Servant To The Sheikh

by Holly Rayner

  The paper was starting to wear from the number of times she’d read it, so Sarah pulled out her phone and took a picture before replacing it, deciding not to take it out again until Ali was with her to do so. As the plane took off for the long flight ahead, Sarah leaned back in her seat and stared out into space.

  Soon enough she would be searching for that boy. Her eyes drifted lower and lower until she fell asleep, determined not to wake up until she was somewhere over Europe or beyond.

  Chapter Five

  “Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”

  The voice over the intercom startled Sarah out of her doze, and she craned her cramped neck and rolled her ankles to bring life back to both ends of her body. She hadn’t moved from that position for several hours, and her body was making her aware of that fact. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was the middle of the night back home, though the sun was shining brightly through her window.

  She gazed out at Al Jayah; the populated part of the country was miniscule compared to the land around it. Al Jayah was encased by several mountains, which protected it from foreign invasion, and she could see the river to the north. Her heart fluttered at the sight. Twenty years ago Ali had been sitting somewhere along those banks, writing the letter. She could possibly be looking down upon him even now!

  The plane made a bit of a bumpy landing as it slid into the airport in Rayah, and Sarah waited impatiently as it taxied to the terminal and each person made their way down the long aisle and out of the plane. When it was her turn, her legs ached and buckled a little as she regained her strength and exited into the tiny airport.

  There was a general hustle and bustle, but for a city it seemed rather small. With the exception of the people getting off her plane, there didn’t seem to be many actually using the airport. Sarah watched people from the corner of her eye as she made her way to the baggage claim and retrieved her suitcase before stepping out into hot, dry air.

  Sarah was used to heat. She was a Floridian. Still, this heat was far more intense, and the dryness seemed to soak all the moisture from her skin, leaving her lips dry and in desperate need of lip balm.

  “Miss, can I escort you somewhere?”

  Sarah turned to see a man in a wrinkled button-down shirt that had once been a clear shade of blue but had turned a bit gray with washing.

  “Um, yes,” she said, fumbling around in her purse until she pulled out a printed sheet of paper. “I’m looking for this hotel.”

  She handed the paper to the man, who looked at it for a moment before nodding.

  “Of course. My cab is right this way.”

  He walked away from her, taking long strides, and she realized that if she didn’t follow, she was going to lose sight of him. Grasping her bag, she pulled it behind her, the little wheels at the base tripping over stones and cracks in the sidewalk. They reached a small red car, and the driver opened the back door for her to get in.

  When he made no move to help her with her bag, she hefted it into the backseat before sitting next to it and closing the door. The car had no air-conditioning, and she felt a trickle of sweat wind its way down the side of her face, past her neck, and into her shirt. The driver closed his door and pulled away from the curb, heading toward the few towering skyscrapers that made up the little city.

  “First time to Al Jayah?” the man asked.

  Sarah nodded. “It is.”

  The man nodded and then said nothing else. Unsure of how to carry on the conversation, Sarah maintained her own silence, realizing that she knew nothing of the culture of the people of Al Jayah. Was she being rude? Was she supposed to give the driver a tip? Why was her head swimming?

  She realized then that she had succumbed to jet lag—something she had warned plenty of people about before sending them on their way but had never actually experienced herself. As unpleasant as it was, she felt exhilarated. She was actually living her life!

  Moments later the cab pulled up to a slightly aged hotel. The driver turned in his seat.

  “That will be fifteen fifty,” he said.

  Sarah counted out the change from some money she had exchanged at the airport and handed it to the man, who made no move to help her exit the vehicle. Not knowing why she’d expected that kind of service, Sarah opened the door and tugged her bag out with her, waving to the vehicle as the man drove away without another word.

  “Well that was interesting,” she said to no one in particular.

  A woman walking down the street gave her a curious glance but continued walking. Tired of the heat, Sarah made quick work of walking into the hotel, where she was met with a blast of cool air. Her hot skin prickled beneath the change in temperature, but that was at least something she was used to. In Florida the inside of everywhere was like the Arctic tundra while the outdoors was a steamy swamp.

  Walking up to the concierge, Sarah gave the woman her name and was promptly provided with a room key and instructions for how to access the pool on the second floor. Nodding, Sarah thanked the woman, who glanced back down at her computer and said nothing more.

  Sarah realized then that she had far more research to do about how to be polite in Al Jayah. Clearly she was doing something wrong for everyone to simply ignore her at the end of every conversation! When she reached her room, she looked out at the city, which reminded her of Florida’s smaller, lesser-known towns. It certainly had distinguishing characteristics, but she could have been in any metropolis in America and have had the same view.

  The city wasn’t what interested her, anyway. Pulling out her laptop, she set it on a wooden desk and grabbed an adapter before plugging it in. After connecting to the Wi-Fi, the first thing she did was pull up a map of Al Jayah and begin perusing the areas around the river. Fortunately, there weren’t many large bodies of water in Al Jayah, so she was able to determine with some level of certainty just where Ali had been when he’d written her letter.

