The One and Only Sami Chapter 2

The sand, shimmering like gold as it drinks in the intense sun, never leaves a record behind.

However, even without a written record, songs and stories passed from person to person are bound to hide within the long, lingering nights of the desert.

Like any story of a thousand and one nights, there is a kingdom with white walls built high in the middle of the desert.

“Sami, Sami!”

A country that reveals itself only when the dusty white sand wind flutters like a golden veil and finally settles.

Crossing the white fortress walls—which smell of stone, earth, palm trees, coral, and gypsum—the vitality and spirit within those walls ripple like spring water.

Between the market streets where the scent of balsamic oils wafts and the residential areas where rugs are hung, the sound of plucking rounded string instruments could be heard.

A woman carrying roses walked the streets, the golden anklets on her feet jingling, while children tapping wooden toys ran between them. The scent of jasmine drifted through every alleyway.

“Sami!”

In the busy city center, where people, scents, and floating dust all mingled, a common name echoed out.

Cats hid in narrow alleys, and camels passed along the wide roads. A camel laden with baskets piled high with oranges and apples moved its legs lazily, following the man pulling its reins.

In the spot where the camel and the fruit merchant had plodded past, a single servant stood holding a broom. He was a presence that hadn’t been visible, hidden by the camel’s bulk and the mountain-high baskets.

“Why doesn’t this child answer when called?”

With a rounded forehead, firmly set lips, and amber eyes nestled within delicate features, he looked quite intelligent.

It seemed he hadn’t noticed someone coming near to call him because he was so focused on his share of the work.

The servant, who had been meticulously sweeping in front of the gate of the large mansion, adjusted his grip on the handle several times. Apparently, the broom was stiff. The man’s lips puckered and parted repeatedly.

“Hmm. I should ask for a new broom.”

Patting the broom, the servant finished the rest of his task.

“Sami! Are you finished with the sweeping?”

Only then did Sami hear the voice calling him and quickly lifted his head.

“Yes.”

After splashing a bucket of water on the dirt ground to settle the dust so it wouldn’t rise recklessly, the servant called Sami stepped inside the mansion with the broom tucked under his arm.

Tap, tap.

His sandals, which couldn’t hold his heels, gaped open, revealing pink soles. His heels, warm from the sunlight after working diligently all day, shone smoothly.

“Now that the outside is done, help with the work inside. You must hurry.”

“Yes. I’ll go after I tidy up.”

Even in the mansion of Salif the Scribe—where even a newly hatched chick would be given a task—Sami was exceptionally industrious.

Before the seamstresses spun thread to weave magnificent carpets, he would wash and dry the camel or sheep wool; in the morning, he would rummage through the chicken coop to pick out eggs or milk the goats they raised.

Was that all? Sami was always working, even when he was out of others’ sight.

After clearing cobwebs from the seldom-used basement warehouse several times, he would burn tree roots to ward off insects, and he would wipe the floors of the corridors where guests and workers frequently passed over and over again.

He did all sorts of odd jobs, but he never thought of it as a hardship.

Sami was proud of the fact that he was a quite useful messenger, and the workers and the master and his wife cherished Sami dearly.

The elderly, plump cook; the sharp-eyed, experienced seamstresses; the nagging head servant; and the pert Hibi all liked Sami.

Even the skinny elephant trainers and wandering merchants who occasionally visited the mansion would call Sami over and gift him handfuls of candy, so in this regard, he was far from the role of the mistreated servant found in old tales.

Sami himself would joke with Hibi that even if he were to enter a story, he wouldn’t even dream of gold and silver treasures.

Because he worked busily day by day within a kind fence, Sami’s world consisted entirely of this mansion and the market alleys. The stories told by desert tribes, foreigners from afar, storytellers, and poets felt literally like the night-tales of a thousand and one nights.

“Phew…”

Compared to those thousand and one nights, Sami’s world might not even amount to a single fragment of the night, but for Sami, it was already sufficiently big and overwhelming.

