountain held. I climbed out of the pit as if I had never tasted fresh air before.

“I think I saw a jinn mimicking Arius there,” I said, my head still spinning.

“I’m tempted to strangle him, but the casket takes priority.” She held the brass casket through my robe. “It’s been so long since my slimy father’s grueling lessons. The only thing I thank him for is Photios’ blood.”

My ears reddened. “I don’t know what your father did—”

“He made me copy all those archives, slip in fabricated accounts, run the bathhouse in his name,” Stamatia said with terrifying speed. “Not only did he arrange my marriage to a man I never loved, but he denounced my husband and left him to rot in a cell!”

“It sounds like you came to love him after all,” I concluded. “Good for you.”

“I am sure it felt so good, paying off the debts of the father who disgraced you,” she hissed. She muttered something that I suspected was her version of seeking refuge in God, and calmed herself. She extended her hand. “Photios’ ring.”

I produced the swivel ring. It was gold, with an unusual ruby. Just like Lord Vasilios’, its stone swiveled on a pin.

“Wait,” I said. “If the casket can be opened, I want the sphragis. Whether I keep it or you destroy it, it serves you the same. The Council would want you to, something, something about Jesus’ will being one or two.”

“Switching from Monothelitism to Dyothelitism,” Stamatia corrected.

“Yes, that. And I figure that, because Arius was considered a heretic for saying Jesus was created, having a sphragis of the traitor would paint the… switchers in a bad light.” I didn't usually meddle with other religions’ theology, but my own theology needed historical evidence, too. “I promise not to reveal the sphragis to anyone but my scholars. Let me have the sphragis.”

Stamatia’s eyes sparkled beneath the torchlight.

“Do you realize,” she said lazily, “any ring from Constantinople turning up in Damascus has serious implications, now that the treaty is in place?”

“I am well aware.” I gave her my most heartfelt pleading eyes. “Or you could loan it to me. I promise that come next sailing season, I’ll return the sphragis, God willing.”

“Did you just say something about God’s will while at the same time submitting yourself to what’s against His will?” Stamatia laughed. “I thought your teaching prohibits usury.”

My throat suddenly felt so parched that I drank my fill. The latrine’s stench tainted my tongue, bitter. “Point taken. But…”

“Fine, you can have the sphragis,” Stamatia said abruptly. She pushed the casket gently. “It feels wrong, working someone to the bone without payment.”

“You are not a jinn, after all.”

Stamatia retracted the casket.

I reached for it back, panicking. “I apologize! I mean… Now I feel bad, taking all the treasure.”

“Do you?” Stamatia smirked. “How about this, then. You tried to understand my theology, and it’s only right that I understand yours, too. And from what I gather, pious as you are, it doesn’t have to be this sphragis that serves your Prophet’s legacy. You could pick any record about Arius in Constantinople. I am sure there’d be many people who’d be more than willing to part with their records about Arius. This sphragis is personal for you. Isn’t that right, Sheikh Coiner?”

My bowel twisted. Heat rose to my face.

“...money,” I said in a small voice. Stamatia remained silent, so I had no choice but to continue, “My father was a counterfeiter. That was how I learned about metals. Ironically, it was how I landed the late Caliph’s trust to study coinage. My father’s crime cost us our property, and the state would let us buy it back with any treasure we found.”

I felt so embarrassed I could cry. Stamatia actually did me a favour, because she made me realize how filthy I was; mixing pure intentions with worldly ones.

“A state-supported treasure hunt,” Stamatia mused. “Not a spy, not a saboteur, not an entirely student, either. I must say, it’s a delightful arrangement.”

I held Photios’s ring closer to the casket. I turned the ruby and shone the light over the casket. A lock matched the ring’s, and I broke its seal. The casket opened stiffly.

Inside, over a rot-eaten cushion, a single signet ring reflected the firelight.

Stamatia examined it without touching it. “It gleamed differently than my father’s.”

“Because it was bronze,” I noted, guilt-stricken. “The stone is red jasper, too. Could you read the inscription on the band, Lady Stamatia?”

Stamatia held the ring closer to the light. I could see the Greek letters glinting.

“There was when he was not,” Stamatia read aloud. “This is Arius’.I regret to tell you that neither its band nor the stone is worth much. I doubt it can feed your grandchild for a year.”

I shook my head. “Don’t bother. It’s a warning that my intentions weren’t pure. Its authenticity itself is enough.”

Stamatia shrugged. “It’s too bad for your family, though.”

“Ah, about that…” I gulped repeatedly. “I have an older cousin whose daughter just gave birth. By courtesy, the infant is my grandchild. I’m still unmarried, thanks to being sent abroad so often.”

Stamatia looked like she wanted to protest, but then she smiled. She inched closer, her eyes predatory. I could feel her breath as her lips hovered near my neck.

