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The door closes only a sliver away from a slam, making Hamid minutely proud of himself in saving this tiny bit of clear-headedness; however, the blinds attached to it make quite a noise when he forces them shut, hiding the road onto which all of his companions, one by one, have jumped out.
He’s even more proud of himself for keeping all of the swears jumping to his mind unsaid. He’s less proud of himself when he reaches for the enchanted ice box and takes a full swig out of the new wine bottle… to then promptly choke on it. All because Hamid remembers a pretty similar situation, and that forces a laugh out of him in the most inopportune moment.
Zolf calling out after Bertie, Sasha and him as they pursued the fake Byron, staying back and getting hammered on the bank's whiskey, a rare smile on his face as he tried to fence with his own peg leg. It did involve carriages, now that Hamid thinks on it — a coincidence that makes him both smile and grip the bottle tighter in his hand. How long ago it feels, with all the events that happened. Kew, Dover, the channel, and Calais… Paris. Prague. Cairo. Now, instead of feeling like a bothersome moment, Zolf’s actions feel like understandable antics in response to their own hot-headedness in taking off after Figgis.
Hamid wonders, minutely, as he waves off the driver's concern about the party “jumping out,” if maybe this means he is growing into the “leader” role — but no. No, he thinks, putting the bottle aside; these are just his feelings (and his longing for some sort of connection to Zolf again) speaking.
He, not for the first time, feels lost. Maybe he and Zolf weren’t on the best of terms all the time, but for Hamid, their companionship always held some sort of… stability for him. Even at their worst in the catacombs, as everything felt like it was falling apart and would most certainly result in their deaths, Zolf holding his hand and awkwardly suggesting they play “I Spy” had brought him a sliver of hope that Hamid hadn’t known was possible.
Maybe, he thinks, as the carriage finally stops, this is what he wishes he had most. The ability to inspire hope and stability in the most uncertain of situations.
“The Desiccated Corporal” is, as recommended, quite a nice restaurant. Not too crowded, not too fancy, but quite cosy and roomy. Hamid feels more comfortable here, yet even the atmosphere and the service doesn't wave away the previous frustrations… and the many feelings that surface once again.
So, after he orders the aperitif and a drink, Hamid reaches for the writing supplies in his bag of holding and, disregarding the table manners, starts drafting a letter.
Starting it is the worst part — he, as he had in Cairo as well, writes at least seven versions of “To Zolf Smith,” varying in care and familiarity, until he settles on the “To my dear friend, Zolf Smith ” once again. It’s easier to write afterwards.
“I hope this message, written so soon after my last one, finds you in good health. My hope,” his quill stutters here a bit, making the lines thicker than they need to be, “is also that the previous letter had found its recipient, and that its journey, as well as yours, were not interrupted by any troubling events. As such, I am writing with its contents in mind.”
“It would be best of me to mention this early on, and so I shall: Sasha’s ailment of which, as she tells me, you were aware, has been cured. In fact, it was a most joyous occasion; her health was not only brought back through the most wondrous of divine magics, but the healer also gave her back parts of her hands that had been lost! She’s been retraining herself to handle her tools, which was evident this morning as she showed some knife tricks to my siblings, and it warms my heart to see her smile again.”
Hamid feels the smile tug at his own lips as well, and as he places the dot on the paper, the first part of his dinner arrives. With his companions still not in sight, he orders the rest of it only for himself; he finishes the food a bit quicker than is proper, all for pouring the words down the paper once again.
“We now find ourselves in Damascus on official business. However, something has transpired recently that quite starkly reminded me of our own misadventures together back in London.”
He chuckles to himself, feeling now less frustrated and more affectionate about the antics as he writes:
“While on our journey to the city itself, Sasha acquired the reins of the carriage on which we were travelling, and soon enough it turned into quite a bumpy, speed-wrought ride down the wavy roads of the mountain slope. But what happened after is a bit more peculiar. Our newest companion, Azu, tried to somehow lessen the speed of the carriage, and, in her pink-plated glory, opened the door — only to tumble outside! And if only that were the only thing; Grizzop, possibly in his compassion for the fellow paladin, had jumped right after her!! And, in an addition you possibly couldn’t guess, the very next moment I see Sasha joining them on the road. Not in a tumble, of course; if you have in your mind an image of her landing gracefully on her feet, then you would be most correct.”
It… really doesn’t feel like that much of a problem now, as Hamid depicts the happenstance on paper. Just an unfortunate accident, that, in the future, could be a fun story to tell.
Pumpkin soup is brought, with seared scallops first and vegetables second, and with remnants of pita bread from the appetizer dish, Hamid almost wolfs it down, now feeling much better. After, he once again returns to the letter:
“I have to confess, at the moment of this event I was quite appalled and annoyed with the antics of my partners, but I hope you forgive me this moment of weakness, for it quickly went away as I remembered a similar accident from our shared past. Though the happenings in Kew Gardens had a more lasting imprint on my memory, the fake Byron incident had not slipped it. At the very least, I remembered it as I thought, right after it happened, if this could be that same frustration you had felt with me and the others.”
“It’s… shameful of me to say, but I had previously dismissed your own feelings towards how we left you behind, all to chase after Figgis. Now, with the situation I had described to you, I feel grateful for you not being frustrated with us after it, and when my companions come to my current place of stay, I shall not be cross with them. It’s my utmost desire that later on we will all share a good laugh about this, as I am stifling my own laughter describing it to you. It warms my heart, the idea of you reading this and laughing as well, not in the very least at my expense.”
On those last words, Hamid writes with a tiny bit more pressure, noticing it only as he takes the quill away, thinking on what to write next. He does imagine Zolf in this moment, eyes crinkling in bemusement at his reaction, but then saying how all of it could’ve turned worse. Thinks of what words they could’ve exchanged, right now, while they waited for the others to come.
Dessert is brought, tiny taj al malik pastries surrounding the stem of the dessert bowl with booza ice cream in it. Hamid doesn’t touch it yet, turning his attention back to the letter again:
“I will say, as I had described to you in my previous letter, that my feelings towards your absence remain the same. While in some moments I can see how I am taking better steps as a leader and a person, in others I can plainly see that your ideas, advice, and a certain type of stability were most amiss.”
“In fact, you were most amiss.”
Hamid puts down the quill with a sigh, sagging back onto his seat a bit as he underlines the ‘you’ in the last sentence. He wonders then whether maybe it is his attachment to Zolf not as a person, but… a figure of authority that skews his judgement. Yet, he also truly misses the grumpy, no-nonsense dwarf who would be awkward, but truthful in his words.
And that moment is when the other three finally find him, all looking dusty from their own trip to the restaurant.
Hamid quickly slips the writing materials and papers with the drafted letter into the bag of holding and waves his companions over to the table.
The letter stays unsent.