The Scribe’s mansion was huge. When he started wiping the outer corridors and the reception hall in the morning, the sun would invariably be at its zenith before he knew it. Between the pillars carved into rounded arches, the orange sunlight blazed.

Even though he had been cleaning without realizing how hot it was, looking at the sun made it feel as though the heat he had put off was rushing in all at once. It was just as Sami was hiding in the shadow of a white marble pillar to escape the sunlight.

“Sami.”

A pair of purple silk shoes entered the view of the crouching Sami. Even without raising his head, Sami knew who the owner of these feet was. There were few feet in Salif’s mansion wrapped so preciously.

“Young Master Antar.”

When Sami approached and greeted him, the young man whose name was called stroked his head kindly. Looking up, the “Young Master” was dressed in a fine-textured silk gown, cradling an armful of books against his side.

The only son of Master Salif, the owner and elder of this mansion, did not strictly enforce social hierarchy, so all the servants and guests liked him, saying he was a virtuous young man. Though the mistress of the house worried about her son for being too kind rather than just virtuous.

“I’ve sweated a lot. I’m very dirty.”

“Why would sweat from working be dirty? You should take pride in it.”

Sami was the son of a woman who had been the head of the seamstresses in this mansion.

Sami’s parents were born in this mansion and ended their lives in this mansion. Perhaps because Sami lost both parents early, Antar thought of Sami specially, like a younger brother. And Sami likewise respected and followed Antar like an older brother.

Sami rubbed and wiped the sweat flowing on his forehead with the cloth tied at his waist. Since the Young Master had personally greeted him, he wanted to say something, but having done nothing but work all day, he had nothing specific to offer.

Sami just fidgeted with his hands before eventually spitting out a needless remark.

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

“So it is. Why don’t you finish the corridor cleaning later and cool off by doing other work inside?”

“But I’ve already sprayed medicine on the floor. I have to rub it several times so it soaks into the floor well before someone else steps on it.”

“Sami is truly diligent.”

To Sami, those words were the greatest praise. He bowed his head without showing it, but he couldn’t hide the blush spreading softly across his face.

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

“Harna-nim said it was a medicine to ward off the Jinni.”

“Ah, I heard rumors have been spreading recently that the Jinni are swarming. That thieves stealing Maruts have appeared here and there…”

Antar, who had been muttering to himself, nodded.

It was still a world where stories of magicians and heroes weren’t purely superstition.

The stories of ill-tempered spirits said to hide between every boundary and torment people were always like magic that made people cautious of their conduct.

According to the stories of the elders, bad spirits like the Jinni hated gold but loved sparkling jewels. They said the spirits especially couldn’t resist a special jewel named ‘Marut.’ Even in the house of the Scribe, where there were many rare items, they were always wary of the Jinni.

“Since there is a grand banquet for the country soon, I suppose Head Servant Harna is taking care to avoid misfortune.”

“A banquet?”

“Yes. It is the day the noble Harut lights the fires for three days and nights for the people.”

“If you say it is held by the Harut, does that mean it is held at the royal palace?”

“That’s right.”

A ruler who needed no personal name to refer to him, called only ‘The Harut.’

The banquet provided by the one who ruled this desert and was the master of countless oases was bound to be so magnificent that one wouldn’t know night had fallen. It was also said to be for the purpose of brightly lighting the kingdom and singing songs to drive away the Jinni that creep in during the dusk and dawn.

‘The Harut’s Banquet.’

Antar, who had been watching Sami lost in vague thoughts with an expression that said he found him cute, wore a slight smile.

“I might even attend this time, so perhaps that’s why things are even busier.”

“…! Really? You’re attending now, Young Master?”

“I am twenty-four now, so it seems my father is entrusting me with a little. Even though I am still lacking in many areas.”

“Not at all. I have never seen anyone more kind and intelligent than you, Young Master Antar.”

It was a sincere compliment. Antar also knew that Sami’s words weren’t just empty flattery, so he gave a beaming smile.

“Thank you.”

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

Sami, too, would become an adult on his twentieth birthday, which was only eleven nights away.