She whispered, “It makes things easier for me, then—”

I reared to the closest seat. “Lady Stamatia! This is a transgression!”

“—no one will miss a bachelor.”

“What?”

I clutched my stomach as excruciating pain tore through it. My bowel twisted, forcing up what little remained of my dinner. My throat burned. I needed to reach my waterskin—

Then I saw the donkey’s cucumber pod in Stamatia’s hand.

“How did it taste?” Stamatia smiled sweetly. “I was not sure how much I should put in it, so I squeezed them all into your waterskin.”

“Just… Why?”

“For this, of course.” Stamatia held up the sphragis. “I figured having you take the blame would make things easier for me.”

“I thought—”

“I care about what the Council discussed?” Stamatia huffed. “I care not. The result would remain the same: I have to copy what my father ordered. He thinks that I’m his obedient girl, switching sides just like him. He married me off to gain an ally, then used the Arius’ record in my husband’s study to save his own neck. Now, I’m turning his own trick against him, and you’re the bait.”

I never knew an incoming purge could feel this agonizing. I could only writhe.

“The scrolls containing your name and his seal are on my desk,” Stamatia continued. She seemed to remember something and approached me. “When the Council begins examining the pages, they’ll find the sphragis in his study. Along with the scrolls, they will read that my father has ordered a Saracen to hunt for the sphragis. He speaks of pragmatism, so let him have it. Neither the Monothelites nor the Dyothelites will want him anywhere near them. Found it.”

From my pocket, Stamatia produced a gold ring and pocketed it without examining it.

“I almost forgot my father’s signet,” Stamatia said, smirking. “This will be the last piece proving you came here at my father’s behest. The ring has to be back on his finger, or he’ll cry theft. Who do you think has been feeding you Saracen rumours of treasure? When you finally turned up at the bathhouse, I was relieved beyond measure. I must admit that you are the best one yet, Khabbab. Fitting, for a counterfeiter’s son.”

“Wait… You…”

I groaned, both from my stomach and from anger.

“Under different circumstances,” Stamatia said, turning back one last time to pick up the casket, “I’d be honoured to wash your corpse.”

She left me in the darkness.

***

My eyes may have adjusted to the dark, but my bowel never adjusted to the pain.

I feared that any little bump would burst my bowels, so I crouched, feeling my way along the seats toward the shaft. If this was what Arius endured to hold for what he believed, my respect for him only soared. Except now, what soared from me was vomit.

I doubted Stamatia would plant the sphragis tonight, given that the Council began only tomorrow. It hurt to be betrayed, but it hurt more to be unable to bring what little of this discovery to the Prophet’s inheritors. Without the sphragis, I would just be another storyteller, another counterfeiter, making claims without proof.

I could feel the pressure building behind my eyes. I needed a place to release it—

Oh. This was a latrine.

That must have been the most maddening defecation session I ever had. It made me rethink life and how I took my bowels for granted. Dehydrated as I was, all my years of fasting paid off: I never once reached for the waterskin again.

I needed to clean myself, but there was no water. I picked up some pebbles and started cleaning my rear with them.

I needed to sail back quickly. My presence here risked trouble for my own people. If I was to be tried, let it be in my own land.

“Urgh!”

One of the pebbles hurt. I kept it, made my way down to the sewer, and saw it gleam red in the dawnlight.

I had cleaned myself with a gem.

***

“Pay up first.”

I had caught up with the last ship, and the crew had seen how desperate I was. No wonder they raised the price. I frantically rummaged through my pockets, palming everything I had.

I didn’t have much: two unused dirhams, the red gem, and… was that a ring?

“You miser…” The shipmate sighed. “I’ll take the dirhams, and either the gem or the ring will do. That one looks like silver, anyway.”

I gave him the gem and followed him aboard in a daze, staring at the ring. Silver. I remembered the ring that Stamatia had taken from my pocket. It was gold. She hadn’t been able to tell it from Photios’ ring.

I had carried off Lord Vasilios’ ring.

Would this be held against me? He’ll cry theft, Stamatia had said. Now she could not implicate her father even with the sphragis. Lord Vasilios would say someone had stolen his ring, but this ‘thief’ had escaped.

“That ring is fine, too,” the shipmate said. “How about selling it to me?”

“N-no!” I backed away, protective of the ring. “This is… a keepsake. I have to return it later.”

Yes, that was a promise. The ring was a trust. Whether it would take one month or one year, I’d have to return it.

“Fine, I’ll pass on the ring. It doesn’t shine like this stone.” The shipmate held Photios’ ruby up to the sun. “Ruby is rare, so this one's worth a fortune. My only complaint is the smell. Where’d you mine it?”

I blushed. “I had wiped my rear with it.”

“You obscene man!”

*****