Fog shrouded the great city, obscuring the towering minarets of sandblasted glass and hammered metal, veiling its golden domes. A chilly breeze swept through the winding streets, past intricately tiled bathhouses, and the thick doors protecting the altars, bringing the smell of damp earth and salt from the sea.

My hands reached up to adjust my veil, making sure that only my eyes were visible. The Bazaar was filling up rapidly; fajr had already been called and worshippers could be seen exiting the small mosque at the end of the street. One of the oldest in the city, the mosque consisted of four covered halls enclosing a courtyard open to the gray sky. Worn down by the feet and bows of centuries of worshippers, its red and gold carpet was covered by a crowd of refugees waiting for some sort of sign of hope from the men exiting the building. Large, hazy glass lanterns filled with orange-red flames hung from the ceiling, illuminating the desperation in their eyes.

I was not one for early morning Bazaar visits, but this was the only time I could escape the watchful eyes of my father who thought I was snuggled up and asleep in my chambers. This was the only time I could actually do something substantial.

Smiling behind my veil, I watched the two men bicker as they approached Uncle Yaqoob's shop, adjacent to the mosque. I studied the men as they mumbled in low voices, noting their light features and the cut of their expensive coats.

Turks, Sanaa mouthed.

The younger one glanced anxiously at us while the older man—seemingly a relative—ran a hand through his unruly beard.

Sanaa fought a yawn, the keys jingling in her hands, watching the two men shift on their feet nervously. It wasn't unusual for clients to chose the early hours of the morning to turn up at Uncle Yaqub's shop but they seemed to be in a hurry.

Uncle Yaqoob detached himself from the crowd, raising his arms in greeting and embracing the two men. Despite the graying hairs in his beard—ill hidden by henna—and the plumpness in his belly, Uncle Yaqoob was still fit and nimble, ready and energetic at the crack of dawn.

Sanaa pushed open the door and they stepped inside. Crowded with supplies and impossibly chaotic, Uncle Yaqub's shop was my favorite place in the world. Mismatched wooden shelves crammed with dusty glass vials, tiny reed baskets, and crumbling ceramic jars covered the walls. Lengths of dried herbs, animal parts, and objects I couldn't identify hung from the ceiling while clay amphorae competed for the small amount of floor space. Uncle Yaqub knew his inventory like the lines of his palms.

I crossed my arms over my black abaya, growing intrigued. Uncle Yaqoob didn't have many Turkish clients since they were notoriously hesitant to be seen in the Abbassid territory. Who were these men?

A few minutes later, they lowered their heads, gave a brief nod, and left the shop.

Uncle Yaqoob yelled for Sanna. "Go to Yousaf and get me a mixture of one part ambergris to two parts cedar oil. He has the best stuff."

I went around the wooden counter, grabbing an ointment, and pounding the mixture."What do I add to this?"

"Some powdered lime rind and walnut oil."

I measured the contents and swiped the mixture onto some pieces of linen. Some children had infected wounds and the ointment was essential in speeding the healing process.

Sanaa returned back from her run, quickly putting the items in their place.

"Remember the salve for the pregnant woman," she called over her shoulder. I picked up a vial of peppermint oil, swatting away a spider that crawled over the top.

"Pregnant? Hmm, let me find something." Uncle Yaqoob shuffled around the shop trying to navigate in the chaos.

I pushed the vial in his direction and adding a gnarled root of ginger. "This should work"

Sanaa pawed through the random assortment of books, receipts, and vials on the table, searching for the small enamel case where Uncle Yaqub kept his sweets, finally finding them beneath a dusty ledger.

"You shouldn't be here Laila"

I winked at Sanaa and she rolled her eyes. "You say that every week"

He glared at me. "And I'll keep saying that until you stop sneaking out of your house. This isn't how you become a physician"

After the incident, last night, the mere mention of my dream soured my mood. "You've already said it's a foolish dream," I reminded him. "No physician would take on a female apprentice, let alone the daughter of the Emir."

"You could teach," he offered. "You've learned everything here, you could start teaching the younger ones."

"You sound eager to be rid of me."

"I want you to be protected. After what happened to your mother, I want..."

My father's words echoed in my head and I bristled. "I can take care of myself."

"—to advise you against doing dangerous things," he finished, giving me a look. "Things like sneaking out of the house."

