About the book
In the desert kingdom of Ameerat, the al-Farouk family lives in luxury in a beautiful palace. But their great wealth comes at a terrible price - The Curse of Zohreh, laid on the family 100 years earlier by another merchant who was cheated of her riches, and manifesting itself in a horrible death by fire that strikes certain members of the family. Khaled al-Farouk, the eldest son of the family, is desperate to make amends for the wrong done by his ancestor, but Zohreh's descendants are nowhere to be found.
Or so they think. For far away in Parsari, Soheila, one of the younger members of Zohreh's clan, has vowed to revenge her ancestor. She leaves her home early one morning, dressed as a boy, and makes the long journey across land and sea to Ameerat, where she manages to inflitrate the al-Farouk household to await her moment of retribution.
And so begins an amazing, exciting, moving, scary, and humorous adventure that will take Khaled and Soheila right into the heart of the Arabian Nights, into the strange world of the jinns as well as dangerous human intrigues, to great danger, suspense, and a stunning climax.
Contents
Cover
About the book
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Map
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Epilogue
Glossary
Acknowledgements
About the author
Also by Sophie Masson
Extract from Snow, Fire, Sword
Copyright
More at Random House Australia
For Eva, with many thanks
Every Night and every Morn,
Some to Misery are born.
Every Morn and every Night,
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are Born to sweet delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.
From Auguries of Innocence by William Blake (1803)
Prologue
Zohreh the Akamenian was far from being an ordinary old lady. Everyone was agreed on that. She was small and light-boned as a bird, and had bright blue eyes whose sharpness belied her age. The matriarch of the Melkior clan had fought all her long life for the good of her family. Despite the early death of her beloved husband, Darius, with hard work and talent she had made the Melkior clan one of the richest and most respected merchant families in all of Parsari. She kept a hawk-eye on accounts, on inventories, on the quality of the goods. And she only bought the best: the finest cottons from Alhind, the most beautiful brocaded silks from Radentengan, the sheerest gauzes from the furthest corners of the Rummiyan Empire, the loveliest gilded batiks from Jayangan. She had customers amongst the rich and powerful all over Dawtarn el ’Jisal, and beyond, and was received with respect in many palaces and mansions.
So no-one in her family even dreamt of trying to stop her when she announced her decision to sail on the next trade trip to Jumana, chief port city of the Al Aksara principality of Ameerat. She had, she said sternly, discovered troubling irregularities in the trade with Ameerat which needed to be sorted out personally. She would be back, God willing, in a few weeks. No, she did not need her son or daughter-in-law to accompany her – they needed to look after the business at home. She did not even want to take bodyguards, because she wanted no fuss, but in the end was persuaded to take one of the family’s most loyal and fierce retainers, Orman the Cimmerian.
She also took the family’s most prized possession, the Talisman of the Star – a tiny wooden box containing a thin strip of linen which had once been a band from a little prince’s swaddling-cloth. It had been brought back hundreds of years ago by their high-priestly ancestor, Melkior, the Magvanda of the Stars, from a country far to the east. The Talisman of the Star had always helped to protect the family, and now it, and Orman’s sword, would protect Zohreh on this dangerous journey.
Zohreh cut off her hair and disguised herself as a man. In Jumana she would pose as a corrupt employee, Amin. That way, she would find out what was happening quicker – and it would be less dangerous than coming as herself.
As soon as the ship docked in Jumana, Zohreh began her investigation, Orman at her side. She discovered almost at once that her suspicions were justified. The Melkior clan was being defrauded by the Ameerat end of the business. Abbas and Salman, two of the workers employed in the family’s office in Jumana, were diverting bales of cloth. They were doing it just one bale at a time, every so often, and not the most valuable stuff, so as not to attract undue attention.
This they learnt as Orman stood over the men, sword at their throats. And they learnt even more from the panic-stricken cheats: that this was no minor fraud, no isolated occurrence, but part of a massive pattern of theft and extortion on the docks of Jumana. Abbas and Salman had been told that if they did not steal the bales, not only would they be killed, but their families as well; they were then given a small amount of money to sweeten the deal. And they were not the only ones, the two men cried, tongues loosened by fear and perhaps, too, by the relief of finally getting it off their chests. Orman and Amin should go and ask all the other shipping agents, they said. They’d soon see they were telling the truth. But when the supposed Amin asked them harshly who was behind it all, they refused to speak.
Zohreh was furious, and determined to expose the criminal behind this web of cheating and extortion. It was not only for her own clan, now; she was afraid this cheating would undermine and even destroy the rich trade between Parsari and Al Aksara. She would find out who it was, and then go and see the Prince of Ameerat and lay the results before him.
But one had to go carefully in the lands of Al Aksara. People here could be fiendishly proud, all too ready to be insulted. So Zohreh wove patient webs, listening, watching, keeping her nose close to the ground. What Abbas and Salman had claimed was true: there was an underlying pattern of small irregularities which put together amounted to a gigantic conspiracy to defraud the foreign merchants of Jumana.
