Although Arabian fashion varied considerabley across social strata Emmaline had opted for the dark flowing robes and veil of a successful but not too successful merchant's wife. Though flowing the robes had been cut for a less generous figure than Emmaline's and clung at her hips and chest, worse still it was slightly too long and she tripped several times on the hem before Markus shortened it with an improbably sharp knife. In a couple of days the hacked off hem would fray, but Emmaline doubted she would be wearing it long enough for that to be a problem. Fortunately Markus' presence was enough to keep the various pimps, pickpockets and murderers who haunted the slums dusty alleys and dilapidated bazars. Whenever they passed close to the merchants they were assailed with shouts and descriptions of the wonderous goods that were for sale, but they made those claims to everyone whose eyes lingered for a moment too long.

"It should be..." Emmaline began, scanning a boulevard lined with wineshops and falafel vendors. Her eyes fell on a faded sign with three moons on a blue background. A few wizened men squatted in the doorway throwing dice and gulping wine from a skin they passed between wagers. They glanced disinterestedly at Markus and with somewhat more interest at Emmaline but they scooped up their dice and skuttled out of the way as the pair of foreginers entered. The interior was a single large cool room which was bisected by a wooden lattice of faded and cracked timber. The first section was a wineshop with a bar against one wall that was lined with casks, wineskins hung from the ceilings in the dozens, though if there were any method of distingishing them from one another Emmaline couldn't see it. In all likelyhood there was no way and no point, simply a quantity of watered wine that could be had for a few coppers. There was a doorway cut into the latice which Emmaline headed for the doorway, ignoring a greeting from a fat looking man who slouched behind the bar.

Beyond the doorway the room was lined with shelves that were stacked high with scrolls. Some were familiar vellum and parchment, but the majority were the papyrai that many mages in Altdorf had prefered. The material was rare and expensive in Altdorf but apparently not in Araby. A man sat in the corner of the room at an impressive stone topped desk. The desk was carved with a bewildering variety of sigils, a large sheet of paper was spread over it but the sigils shone through the thin material. A very ordinary looking quill was drawing itself over the parchment, periodically rising to dip into a clay inkwell. The man looked up, revealing that one eye was missing and had been replaced with a piece of rough quarts which had been shaped into a rough sphere by blows of a chisel. It sparkled with an internal ight of indeterminate color that dimmed as he lifted his gaze away from the table.

"What can I do for you," he asked in thickly accented Riekspiel. Emmaline didn't bother to ask why he chose that dialect despite having never met them before.

"I need a map," Emmaline responded in Tilean, more to be irritating than for any other reason. 

"Hakeem, has maps, if you have coin," the Arabyian said cautiously. Hakeem Al'Hadi was a name Emmaline remembered from late night drinking sessions in the taverns which surrounded the Colleges of Magic. The Celestial College adepts often debated how exactly it was done, but they appreciated the work of Hakeem and people like him. Arcanocatography was unknown among sanctioned Imperial mages. Like many talents of hedge wizards it wasn't well understood and likely involved drawing on several winds of magic at once, a practice which was a dangerous gateway to dark magic.

"I can pay," Emmaline answered, though that wasn't quite the same thing as having coin. Hakeem smiled professionally, though the effect on his ruined face wasn't pretty.

"Then we can do business, as soon as you show me your payment," the Araybian said suspiciously. Emmaline reached into a pouch and withdrew two bars of iron she had taken from the cargo and set them on the table. 

"Ah you are a jester then? Or just fool enough to waste Hakeem's time?" he demanded narrowing his good eyes.

"This iron is from the mines of Tobaro," Emmaline explained as though the arcanocartogropher hadn't spoken.

"One piece we will take to Lustria, the other, to Ind," she continued. Hakeem sneered, but there was a flicker of interest in his eye.

"You know something of my craft I grant you, but I would be a fool to believe that two outlanders could really deliver on such a deal. Perhaps if you spent the night with Hakeem..."

"All I require in trade is a map of the city, a small investment on such a return, and as for if we can deliver..." she inclined her head to Markus.

"This is Markus Flintbrook, the most fearsome captain upon the seas, if anyone can do it, he can, he has sailed far and killed hundreds who stood in his way," she told Hakeem. The threat was not subtle and it didn't take Hakeem long to make up his mind.

"Fine, I will take it on faith you will do as you say," he drew a map from one of the shelves and handed it to her. Then he placed his hands over the iron and muttered a quick incantation. Both bars glowed for a moment with the same light the sigils emitted and then dimmed.

"This one for Lustria," he said pointing at the smaller of the two, "and this one for Ind. Better if you had brought gold." Emmaline snorted.

"If I had gold to spare Id have just paid you," she snickered. Hakeem snorted somthing that might have been a laugh and then made a dismissive gesture. OUt in the street Emmaline unrolled the map. It was a simple depiction of the city, though areas of it glowed with a soft blue light when Emmaline focused her vision. THe bright spots showed areas where powerful magic had left after images. She tapped the brightest.

"Albrect told me that all the stories of Djinn he had heard were ledgend, except perhaps that of Mavikim of Lashiek," she explained.