by H M Sealey
“You’re speaking English.”
“In the line of my work, to allow me to communicate with the kafir.”
The other uniformed men gather around me, like foxes around a hen. The men in the café watch events with interest, nudging one-another and muttering comments I don’t understand but which leave me in no doubt of their meaning. The man in charge stretches out his hand and a long, thin cane is placed into his fist.
I try to run. I suppose it was stupid of me really but suddenly I’m terrified. Suddenly all those rumours of the treatment of women in the BSI sound loudly in my ears, the ones we were told to dismiss as mere cultural differences while the feminists told us to focus on the evil men who accidentally called us darling.
One of the men catches me and pushes me down onto my knees, the concrete floor hurts but I remain in position. I’m shaking as the big man, the one in charge, swishes the cane so that it makes a whistling sound; he touches my head with his hand.
“Try to stay still.” He tells me. “It’ll be done quicker that way.”
~
Josh
Geoff Tarporley is sitting behind his desk when I’m brought in, my hair freshly shaved and my stomach sick with the sort of despair that convicted criminals must have felt in the old days, before they faced the hangman’s noose.
The noose, I think, was more merciful.
“Skye!” He seems pleased to see me and motions me to sit on one of the big, squashy chairs in his office.
“Well, this is quite a turn up for the books isn’t it? I thought we’d lost you.”
I don’t answer that. I don’t want to talk to this man.
“What are you going to do with River?” I ask. That’s the only conversation I want right now.
Geoff pours himself a little water and settles back with his notes.
“Let’s see, this is the second time you’ve run away, isn’t it?”
“I was given permission to go this time.”
“Were you, by whom?”
“Director Summerday.”
“Director Summerday let you leave?” He finds that funny, “It seems you really are delusional.”
“Director Summerday wanted me to help River escape in the hope of tracking down a group called Family Matters.” My voice sounds as if I’m already dead.
“Did she indeed? I don’t think you proved very helpful to her, did you?”
“I chose sides. It wasn’t hers.”
“You sided with terrorists Skye. That’s clear evidence of warped thinking.”
I look up from my feet and meet those pale, sky-blue eyes. The sunlight filters in through the white blinds and washes his skin until he looks ghost white, like he’s not real. I wish the sun would cause him to fade away completely, like a stain.
“I see it the other way round. I see that you and Director Summerday have the most warped thinking of all.”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter what paranoid conspiracies you use to justify your behaviour. You were part of an attack on Diana Lamont. That’s a criminal charge Skye, not to mention illegally crossing the Border.”
“Anything I’ve done wrong pales in comparison to her crimes.”
Geoff tuts under his breath. “Oh dear Skye, is there really no hope for you?”
I harden my gaze. “What are you going to do to River?” I ask again.
“I’m not sure yet. Poor girl needs to be encouraged to join in more fully with life here for a start. That was her problem Skye. You were much better once you’d been encouraged to partake in a few classes, weren’t you?”
I stare at him in disgust. “I was tortured and humiliated into toeing the line.”
He laughs at this in that merry way of his. “I hardly think so Skye. No, the big problem with River Lamont is her lack of interest in sex.”
I can barely believe he said such a thing. “River is passionate about true justice.”
“There it is, passionate. Young, healthy people need physical passion, not some existential crisis. It’s like tiring an animal out so it doesn’t have energy to bite you. River needs an extensive course in sexual techniques so she can focus her energies properly.”
I look into that face, the face of a sick man. “You disgust me.” I tell him.
“Tut Skye. I’m a qualified psychiatrist making a professional diagnosis.”
“No, you’re a revolting old pervert. River won’t submit to your nasty games like I did. She’s braver than me.”
“Well, I’m sure we can convince her. And as for you? Well, you need something similar really.”
That’s a threat and I hate him for it.
“I’ll die before I let you humiliate me like that again.”
“Don’t be so over-dramatic Skye. My purpose is to help you overcome warped thinking. I’m offering you techniques that will help you, if you stop fighting long enough to realise that. Try to see that you’re ill and I know what’s best for you.”
He smiles as though I’m some poor, injured animal hitting out at my rescuer. “Now. Director Summerday wishes to talk to you before we have you visibly marked, so that people know to be wary of your ideas. Try to be polite to the lady, there’s a good boy.”
I have absolutely no intention of being polite to Director Summerday, or any of the people who work here. Since no amount of good behaviour will earn me my freedom, I might just as well be as awkward as I can be until they decide to medicate me into submission.
~
Baraq
Mahmud El-Fadil had just poured his morning coffee. He was late starting work thanks to his unexpected trip to the Border, and now he was now so far behind on his reports he would likely be working until late. His mood was not good and became worse at the sound of the sobbing girl in the corner.
He glanced at Elsie.
“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse girl.” He said in English. She didn’t look up. There was no blood showing through her clothing, which meant the cane had done little more than bruise her. She still sobbed though.
Mahmud sighed and approached the wooden bench.
“Do you want coffee?”