Little by little, by dint of patient investigation and careful thinking, Zohreh came to an inescapable but frightening conclusion: the mastermind of this conspiracy was none other than the head of port security, the very rich, very arrogant nobleman Lord Kassim bin Saad al-Farouk. As well as being in charge of the port, Al-Farouk was a distant cousin of the Prince, and ran his own private army. He was not one to be taken on lightly, or accused frivolously, if you valued your life. But Zohreh was determined not to be beaten.
To protect herself, she sent a letter back to her family in Parsari, setting out what she had already learnt, and what she suspected. Then she took her courage in both hands, placed the Talisman of the Star carefully in the folds of her turban for protection, and set out with Orman to beard Kassim al-Farouk in his den.
The nobleman lived in a magnificent estate, far from the stink and noise of the port. His white mansion, surrounded by lovely walled gardens, covered a large acreage. Within its grounds he kept chained leopards, monkeys, peacocks, and a host of gorgeous
birds in filigreed aviaries. Roses from Masrikhan, lilies from Parsari and jasmine from Alhind filled the air with their glorious perfume. Room after room was filled with the most beautiful carpets, curtains made of billowing gauze, and decorations in real gold and silver, inlaid with precious stones. The sight of it all filled Zohreh with a deep anger. This man needed nothing, yet in his greed he wanted more. He must be stopped.
Kassim al-Farouk had agreed to see them because he knew well the name of Zohreh the Akamenian and he was curious to meet her agent, Amin. Tall, beginning to run to fat, with a hard face, a big black beard, and the yellow-brown, unblinking eyes of a bird of prey, Kassim al-Farouk was a ruthless and clever man in the prime of life. Surrounded by his retainers, his imposing bulk reflected in the tall carved mirror behind him, he greeted his visitors in a civil but distant fashion, as befitted his noble rank. He called for mint tea and sugared pastries and for a time he and Amin, with the silent Orman standing behind him, conversed in a genteel fashion about their respective countries.
Then Amin leant forward to the big nobleman and whispered, ‘Your highness, there is possibly something we need to talk of, privately – it is about what is happening at the port – there are opportunities – things I would like to tell you about.’
Kassim’s yellow eyes fastened on the old man’s blue ones. Kassim had a disconcerting stare, blank of emotion. Inwardly Zohreh shuddered a little, but soon mastered herself. After a short silence Kassim waved at his retainers, nonchalantly telling them to leave the room, and also at Orman, who after a look at Amin, also retired.
‘Now, old man,’ the nobleman said in a quiet, dangerous voice, ‘what is it you wanted to tell me?’
Amin swallowed, ducked his head, stammered, ‘My lord, I wish to say – to say that – I think – think we might come to an arrangement.’ Zohreh was not really afraid; she was acting the part of a man who could be corrupted. Nevertheless, she could not help a flutter in her chest. This was the most perilous moment of her life. Would the man fall into her trap?
Kassim’s eyes narrowed. ‘An arrangement, Amin?’
‘My lord, the old woman who runs the business – Zohreh of the Melkior clan – she is a hard woman, grasping. And a dirty infidel, too. I have long suffered at her hands.’
‘Yet you have not long worked for her.’ Kassim’s voice was flat.
‘You are well informed, my lord.’
‘It is my business to be so. Cut the nonsense. Tell me what you want to say.’
‘My lord, I know – I know there is to be a very valuable shipment sent to Jumana, very soon, from the old woman. The finest silks, and gold brocade – worth a prince’s ransom, sir. I thought perhaps that –’
‘Why have you come to me with this, old man?’ Kassim’s hand shot out, and he grasped Amin’s wrist in a grip of steel. ‘Why have you come here?’
‘Sir –’ Amin’s eyes fluttered rapidly, ‘– it is just that I – that I admire you so greatly, and that I believe you are – you are more deserving than my wicked, domineering, infidel mistress.’
‘Are you offering me her cargo?’ Kassim’s eyes did not flicker; his grasp on Amin’s wrist did not slacken. But his tongue darted out to lick at his thin lips. Amin nodded.
Kassim gave a grunt. ‘Her entire cargo? That would be too obvious.’
Zohreh’s heart leapt. He had fallen for it completely. Such is the nature of all-consuming greed.
‘Accidents can be arranged,’ Amin murmured. ‘Shipwrecks – acts of piracy – sadly, these do happen.’
For the first time, Kassim smiled. ‘You are an evil old man,’ he said. ‘Dear, dear, and to think that a grey-beard can think such thoughts! You interest me, Amin the Parsarian. What do you want out of this?’
‘Revenge and reward,’ said Amin.
Kassim looked deep into his eyes. He nodded. ‘Very well. You will come here again tomorrow and give me all the details of this cargo and when it is due to arrive. We will then make arrangements.’ He paused. ‘You will find me generous. But you will not find me stupid. You have betrayed your mistress, and everyone knows that a traitor cannot be trusted. So beware, Amin the Parsarian, if you even think of doublecrossing me.’
Zohreh was thrilled by the success of her mission. Tomorrow morning, she thought, she would go and seek an audience with the Prince and lay everything before him. He couldn’t fail to act.
