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  Al-a-Din sat in a chair at a table in front of a small café. He sipped tea from a small

  cup as he watched the street. Despite his age, people still fascinated him, and he liked

  trying to figure out what another person did by looking at them.

  Despite losing his hair to time, he still looked much younger than his real age. His

  skin was pulled across his flesh, and held none of the blemishes that usually came.

  His hazel eyes still gleamed when they examined something of interest.

  His butler stood at his elbow, wearing the uniform of his position. His black hair

  covered pointed ears, and the hoop ring in one lobe. A bronze tan looked metallic in

  the sun.

  Al-a-Din put his cup down. He looked at a man in a coat heading into a market down

  the street. He stood. He didn’t like the look of that.

  “Hakim, be ready.” The old man straightened his jacket with both hands. “I think we

  might have a problem.”

  “Understood, Master.” The butler frowned as his master started forward.

  Al-a-din walked toward the market. He didn’t like the way the man in the coat had

  looked. He supposed his own dress was just as out of place. He wore the clothes of

  his youth in what was known as Chixian Shenzshou. Then it had been called

  something else. The centuries had changed the names several times as others had

  moved in and taken control.

  He had taken up residence in Arabia when he had gained the services of his butler.

  Hakim provided him all he needed, and he used that to help others. It seemed a fair

  trade to him.

  Hakim didn’t comment on being stuck with an old man who constantly called on him

  to do things, but he had implied that he preferred his master doing things to help

  others instead of enriching himself.

  The market shook as a cloud of smoke erupted from where the man in the coat went.

  Al-a-Din paused. The man had bombed the market. He watched as people took cover

  from following blasts.

  “Hakim, help the wounded.” He waved at people fleeing the market. “Get them out

  of the way. I’ll go in and see if I can help inside the zone. Join me when you are

  done.”

  “Yes, Master.” Hakim split off to start checking the obviously wounded. Things fixed

  themselves as he spoke to each person in turn.

  The old foreigner entered the cloud of smoke. Fire burned some of the products so

  that he didn’t know what they were before the bombing. He worked his way through

  the aisles, looking for wounded he could help.

  He found the man in the coat in a small crater. He was still alive, despite losing both

  legs. He must have not been wearing the bomb when it went off.

  “Hello.” Al-a-Din looked for more of the devices before he approached. “It looks like

  you will die soon. Do you want to talk about this before you pass?”

  “There is nothing to say.” The man’s breathing was harsh and quick. Blood loss

  would soon kill him. “I decided to do something about the people I hated.”

  “That’s a strong statement from a weak man.” Al-a-Din looked around for any

  survivors close by. It looked like everyone else had been killed, or made their way

  outside. “Only the weak do something like this.”

  “What would you know of my struggle?” The man glared at his interrogator. “You

  are another that needs to be removed from this Earth. The faith demands it.”

  “We both know different.” Al-a-Din frowned. The man might bleed out before he was

  taken away to be questioned by the authorities. He found two belts and tied off the

  stumps at the end of the bomber’s legs.

  “That should hold you until someone wants to know who you work for, and where he

  is,” said the old Asian. “You won’t die, and you won’t have your picture in the

  paper.”

  “You can’t deny me Heaven!” The bomber tried to reach out to grab his rescuer. “I

  need to be a martyr to reach it.”

  “You were never going to be a martyr.” Al-a-Din shook his head. “Someone has to

  kill you to make you a martyr. Killing others while killing yourself just makes you a

  suicide. And suicides don’t get into Heaven.”

  “You’re a liar.” The bomber started crying. “What do you know about the Koran?”

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  “Nothing.” The Asian waved his butler over when he saw the man approaching

  through the smoke. “Hakim, please push this smoke out of here, and make sure the

  fire is out. Then make sure this man lives to go to trial.”

  “Should I repair his legs?” The butler raised an eyebrow at the area where the man

  had been cut off at the knees.

  “No,” said Al-a-Din. “He doesn’t deserve to be helped any more than the bare

  minimum to get him in the hands of the law. After that, what point would it be to give

  his legs back to him?”

  “Understood, Master.” Hakim raised his hands. He performed a set of motions and

  the stumps scabbed over with new flesh covering the jutting of bone that had been in

  place. “He will live.”

  “Thank you, Hakim.” Al-a-Din nodded at the work. “He’ll be able to stump on those

  if he practices enough.”

  “I’ll kill you for this.” The bomber struggled, but produced a hand gun after a

  moment. “I will kill you.”

  Al-a-Din stomped down on his arm. The pistol popped out of the hand holding it. The

  Asian kicked the bomber in the face. That stopped the invective foaming from the

  man’s mouth. Another kick stopped the man from trying to stand up under his own

  power.