Elsie gave a long sniff and blinked away the tears.
“W-what?”
“Coffee? Would you like some?”
Elsie shook her head. “I just want to go home.”
“Hmmm. Wandering about alone and without a hijab. Girl, that’s about the worst thing you could have done, short of hold a bible above your head and preach Christianity.”
Elsie winced. “I wouldn’t do that.”
There was a knock on the door and Mahmud opened it. He did not look pleased to see his visitor. His eyes widened and he peered into the corridor to ascertain who else might be in proximity.
“Baraq,” He hissed, slamming the door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, coming here? Are you utterly stupid?”
Baraq advanced into the office and glanced at Elsie.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t think what else to do.”
Mahmud turned the key and checked that the door was locked twice.
“I would have found a way to bring her to you. We mustn’t meet. You know that.”
Baraq’s concern was for Elsie. “Did you find her in time?”
“Just barely.”
Baraq knelt down beside Elsie and called her name.
“Elsie? Are you all right?”
She turned her head to stare at him, still crying.
“Baraq?”
“I’m here.”
“It was awful.” She whispered. “The men at the café, they thought….I don’t know what they thought. Then I was hit, just for not wearing a scarf. What kind of Hell is this?”
Baraq gazed at the girl with open kindness.
“I tried to warn you Elsie. There’s a different set of rules in operation here. Women are covered and protected, which makes men assume a certain level of promiscuousness from a girl alone. You can’t judge all people by the standards you’ve been raised to b
elieve are right.”
“Why was it right to beat me?” She winced at the memory of the pain.
“Because that’s the law.”
“It’s a stupid law.” Baraq’s face broke into a sad smile.
“Almost as stupid as the law that prosecutes people for making sexist jokes?”
Elsie gazed around, she noticed Mahmud watching her and she cringed away. Baraq turned to him.
“Thank you for finding her before it was any worse.” He said.
“You took a massive risk with both our lives calling me.”
“I know, but I was desperate. Elsie had no idea how much danger she was walking into, not just from men, but from the law too. I thought it better your Mutaween find her than anyone else.”
Mahmud kept his voice as low as possible.
“You realise I had no choice but to lash her? My men would have been suspicious if I hadn’t.”
“I know. It was still better than the alternative. If she’d been raped she would have been prosecuted for sex outside marriage and that carries a higher penalty.”
Mahmud nodded. “Go Baraq, we can’t ever let our names be connected. The Mutaween are not all stupid.”
Baraq produced a niqab from his bag and handed it to Elsie. This time she did not complain as he helped her put it over her face. She didn’t ever want to see men look at her as those men had done outside the café.
Baraq glanced back at Mahmud. “I wanted to thank you for what you did for Daichi.”
“I didn’t do anything for anyone. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course. And thank you for not lashing Asim.”
Mahmud checked the door again before answering in a whisper.
“I kept him with me all the time. I’m sorry he had to be arrested at all.”
“But it was necessary. The other Mutaween were too suspicious of my family. Like you said, they’re not stupid.”
“So you turned your own niece in for reading haraam material?”
“I knew Asim would take the punishment for Alaia, and I trusted you to protect Asim.”
“I might not have been able to prevent him being punished. You take chances with your family sometimes Baraq.”
“We both take chances my friend. It was better to be discovered with forbidden books than to be hiding a fugitive. It was a distraction,”
“And so once again you turn informer.”
“An informer is unlikely to rouse any suspicions.” Baraq helped Elsie to her feet. “But thank you.”
“Can you get her over the Border?”
“I mean to try.”
“My records state she was punished.” He paused. “They also point out that she’s a slave.”
“She’s Tariq ibn-Jack’s daughter. I have her papers.”
Mahmud accepted that. “Better, but she can’t just disappear. Certainly not with you. Too many people disappear in connection with you.”
Baraq glanced down at Elsie.
“Can you record that she is my slave?”
“Not if she’s Tariq ibn-Jack’s daughter.”
“Tariq ibn-Jack won’t recover. Record her as my slave.”
“You want me to do that? What will happen when your slave suddenly is no longer here?”
“I’ll say I took her to the Border. Plenty of people sell their slaves there. It won’t be regarded as strange if I return without her. As a slave she’s only considered property anyway.”
Mahmud nodded, pulled out his chair and began to make a note on his records. His coffee went untouched beside him which was annoying.
“You won’t be popular. Men who still keep slaves are despised by the Reformists.”
“I’m already despised by the Reformists for being an informer for you, just as you’re despised for meting out punishments. It’s best this way, it means nobody would ever connect either of us to Family Matters.”
Mahmud finished writing and looked up at his old friend.
“Very well. She is officially your property now. Keep her off the streets”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a big hand and deflated in his chair.
“Will it ever end do you think?”
“Will what ever end?”
“Man’s inhumanity to man. I want to live under Shariah law, but that is my choice. I choose to follow Allah’s laws in my heart.” He patted his chest. “I do not want to be a tyrant, forcing the law on those who are not willing.”
