“The river is full of sharks!” Rebekah cried out.

“Yes,” the merchant replied, summoning his servant. “But every problem has a solution.” A plan was forming in his mind. It would not be difficult to win the cooperation of the men of the Quarter. They would be pleased to repay him for his neverending kindness. He had been their benefactor. If the palace refused to help, the Jews would not.

He would awaken the carpenters, ask them to collect their tools and set out toward the river. They would work feverishly to construct a raft from logs that drifted on the river. From the side of the river bordered by woods, they would row to the other bank, where the palace stood. Before dawn, they would pick Gold Dust up and row back with her and advance deep into the forest.

Hazel-Boy was up and ready to leave. Rebekah became conscious of her chador. She had to wear something that would not hamper her.

“You must disguise yourself,” the merchant said. “Would you mind wearing my robes?”

She flung her clothes on the carpet and stepped into a pair of pants he handed her, rolling the cuffs up. She felt their stares on her and realized she stood with her indignant nipples exposed, the pants sliding below her mound. She pulled up the pants and drew the waist string tight, flinging his shirt over her breasts.

Rouh’Allah walked out to dress. So the tales about her mark were true. It had blushed under his gaze. Was this miracle what gave this woman her rare qualities? The ability to undress in front of men as if it were the nature of things, to call him by his first name as if they were longtime lovers, to fight for her daughter as if her life was fused to hers? Rouh’Allah strode into the night, aware that only through saving the daughter might he claim the mother.

Soleiman sprang from his bed and clutched his sword. The end was here! The palace guards were at his door. They had executed Gold Dust. He could not hear the thumping of his heart, nor feel the tears in his eyes. He was ready for death. He flung the door open and faced ghosts glaring condemnation. It was a dream. These wells of disapproval were the product of his imagination. His conscience had caught up with him.

“Get ready, Soleiman.”

He pressed his lids shut to squeeze out sleep and bring into focus the presence of Rebekah and the shadow of the merchant behind her. He did not recognize the other man, cloaked in lavish silks.

Rebekah held Soleiman by the shoulders and shook him. “Wake up! We don’t have time. Venus is outside. Feed him.

Prepare a bundle of food and go wait by the gates of the city. You’re going to yengeh donyah”