Ah. I winced. "Nothing's going to happen"

"Then you're a fool," he said bluntly. "You shouldn't be getting caught up in this problem." He gestured behind me. "Get me the bowl"

I fetched one from the shelf, tossing it to him with a bit more force than was necessary.

"There's no reason to be concerned. They're refugees, I want to help them," This place was crowded; the French invasion had done little to stop the waves of people coming to the city from the countryside.

"She's safe here Baba. No one knows who she is," Sanaa intervened. I gave her a grateful look. He ignored us, his face set in a grim expression as we exited the shop.

We hauled our baskets, some filled with food, others with new chadors, and essential items to the end of the alley. There, crammed between the fruit stand and a bread bakery, a group of refugee women stood for their morning meal.

I swayed to avoid a collision with a gaggle of giggling children, picking my way through the marketplace. The new migrants had arrived with little more than the clothing on their backs.

I nodded at Sanaa, handing my basket to a young girl. She was precious, with big dark eyes and curly hair, hope radiating off her dirt-streaked skin. 

"You seem like a smart girl. Can I count on you to give this to everyone here?" The girl nodded, looking self-important. "If you do this right, I promise I'll have a treat for you. Good girl, go!" She took the basket and went around handing the bread to every woman in the vicinity.

An older woman let out a frustrated sigh as children flocked after the girl, their voices merging together, fingers stretching out for food, their hands flapping in excitement.

I nodded to the street vendor and he started pouring out gravy in small bowls, having his boys distribute them amongst the people.

Meanwhile, Sanaa moved around handing blankets, checking for ailments, and asking if they needed anything else.

I made my way to the woman lying against the dusty wall, her laboured breathing causing concern. She shuffled in pain and my heart ached.

"Salaam. How are you feeling today?" I muttered, putting an infusion of water and medication against her lips. She whispered something but her voice was carried away by the wind. After a few sips, the lines on her face eased and her breathing evened out.

"Mama" a little boy, no more than ten cried out, curling under her arm, his voice tinged with worry.

"She'll be fine. She's asleep. Let me see your knee," his wide eyes watched as I rubbed the ointment on his scrapped knee, his hands clutching the piece of bread.

Taking a sweet out from the basket, I offered it to him and he took it, shoving it down his shirt.

I ruffled the boy's hair and got up to pay the street vendor for the food but he shook his head.

"This is your payment"

"Someone paid for the food," I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Frustration clawing up my throat.

"Okay, but we still had the outstanding payment for the previous week"

He shook his head ignoring the money in my hand. "All cleared up. He also said he'll be taking care of this now"

I gritted my teeth. Why did he have to come to this corner? Why couldn't it be some other place in the city? "Who is this man?"

The vendor's eyes flicked towards the raised mound at the other end of the market place and I turned around to see who he was referring to.

Hazel eyes flickered with hints of gold, in the morning sun and I blinked. That was an unusual sight. The man was tall and trim, dressed in dark brown, with the build of a young man proficient in warfare. He pulled the tail of his turban across his stubbled jaw, hiding his face, hunching his shoulders against the wind.

I glared at him, irritation causing fire to course through my veins.

His thick eyebrow raised a fraction at my heated gaze. Oblivious to my thoughts, he gave me a brief nod and disappeared into the bustling crowds.

My sense of purpose evaporated and I stepped back, staggering at the implication. This had been the only way I could help people. Where I could use my influence. And even here I had been trumped by a man.

Feeling lost, I grabbed the coins in my hand and started distributing them amongst the women. Their eyes lit up and they thanked me, kissing my abaya, grabbing my hands.

Ignoring Sanaa's questioning look, I rechecked my patients and promised to visit them next week.

A small tug had me turning around to look into a pair of big brown eyes. An automatic smiled tugged on my lips and I grabbed the remaining sweets and placed them in her palms. She jumped up and ran around the street, shouting about her treasure to the other kids. They swarmed around her, peering into her hands.

Taking my cue, I ran back into the shop, placing the baskets and the remaining things on the counter and taking the back exit, where my guards waited next to my litter.

"Everything okay miss?" Omer, the head of my contingent asked, his eyes on the ground. I nodded, tapping the door twice and got in, signaling that I was ready to leave.

Little did I know that my day was about to get a lot worse.

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