  Well, not her letter. She had to stop thinking of it like that, or there would be no way she would leave the situation without feeling hurt or disappointed in some way. Ali could be married with several children. Even if that were the case, it wasn’t like she was searching for him for romantic reasons anyway, right? She was just being a good person, just wanted to let a man know his note had been found. She hoped anyone would do the same for her. Then the annoying little voice returned with its terrible and wonderful question.

  What if?

  What if he wasn’t married? What if he was handsome, and single, and looking for someone who held the same spark she had inside her?

  Sarah shook her head, smirking at her schoolgirl thoughts. While it was a romantic idea, the chances of such a thing happening were miniscule at best. Instead of making up some handsome hunk, she would be better served by thinking of him as the boy and going from there.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon looking up local historical societies and libraries, places where she might be able to find a public record that would contain information that could lead to Ali. Far from a detective, Sarah had only a basic idea of how to even find such information, and the sun set behind her window as she hunted down piece after piece of information, her eyelids drifting closer to her cheeks with each new website.

  Finally, hours later, she rested her head along her forearm, her computer glowing in the dark, as she fell fast asleep. All she had seen of Al Jayah was the airport, a cab, and a hotel.

  Chapter Six

  Sarah awoke when her arm, which had fallen asleep under the pressure of her head, began to tingle painfully. Wiping her lips and rubbing her eyes, Sarah realized that she’d slept through the night, her computer screen now dark from disuse. Glancing around at the room, she stood, ready to take on the day and see what she could find.

  She made quick work of showering and changing into clean clothes before heading to the lobby and eating a continental breakfast of boiled eggs and pastries. It wasn’t the best breakfast she had ever had, but it sated her grumbling stomach,
and that was something.

  Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she reminded herself to buy some lotion as a cab approached the curb, and she signaled for him to stop. When she stepped inside, she smiled.

  “Hello. My name is Sarah Chamberlain, and I am from America.”

  The driver grinned and turned back, offering her a gentle nod.

  “My name is Fariq, and I am from the province of Mimba, just south of this city. Welcome to my taxi. Where can I take you?”

  “The public records office, please,” Sarah said with a triumphant grin.

  She had done some proper digging to find the etiquette for dealing with strangers in Al Jayah, and she’d learned that not introducing herself and saying where she was from left the conversation flat, and few people would speak on without that information.

  The world is such a fascinating place, she mused.

  The driver continued on, dodging cars as he switched lanes with ease and not a little bit of recklessness.

  “So what brings you to Al Jayah, Sarah Chamberlain?” he asked.

  Sarah squashed down a smile at his use of her full name. Clearly there was even more to learn, though she had already made some good progress.

  “Actually, I’m looking for someone, a man of about thirty.”

  “Ah,” he said, his voice laced with understanding. “An arranged marriage? You’ll find the men of Al Jayah to be very upstanding gentlemen, very kind. We treat our women with great respect.”

  “Uh, not exactly,” Sarah said, fighting back a laugh.

  She might have been close to thirty, but she wasn’t ready to consider an arranged marriage yet!

  “It’s kind of a weird story.” Sarah was prepared to tell him more, but she was cut off when Fariq slammed on his brakes, narrowly missing a collision with the car ahead of him.

  Sarah opened her window and leaned out, trying to see what was causing the traffic jam. The cross street ahead of them was completely empty. There was no reason for traffic to be stopped.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” she asked.

  Fariq shook his head, clearly frustrated. “There is no reason for this at all. Hey, let’s go!” he yelled, pressing his horn and waving at the car ahead of him.

  The driver of the car made a gesture that, even to Sarah, didn’t look entirely friendly. She was about to say something when a long line of sleek black cars began to slowly drive by. Fariq’s shoulders relaxed at the sight.

  “Ah, there’s our reason. That’s the royal motorcade. The Sheikh of Al Jayah is sitting in one of those cars.”

  “The Sheikh?” Sarah whispered, leaning farther out the window to get a better look.

  The windows of the cars were all tinted black, but Sarah realized that the streets were filling up with people. A few women had lined up next to her window, and they were standing on their toes to try to catch a peek.

  “Do you think he’s in there, really? Oh, how I wish he’d step outside once in a while so we could really look at him!”

  “Do you really think he’s as handsome as they say? The man never steps outside of his palace, ever! It’s so difficult to have the Sheikh be so handsome and so mysterious. Perhaps we know him and we don’t even realize it!”

  One of the women laughed.

  “Please. You think even if we did, we’d stand a chance? You know how many princesses are gunning for a place by his side. The few pictures we have of him prove why. He’s such a hunk!”

  Sarah listened to this conversation with open curiosity as the cars, undisturbed by the growing crowd, proceeded to drive by. Once the motorcade passed, interest was rapidly lost, and the gossiping populace dispersed as quickly as it had appeared.

  “That’s one of the perks of this monarch,” Fariq said. “He’s not all pomp and circumstance. Has to take the royal convoy from time to time, but he doesn’t block traffic to do it for very long. Just goes about his business, minding his own.”

