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Zayd had finally accepted that Amir Fahad ibn Rashid was not just an ordinary rival but a cunning and dangerous enemy. Fahad played dirty, bribing officials and trying to choke Zayd's business at every turn. But Zayd, calm and sharp, began planning his own counter moves—no longer the boy learning the trade, but a rising merchant ready to defend his name and empire.
The morning air in Baghdad carried a strange excitement. Zayd was at the carriage shop, going over new designs with Qadir, when a tall man in a deep green robe entered. He carried himself with the formality of someone who dealt with power every day.
He bowed lightly. "Zayd ibn Suleiman?"
"Yes," Zayd replied, closing the parchment in his hand.
"I bring you an official invitation from the Merchant Council of Baghdad." The man produced a sealed letter, bearing the Council's stamp in red wax.
Qadir, who had been munching on almonds nearby, nearly choked. "The Merchant Council? The real one? The same one where all the great families sit?"
The messenger only nodded, as though it were nothing special. But Zayd knew better. This was a turning point.
He took the letter, carefully breaking the seal. The writing inside was simple but heavy with meaning:
"To Zayd ibn Suleiman, merchant of Baghdad. Your growing name and influence has not gone unnoticed. You are hereby invited to attend the next sitting of the Council, where matters of trade, tariffs, and rights of merchants will be discussed. Your presence is required in three days' time."
Zayd folded the parchment, his mind already running ahead. "So, they've finally noticed me."
Qadir grinned. "Noticed? They practically admitted you've become one of them! Do you know what this means, cousin? Your word will be heard among the richest men of this city."
But Zayd wasn't smiling. His thoughts went straight to Amir Fahad ibn Rashid. If the Council had invited him, it meant Fahad was likely already inside. A battlefield—only without swords, but just as dangerous.
At that moment, Aftab walked in. He had been away for weeks, handling deliveries to the villages and supervising the workshop expansion. His face lit up when he saw Zayd. "Finally, I hear of your triumphs from every corner of Baghdad! And now I find you here, being summoned by the Merchant Council itself?"
Zayd handed him the letter. Aftab read it slowly, his eyes widening. "This… this is no small thing, cousin. These men decide which trade routes are taxed, who gets privileges at the city gates, even which merchant guilds survive. To sit among them is to be seen as an equal."
Qadir leaned back on a stool. "But it's also a nest of snakes. Fahad will be there, waiting. And you know he won't be welcoming you with open arms."
Zayd finally smiled—cold, sharp. "All the better. Let him see I'm not just a boy with a shop. If he wants to play politics, then let the Council be the arena."
He turned to Aftab. "We'll need to prepare. I don't plan to walk in there alone and unready."
Aftab nodded. "I'll gather reports—who sits on the Council, where their loyalties lie, who can be swayed, and who cannot. Knowledge is power in such a chamber."
Zayd clasped his cousin's shoulder. "Good. Let's use the days ahead wisely."
As the sun dipped lower, casting golden light over the workshop, the three cousins sat together—Zayd, Qadir, and Aftab. For the first time, they weren't just discussing shops or sales. They were planning how to step into the arena of the city's greatest merchants.
Zayd knew it: this was the beginning of a new battlefield.
End of Chapter 53