What she had neglected to take into account was that Kassim had spies amongst the networks of little shops and offices that dealt with the trade of foreign merchants. And one of these, a man named Ali, had gone to visit his good friends Abbas and Salman, only to discover that they had been dismissed. Asking around, he found it had been a very sudden dismissal indeed. Knowing his master liked to be aware of everything that was happening around the port, he reported this titbit of information to Kassim.
Kassim listened to Ali with a set face and murder in his heart. He instantly put two and two together and knew that Amin was seeking to entrap him. The old man is a spy for Zohreh, he thought, and might well bring me down if he is able to get to the Prince with his information. There is no time to lose.
Zohreh was asleep when Kassim’s men burst into her tiny room. Though she was still wearing her man’s robe and a hooded cloak, she had taken off her turban, and with it, the Talisman of the Star, still nestled in its folds. She had no time and no opportunity to seize it, and though she fought like a lion against her attackers, as did her retainer Orman, it was hopeless. There were too many assailants, and they were all heavily armed. Orman soon lay dead on the floor, while Amin was dragged off to Kassim’s mansion and flung at the nobleman’s feet, before the tall carved mirror in the room where he had received them earlier that day.
‘So, old man,’ said Kassim, ‘you thought to trick me. Me, Kassim the Great! You thought to cheat and lie to me. Well, my friend, before you die you will tell me why. You will tell me why your mistress sent you to do this.’
Zohreh knew she was finished. She did not have the protection of the Talisman of the Star. She knew she would die, alone and in suffering, in this foreign land, at the hands of a wicked man.
Rising to her feet, she said proudly, ‘Know you are speaking not to Amin the Parsarian, but to Zohreh the Akamenian, descendant of the great Magvanda of the Stars, Melkior. Know, wicked Kassim, that your days are numbered, for already a letter is making its way across the gulf to Parsari and in it, everything is told. Know that the vengeance of the clan of Melkior will descend on you, and that you will be punished, no matter what you do to me, or what you have done to my faithful Orman.’
Kassim stood as if frozen. Then he strode forward and grabbed Zohreh. He pulled hard at the wispy beard – most of it came off in his hand, and he saw it had been glued on. He would have yanked at the robe, but Zohreh sprang back. ‘Do not touch me, Kassim. Do not touch me, or it will be the worse for you.’
Kassim regarded her with the eyes of a leopard watching his prey. A cruel smile curved his lips. ‘So, Zohreh the Akamenian. You think thus to trap me. You fool. Have you forgotten? You are not of our faith. You are an infidel in the sacred heartland of the Mujisals. It is considered a crime in our country to come here dressed as a man, when you are a weak woman. Worse yet, you have dressed as a devout Mujisal, as one who has been to make the pilgrimage to the great House of Light. And I am sure that I can find witnesses to agree that you have been heard talking to various men in the port district, seeking to convert them to your filthy fire-worshipping religion. Any judge can sentence you to immediate death for this offence. And so it shall be done, for I, Kassim al-Farouk, as head of port security, have legal authority conferred on me.’ He picked up his sword. ‘Your cargo will be confiscated, your crew banished, your ship seized. And no member of your family will ever be able to set foot in Ameerat again, on pain of death.’
‘You forget my letter, Kassim.’ She faced the nobleman bravely, coldly, as he advanced with sword in hand. ‘You forget that it will make its way t
o Parsari.’
‘Who will pay attention to your letter once the royal family of Parsari has been appraised of the fact that the Melkior clan are a tribe of traitors who cannot be trusted? I have fast ships and dedicated men, Zohreh; my message will get to Parsari much faster than yours.’
It was then Zohreh knew she had lost everything. In the winter of her years, she had foolishly brought ruin not only upon herself, but on her whole family. She called on all her courage, and her faith. She prayed passionately in her heart to her God, Lord Akamenia, Flame of the World, begging for forgiveness for her sins, and asking for him and all his angels to protect her family, now they had lost the Talisman of the Star. She asked his prophet, the Truthteller, to arm her soul for what she must do now.
Then she turned to face Kassim. In a cold, harsh voice that rose into a weird, high chant, she began to curse him in her own language. She cursed him and his family down through all the generations, calling for eternal fire to destroy him, for soul-fire to torment him, for his very name to be blackened and tainted throughout the whole of history. It would not end with Kassim, she shrieked. Death by fire would await each firstborn child, on his or her fifteenth birthday, till the family had paid in full for what Kassim was about to do.
Kassim did not understand all that Zohreh was saying but he knew enough Parsarian for a long, cold shiver to ripple down his back as the curses rolled over him. For a second he hesitated, almost deciding in his fear to spare her life. Then, he saw clearly the certain fate that would await him if he did not kill her and she told the Prince of Ameerat all she had learnt. With a ferocious yell, he swung the sword down and across, and decapitated Zohreh in mid-sentence. Her head flew across the room, her lips still seemingly uttering curses for a flicker of a second after her death; her body slumped to the ground, blood gushing out of her neck. The witch was dead. Dead! She would never trouble him again.
The Curse of Zohreh Page 1
