Amal Unbound(39)

Their voices stopped.

A door opened and shut in the distance.

Tightness squeezed my chest. I knew Jawad Sahib’s men threatened people and destroyed property. But they killed people? Fozia had said one of his officers was demanding more money. Was this the danger she faced if she couldn’t pay?

I backed away from the bushes. Only then did I realize I wasn’t alone.

Nabila was staring at me. Her expression was somber.

“Nabila,” I began. How much had she heard?

She shook her head furiously and pressed a finger to her mouth.

“Don’t say a word,” she whispered, gesturing to the balconies and windows all around us. “You never know who is listening.”





Chapter 42





Nabila is acting strange,” Mumtaz said to me that evening.

“What do you mean?”

“She didn’t eat lunch. Caught her wandering the servants’ quarters a little while ago. She was crying. Won’t tell me what it is.”

“I’ll talk to her,” I offered.

I walked down to the servants’ quarters and peeked into each half-opened room until at last I found her. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, studying her nails. I took in the dirty concrete floor, the cracked walls.

This was the room I might have had.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Not now,” she whispered without looking up. “Jawad and his father are leaving tonight. Meet me and Bilal in the library after everyone is asleep.”



* * *



? ? ?

Nabila and Bilal were already in the library when I managed to sneak out of Nasreen Baji’s room. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of a small desk lamp.

When I closed the door behind me, Nabila walked over to the window and lifted a small ceramic pot resting on the sill. She stuck a finger into the dirt and pulled out a key.

“Nabila, this isn’t a good idea,” Bilal said.

“I have to know,” she told him. She turned and handed me the key. “Please. I need your help. He keeps the debts people owe him filed in there.” She pointed to the filing cabinets. “Everything everyone owes him can be found in those cabinets. Can you see if the name Latif is in there? Babar Latif.”

“Do you think he borrowed money?”

“Knowing him, yes,” she said.

“Nabila . . .” Bilal sighed.

“I know,” Nabila said. “But I have to find out.”

I turned the key in the first silver cabinet and went through the files. When I tried the next one, I saw his name.

“It’s here.” I pulled it out and showed her.

“What does it say?” she asked. A tear slipped down her cheek. Bilal put an arm around her.

“He borrowed some money.” I scanned the handwritten notes. “Gambling debts. A loan for a motorcycle. The records stop about four or five months ago.”

“Makes sense; he’s been dead five months.”

“Oh, Nabila.” I lowered the folder. “Was he a relative?”

“My cousin. He was the only one who never forgot me, who checked in on me and made sure I was okay. He was the sweetest person I knew. They found his body in the fields not far from here. He had just come to see me that morning.” Her voice cracked. “Well, at least now I know what happened.”

“I’m so sorry, Nabila.”

Her face crumpled. Her body was wracked with sobs. She didn’t push me away when I put my arms around her.

“Why’d you have to find out?” Bilal kicked the filing cabinet. “I told you not to. You hurt yourself for no reason. It’s not like knowing what happened changes anything.”

There it was again. Nothing would change.

This family was so powerful, there was no use in trying to fight them. But . . .

“Just because something seems impossible, does that mean we just don’t try?” I asked.

They both turned to look at me.

“Try what?” Bilal asked. “There’s nothing we can do. No one will do anything about it.”

“But what if we could do something?” I said. “What if we at least tried to stop him?”

“How?” Nabila brushed away her tears.

“What if we told someone what we heard—told them we know they killed that diplomat’s son. Maybe then something would happen.”

“Right.” Nabila sniffed. “They’ll take our word over theirs.”

She was right. What reason would anyone have to believe us?

Bilal cleared his throat then.

“What if it wasn’t just our word?” he said quietly. “What if we could tell them where the body was?”

“Oh, Bilal,” Nabila whispered.

“As his personal servant, I know more than I wish I did.” He studied the ground. “He buried the guy by the third tree past the sign for Minawala.”

We fell silent for a moment.

“But who do we tell this to?” Nabila asked. “Mumtaz would kill us if she knew we were even talking about something like this.”

“I know someone,” I said. “My teacher. His father is a lawyer. He’ll know who to get the information to.”