  “Is he popular?” Sarah asked as Fariq, now able to drive forward, put the car back into gear.

  He nodded. “I should say so. He’s done a lot of work to alleviate poverty, especially in the northern region where the economy has been particularly bad. I think he’s a good ruler, even if he is very young.”

  Sarah thought about that for a moment before her thoughts turned back to Ali. Ali was from the northern poor areas. Had the Sheikh’s work helped him get out of the circumstances he’d been in?

  The cab pulled up to the public records office, and Sarah thanked Fariq for the ride.

  “Don’t mention it. If you ever need to be driven anywhere, here is my card. You can call me at any time.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, placing her hand to her heart.

  That was another gesture of respect that she’d learned, and she was rewarded with a broad grin from Fariq as he waved and pulled back onto the road, leaving her to her own devices.

  Chapter Seven

  The hall of records was a stout building with a rounded dome rooftop and oblong doors that pointed at the top. It was cream colored, painted along the edges with colorful turquoise designs, and it was one of the most beautiful buildings Sarah had ever seen.

  When she stepped inside, she was met with a nice, cool interior. The whole main room was circular, and there was a round desk at the center where two historians stood, waiting to assist patrons. Sarah stepped over to the desk and greeted a young woman with deep onyx eyes and a beautiful white headscarf.

  “Hello. My name is Sarah, and I’m hoping you can help me find someone.”

  The woman gave her a gentle nod. “I am Payla, and I would be happy to help you. Who is it you are looking for?”

  Sarah hesitated. “Well, that’s when it gets tricky.”

  Payla’s eyes gleamed at the challenge. “I love it when things get tricky.”

  Sarah laughed. “Good, because my story is certainly unusual.”

  She pulled out her phone and showed Payla the picture of the letter, explaining how she had found it. Payla listened with rapt attention, and she read the note carefully many times over.

  “So you believe that Ali comes from the town of Ferat, here?” Payla asked, pulling out a map of Al Jayah and pointing to the little riverside town.

  “Yes. I think so. Are there any other towns along the river that it could be, from which the people could commute to work here?”

  Payla thought for a moment, considering.

  “I don’t think so. Not really, anyway. The way he writes in his letter, I believe the people he speaks of would travel by foot, which means this would be the best given its location. Let me see what we can find. You believe he was born about thirty years ago, and we have the town’s registry here. I just need to dig it out.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, placing her hand to her heart.

  Payla grinned. “You have piqued my curiosity, Sarah. Let us see if we can find your friend Ali.”

  With that, Payla headed toward a back room, disappearing from sight. Sarah was left to peruse the painted interior walls of the building, which were masterfully done. There were images of mountains and streams, of trees and families having picnics. Sarah realized she could spend days in that building just admiring the paintings along the walls. As she was staring at a particularly detailed tree, Payla returned with a large, heavy book. She placed it delicately on the table.

  “I think we may be in luck today,” Payla said, grinning from ear to ear. “Come take a look.”

  Sarah peeked at the ledger, working to read the cursive script. Her eyes scanned the page until she landed on the name she was looking for.

  “Ali Al-Jamil, born October 15th! And look here; it says that his father is deceased. This must be the one!”

  Payla nodded excitedly. “Yes. I think it is. Can you believe it? A message all the way from a river here in Al Jayah found its way to you, in Florida, twenty years later! It is a wonderful tale!”

  Sarah was smiling as she read his name over and over. There was a sentenc
e added in beneath his entry, and as Sarah read it, her smile faltered.

  “It says here that his mother died the same year the letter was written. It couldn’t have been much longer after that.”

  “Oh dear,” Payla said, looking down and reading the passage herself. “It would seem true. That poor little boy was left an orphan so soon after asking for a friend. How terribly sad.”

  Sarah felt as though the wind had been taken completely out of her sails. She read the passage under his name one more time, realizing that there was no information about what had happened to the boy after his mother’s death. She had hit another dead end.

  She felt a reassuring hand on her own and looked up into Payla’s warm dark eyes.

  “Take heart, Sarah. The people of Al Jayah are brave and tough. We are fighters, and we can defeat struggle as it comes our way. Whatever happened to Ali Al-Jamil, I am sure he is doing great things with his life now.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt. “You are most kind. I appreciate the quick work you were able to perform in finding this information. You’ve been beyond helpful.”

  “If you come across any other mysterious bottle messages, be sure to let us know. This was quite the treat.”

  Sarah laughed. “I’m glad. If something does come up, I will certainly be sure to return. Good day,” she said, giving a proper farewell as she made her exit.

  When she stepped back out onto the hot street, she found herself feeling more lost than ever. She had more information about Ali than she could have ever bargained for, but there was nothing to be done with it.

  Was there?

  A thought struck her then, and she realized she really had invested in a wild dream. The dream was still alive, though. While she had no reason to assume that Ali was still in Ferat, it was the next logical place to go searching for him. She reached into her purse and pulled out Fariq’s card and her phone, punching in the number and waiting for him to answer. When he did, she asked for his help, and he graciously agreed.