“I know.” Baraq squeezed Elsie’s shoulder and smiled. “Family Matters my friend, it’s why we do this, because when all the land is broken around us, the family is the last bastion of God’s hope and love for creation.”
Mahmud stood up and took Baraq’s hand in his own. Had Elsie been less confined within her own misery, she would have seen the obvious warmth and respect between these two men, she was unlikely to forgive the man who had beaten her though, in her mind there was no justification for such behaviour.
“Don’t come back again Baraq.”
“I won’t.”
“I wish I believed that.”
Mahmud’s phone buzzed on his desk, surprising them all. He glanced at the number before answering, and the way his eyes narrowed beneath his heavy brows was concerning. Baraq remained where he was, silent as a mouse.
“What is it?” Mahmud asked the caller without any sort of introduction.
The voice on the other end was sharp and English. Baraq could hear the words perfectly.
“Did you think that was funny, letting your savages hold me for five fucking hours!”
Mahmud slid back into his seat.
“I am not in charge of the Border.” He said, but the voice on the other end didn’t care.
“But you are in charge of law and order or whatever the hell you call it.” The man on the phone was agitated. “A man called Tariq ibn-Jack bought the girl I need. I want you to get her back.”
Mahmud tensed. “I have nothing to do with the sale of any slaves, you know that.”
“Oh don’t give me that steaming pile of horse manure! You know everything that goes on. Now you listen to me. You track that girl down for me or I intend to make your lenience towards apostates very well known! I daren’t get back over the border again so you damn well send someone with the girl and meet me in the Border. Twelve O clock. Zeb Jourdete’s house. That’s Jourdete Hall, Coventry.”
The call was disconnected with an angry click. Mahmud stared at the handset for some seconds before raising his eyes to meet Baraq’s stern gaze.
“Christopher Summerday.” Mahmud admitted. “He has more information about me than I’d like.”
“Does he know about Family Matters?” There was a look of alarm in Baraq’s dark gaze.
Mahmud shook his head. “I only slipped up the once.”
Baraq folded his arms and leaned against the desk.
“And he’s willing to expose you?”
Mahmud nodded.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I lose my job. I end up executed.”
“I don’t like it. That’s the man investigating Family Matters. Are you sure he has no idea about you.”
Mahmud glanced at Elsie. “He only wants the girl.”
“Who now knows far more about Family Matters than she ever did before.”
Both men kept their voices low and spoke in Arabic, Elsie had no idea why they were staring at her so intently. She had heard Kit Summerday’s voice on the phone but knew no more than that.
“How much would she tell him?” Mahmud asked nobody in particular but his tone was agitated.
“Everything I should imagine. The girl’s about as tough as cotton wool.”
“You realise that if she tells him about us, he’ll be able to damage Family Matters irrevocably. The whole network on this side.”
“He’s not interested in this side, and he doesn’t have the authority to come poking around here – as you just made sure.”
; “He can still report me. He can launch an investigation on this side. He’s vindictive enough. All those Christian families who settled here, the ones who help us move people through the country? Homosexuals, apostates, women escaping forced marriage, runaway slaves? If our people find out what we’ve been doing Baraq it’ll end up like it was on the continent, whole villages burned.”
“The Reformists wouldn’t let that happen.”
“You think? Open your eyes Baraq, the Traditionalists have been gaining a lot of ground recently. There’s been more talk of an invasion of Old Britain than there has been for ten years, and far less tolerance for apostasy.”
Mahmud looked at Elsie again, this time his eyes were sorrowful. “I hate to say it Baraq, but there’s only one real way to stop Christopher Summerday taking every last ounce of information concerning our activities.”
Baraq, his heart heavy with fresh sorrow, agreed. Grateful that Elsie had no idea what Mahmud had just suggested.
~
~ Twenty-five ~
Missy
Missy paced the floor. Baraq and Elsie had been gone a long time and she was becoming concerned.
“He’ll come back soon.” Asim assured her. “Sometimes he stays away for a time, if he judges something unsafe. He has to be careful.”
“I know.” Missy gazed out of the window into the street beyond.
“Don’t stand where you can be seen.” Asim suggested. “If the neighbours see an unfamiliar face they talk.”
Missy flopped down on the sofa and wrapped her legs in her arms.
“What would they talk about?”
Asim sat beside her. “Probably nothing, but the Mutaween scare people, everyone seems suspicious of everyone else.”
“I need to get to the Border and find Dai. Anything could be happening to him.”
“Mahmud El-Fadil promised he would do his best to help.”
Missy jumped up. “But I have to go and find out. I can’t just sit here staring at the wall.” She picked up the niqab from the chair. “Couldn’t I just go on my own? Would it be that bad?”
“It would be worse than you think.”
Alaia joined them, looking so different Missy didn’t recognise her. Without her hijab her short hair made her look like a boy, a pretty boy, but still male. Her clothing was long and loose like her father’s; she looked like Asim.