  “A true believer.” Al-a-Din shook his head. “At least he’s stopped for the moment.”

  “The victims have been healed as far as I can with my abilities, Master.” Hakim

  nodded toward the grounds outside of the open air pavilion. “I could not save some.

  They had been killed by the blast because they were standing too close when the

  bomb went off.”

  “Do they need transport to the hospitals?” Al-a-Din knew his servant could be literal

  minded to some extent. It was also a way to double check himself when he did

  something.

  “Some.” Hakim shrugged. “The human responders seem to be taking care of that.”

  “Repair what you can of the area.” Al-a-Din waved at the damaged poles and covers

  against the Sun. “Then we should turn our prisoner over to the local police.”

  “It is a small matter.” Hakim made a hand gesture. The place looked like nothing had

  happened to kill some people there moments before.

  Only the dead remained where they had fallen when the bomb had gone off. Hakim

  could do nothing for them. Once someone died, there was no way for him to intercede

  for the victim to bring him, or her, back, or ask for forgiveness for them.

  “What do you want done with the dead?,” asked Hakim. He gestured at the scattered

  limbs that had been sent flying from the pressure wave.

  “Leave them.” Al-a-Din clapped his hands together. “We can’t do anything for them.

  All we can do is make sure their killer is punished in some way.”

  The ancient bent down and lifted the wounded man from the floor. He plopped the

  killer in a rebuilt chair. He searched for more weapons to make sure the man made it

  to prison.

  He did not want the man to pull another gun and use that to secure his freedom so he

  could crawl away and try again.

  “How much longer do you think it will take the rescue workers, Hakim?,” asked the

  ancient. “I think that even the people you healed will want a second opinion.”

  “I have no idea.” Hakim straightened his cuffs. “I will see what I can do to hurry

  things along.”

  “Thank you, Hakim.” Al-a-Din smiled narrowly. “I will wait for your return.”

  The butler vanished from the room. A small chime sounded with his passing.

  “Who are you?” The bomber glared at the old man. “What kind of devil are you to try

  to minimize my accomplishment?”

  “They used to tell stories about me,” said Al-a-Din. “Surely you already know who

  I am. I have walked the Earth a long time.”

  “You can’t be that man.” The bomber placed both hands on the table top. “I refuse to

  believe it.”

  “Does that matter?” The Asian smiled. “I have walked most of the planet by now.

  When I tell you that killing because you wish to hurt the innocent is wrong, it is the

  truth. There will be no Heaven for you, much less much of an after life.”

  “I will have my glory.” The bomber tried to stand, but fell instead as two legs without

  feet hit the floor. “I will reach my promised place as a warrior of my people.”

  “They are here, Master.” Hakim appeared out of the air. “The police are coming this

  way.”

  “Please show this man the after life he has earned before we go, Hakim.” Al-a-Din

  stood. “He deserves to know a little of what awaits him if he continues.”

  The butler frowned. He pulled a book of metal and wood from inside his coat. He

  opened it by twisting the lock mechanism on the front. He read down the list until he

  reached a name that was highlighted. He rubbed that name with a finger.

  A cloud of smoke appeared. The center vanished so that a world of smoke and fire

  was revealed. Screams and the sounds of ripping and tearing drifted from the hole in

  the air.

  A roar from some giant throat called for more fire to be poured on those who were not

  suffering enough.

  “I think that’s enough, Hakim.” Al-a-Din nodded at his servant. “Do you understand

  what I am saying to you? Even if you throw your life away some other day, unless

  you change, you will suffer like no other. Now is the time to ask for forgiveness and

  do what you can to make things right.”

  “I don’t believe you.” The bomber held himself up right by the seat of his chair while

  sitting on the floor. “That’s just a trick.”

  “If you think so,” said Al-a-Din. “I assure you that you will experience more pain

  than you ever thought of after your life is over.”

  Al-a-Din waved the police over with one hand as they flowed into the rebuilt market.

  They surrounded the old man and his butler. Some pointed rifles at the pair.

  “This man bombed the marketplace.” He waved at the bomber. “We could do nothing

  for the ones he killed outright. If I had been quicker, he never would have been able

  to do as much as he has done.”

  “Why should we believe you?” The lead policeman didn’t stop pointing his rifle at

  the strange pair.

  “Because we were down the street when this happened, and we helped most of the

  people outside on the street.” Al-a-Din shook his head. “And we are unarmed, and

  prepared to make a statement about what we saw.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Abdul.” A second policeman shook his head. “That’s the Old

  Man. Thank you for your assistance. You and your servant may leave.”

  Al-a-Din bowed. He walked ahead of Hakim, heading back to buy another cup of tea.