TOOS Chapter 2

The sand, bathed in the intense sun, shimmered like gold, but it never records anything. Yet, even without records, songs and stories passed down from mouth to mouth always lay hidden in the long nights of the desert.

Like any tale from One Thousand and One Nights, there is a kingdom with white walls built in the middle of the desert.

“Sami, Sami!”

A country that only reveals itself when the fine dust wind, like a golden veil, settles down after fluttering. Beyond the white walls, the scent of stone, earth, palm trees, coral, and gypsum emanated, and within those walls, vitality and life splash like spring water.

The sound of someone plucking a round stringed instrument drifted between the market streets, fragrant with perfume, and the residential areas adorned with carpets. A woman holding roses strolled through the streets, the jingle of her gold bracelets echoing, while children with wooden toys ran between them. The scent of jasmine permeated every alley.

“Sami!”

In a bustling city where people, scents, and floating dust are all the usual, a very common name echoed.

Cats slipped into narrow alleys, and camels passed through the wider streets. A camel laden with baskets overflowing with oranges and apples moved its legs lazily, following the man leading its reins.

In the spot where the camel and the fruit vendor had trudged past, a servant holding a broom stood. He had been hidden from view behind the camel’s size and the mountain-high baskets.

“Why doesn’t he answer when I call him?”

The rounded forehead, tightly closed lips, and delicate features, along with his amber eyes, seemed quite intelligent. He must have been so focused on his work that he hadn’t noticed someone had come to call him nearby.

The servant, diligently sweeping in front of the large mansion’s gate, adjusted his grip on the broom several times. It seemed the bristles were stiff. The man’s lips pursed and parted repeatedly.

“Hmm. I’ll have to ask for a new broom.”

The servant, having patted the broom one last time, finished his task.

“Sami! Have you finished sweeping?”

Only then did Sami, the servant, quickly raise his head, startled by the voice calling him.

“Yes.”

After sprinkling water on the dirt ground to settle the dust one last time, Sami, tucked the broom under his arm and and stepped inside the mansion. 

Tap, tap. 

His sandals, with their backs not fully closed, flapped open, revealing pink soles. His heels, warm from diligently working under the sun, shone brightly.

“Now that the outside is done, help with the work inside. Hurry.”

“Yes. I’ll tidy up and go.”

Even in the mansion of Salif the Scribe, where even a newly hatched chick had its duties, Sami was exceptionally diligent.

Not only did he wash and dry the camel and sheep wool before the seamstresses spun the threads for their magnificent carpets, he also collected eggs from the chicken coop in the morning and milked the goats.

And that wasn’t all. Even when no one was watching, Sami was always working. 

He would remove cobwebs several times from the rarely used basement storage room, burn tree roots to drive away insects, and repeatedly mop the hallway floors where guests and workers frequently passed by.

He had done all sorts of chores, but he never thought of it as hardship. Sami was proud to be a useful errand boy, and the workers and the master and mistress of the house were very fond of him.

The plump, elderly cook, the sharp-eyed and experienced seamstresses, the nagging head servant Harna, and even the prim and proper Hebi all liked Sami. The skinny elephant trainer and the traveling merchants who occasionally visited the mansion would call Sami over and give him handfuls of candy. Thus, he was far from the stereotypical mistreated servant found in old tales.

Sami himself would even joke with Hebi, saying he wouldn’t even dream of finding gold and jewels if he were in a story.

Busy working day after day within the gentle confines of the mansion, Sami’s world consisted solely of this house and the market alleys. The stories told by the desert tribes, strangers from afar, storytellers, and poets were, quite literally, like tales from One Thousand and One Nights.

“Whew….”

Compared to those One Thousand and One Nights, Sami’s world wouldn’t even amount to a small fragment of night, but for Sami, it was already vast and overwhelming enough.

The scribe’s mansion was enormous. After cleaning the hallway outside the mansion and the hall of the reception room from morning till noon, the sun would already be high in the sky. Orange sunlight blazed between the arched pillars.

Even though he had been cleaning without feeling the heat, looking at the sun made him feel as if all the heat he had been putting off had hit him at once. Sami hid in the shade of a white marble pillar, trying to avoid the sunlight.

“Sami.”

A pair of purple silk shoes came into Sami’s view as he sat crouched down. Without even lifting his head, Sami knew who the owner of these feet was. In Salif’s mansion, only a few paris of feet were treated with such care.

“Young Master Antar.”

As Sami approached and bowed, the young man whose name had been called gently stroked his hair. The “Young Master,” as he looked up, was dressed in a fine silk robe, his arms cradling a stack of books.

The only son of Salif, the master of the house and the elder, didn’t strictly adhere to formalities, which made all the servants and guests liked him, praising him for his virtuous nature. His mother, however, worried that her son was not just virtuous but overly kind.

“You’ve sweated a lot. You’re very dirty.”

“Why would sweat from working be dirty? It should be something to be proud of.”

Sami was the son of a woman who had been the head seamstress in this mansion. His parents were born and died in this house. Perhaps because Sami had lost his parents early, Antar treated him like a younger brother. And Sami, in turn, respected and followed Antar like an older brother.

Sami wiped the sweat from his forehead with a piece of cloth tied around his waist. Since the young master had personally greeted him, he wanted to say something, but having only worked all day, he had nothing to say.

Sami fidgeted with his hands, and ended up just spouting random words.

“Um, Young Master. The sun is strong.”

“Indeed it is. Why don’t you finish cleaning the hallway later and do something else inside to cool down?”

“But I’ve just spread medicine on the floor. It needs to be rubbed in several times so that it seeps into the floor well before someone steps on it.”

“Sami, you’re so diligent.”

To Sami, those words were the highest compliment. He bowed his head without showing it, but he couldn’t hide the blush that spread across his face.

“By the way, what kind of medicine did you spread?”

“Harna-nim said it was a medicine to chase away djinn.”

“Ah, I’ve heard rumors of djinn swarming recently. It’s been said that there are thieves stealing Marut everywhere…”

Antar, who had been muttering to himself, nodded.

It was still a world where tales of sorcerers and heroes weren’t entirely dismissed as superstition. The stories of ill-tempered spirits lurking in the shadows, tormenting people, were like a spell, always keeping people cautious about their behavior. According to the elders’ tales, bad spirits like djinn hated gold but loved sparkling jewels. Especially a special jewel called Marut, they couldn’t resist. Even in the scribe’s house, filled with precious objects, they were always wary of djinn.

“With the grand banquet approaching, head servant Harna is probably taking precautions against bad luck.”

“A banquet?”

“Yes. It’s the day when the noble Harut illuminates the nights for three days and nights for the people.”

“If it’s hosted by Harut, does it mean is it held at the royal palace?”

“That’s right.”

The ruler, called simply “Harut,” needed no other name. The banquet hosted by the one who ruled this desert and owned countless oases was always dazzlingly bright, seemingly unaware of night. They said it was to keep away the djinn that crept in at dusk and dawn, lighting up the kingdom and singing songs.

‘Harut’s banquet.’

Antar, watching Sami lost in thought, smiled faintly, as if finding him adorable.

“I may even attend this time, so perhaps that is why things are even busier.”

“……! Really? Are you attending this time, Young Master?”

“I am twenty-four now, so it seems my father will be entrusting me with things little by little. Even though I still have much to learn.”

“Not at all. I have never seen anyone as good and wise as you, Young Master Antar.”

It was sincere praise. Antar, knowing Sami’s words weren’t empty flattery, smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, Young Master, you’ve really become an adult.”

Sami, too, would become an adult after eleven more nights, reaching his twentieth birthday.