Worm Winds of Zanzibar (The Alex Trueman Chronicles Book 2)

by Martin Dukes

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” said Tanya, jumping down from the carriage. “Can we swim?”

  “I think Aunt Aaliyah would frown upon that,” said Kashifah with a smile. “But I’m sure we can take off our shoes and cool our feet in the shallows.”

  Aunt Aaliyah and an elderly friend of hers descended from their carriage and made their stately way down to the shore, attended by a couple of servants. They had hardly stepped down onto the turf before the girls had leapt out of their own carriages and were away, a dozen or so calling out gleefully to each other, hooting and giggling as they hurried to the water’s edge. The sun was high by now and the insects were chittering rhythmically in the trees. The scent of exotic blossoms was heavy in the air as Kelly and Tanya took off their slippers and stepped into the blissfully cool shallows.

  “That’s better,” said Kelly, pulling her skirts up to her knees. “I so wish I’d brought my cozzy.”

  “I think that’d really freak them out,” said Tanya with a grin, kicking up a big plume of spray.

  Kelly shrieked, casting up her hands and splashing Tanya back. Aunt Aaliyah’s faint complaints carried to them across the lawn, but spirits were too high to be calmed by such distant authority and within moments all the girls were laughing and splashing, running in and out of the waters until all were breathless, soaked and filled with careless jubilation. At length they cast themselves full-length on the soft yielding turf and took deep breaths, feeling the warm caress of the sun on their damp backs.

  “Oh hello!” said Aishah, one of Nusrat’s friends, giving her a bit of a nudge. “What have we here?”

  Two young men on horseback were approaching along the lake’s edge. As was proper they went first to Aunt Aaliyah to introduce themselves and utter the sort of ritual pleasantries expected of them in the circumstances. Aunt Aaliyah was in something of a flap, her young charges having abandoned all decorum since reaching the water’s edge.

  “Those are my second cousins, Rakesh and Jemail bin Afzal,” said Nusrat. “I recall their father owns land in these parts, now that I think about it.”

  “Rakesh is a dour fellow but Jemail, now he’s a fine young man,” said Aishah enthusiastically.

  “He’s a poor young man,” said Nusrat in a low voice to Kelly, “with a roaming eye for rich young ladies who might bring him a splendid dowry.”

  “Oh tush!” said Kashifah. “How your mouth pours slander. His character is beyond reproach. He grew up in my household, did he not? I have known him since I was a babe in arms. Here, Jemail,” she called, waving an arm. “Would you ignore your cousin?”

  “Greetings, cousin,” said the taller of the young men with a graceful bow, glancing around at Kashifah’s various companions until they were introduced to him. With Nusrat and Aishah he was already well acquainted.

  “Of course, Kelly and Tanya,” said Jemail looking thoroughly pleased. ”You and your friends are the talk of the city. Henry, I hear, has the makings of an excellent swordsman. Alex…” An expression of discomfort settled briefly in Jemail’s features.

  “Is said to have the ear of the Sultan,” supplied his brother helpfully.

  “Indeed,” agreed Jemail gratefully. “And the other of your number. Dill, is that his name? He studies the stars with the renowned Zoroaster, does he not? I have not had the opportunity to speak to them myself but I am afire to hear of your travels and adventures. It is said that the Sultan had a vision that foretold your arrival. Can this be so?”

  “You must have parasols fetched,” Kelly heard Aunt Aaliyah say to Nusrat. “How you offend against your complexions, disporting yourselves thus in the full glare of the sun. Do you wish to burn yourselves to a crisp?”

  Tanya and Kelly were certainly in peril of so doing and gratefully took parasols when these were offered to them by a servant. Aunt Aaliyah clucked like a mother hen as she gathered up her charges and directed them to the rugs and the awnings that various underlings were setting up on the higher slopes.

  The two young men showed no signs of being intimidated by their circumstances. Rakesh found himself detached by a number of small girls who wished him to help them fly their kite. Tanya went off to watch. Jemail walked at Kelly’s side and sat down with their party when they reached the neat arrangement of rugs and the plates of food that were being laid out. Almost everyone that Kelly had met was keen to find about the circumstances of her arrival in Zanzibar. Since very few people showed any sign of believing the truth, she had taken to providing them with an edited version of events, which involved her having come from a distant country on the far side of the world. This was hard enough for most of them to cope with, but Jemail proved to be more than usually persistent in his questioning. He was clearly an intelligent young man, with soft brown eyes and close-cropped, curling hair. He was tall and lithe but with none of the hard muscularity Kelly had noticed in many of the young court noblemen, nor the pride and the aggressive self-confidence that went with it. He had the long hands of a pianist but there was nothing effeminate about him – on the contrary, the frankness of his gaze indicated a very particular interest. The fact that Nusrat and Kashifah were temporarily distracted by fetching food for them gave him the opportunity to express this accordingly.

  “You are very beautiful,” he said simply, in the middle of her explanation of her adventures in the desert, “if you will pardon me for saying. I have not seen such pale skin before, and the quality of your hair when seen against it makes for a very fine contrast.”

  Kelly blushed and turned her face away, unsure how to respond to this comment but feeling pretty sure it ought to be regarded as an unwelcome development. Nevertheless, part of her, a part of which on the whole she disapproved of, warmed to this approach.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes widening. “I should not have said that. It was presumptuous of me. I hope you will forgive me.”

  “No worries,” said Kelly with a smile. “I guess I’m not used to it.”

  “How can that be so?” asked Jemail with a grin of his own. “Your country must be a wondrous fine place for beauty.”

  “Oh, stop it, Jemail,” said Nusrat appearing at his side with a tray of cakes. “You should hear yourself. He has a silver tongue but a purse filled with a baser metal, you’ll find, my dear. Otherwise he’d have been safely married off by now.”

  “Cousin, you wound me,” protested Jemail. “And I assure you I speak only as my senses prompt me.”

  “What were you doing here, anyway?” asked Kelly, moving things on.

  “I have lands hereabouts,” said Jemail. “My brother and I were visiting our estate manager on behalf of our father. There is good hunting in yonder woods. Do you hunt?”

  “Ladies do not hunt, cousin,” said Kashifah, sitting down next to Kelly and handing her an elegant glass beaker that contained some kind of fruit juice. “What can you be thinking of?”

  “But Kelly is from a far country,” answered Jemail smoothly. “And customs may be different there. It may be that young ladies are functional as well as ornamental,” he added with a grin and a wink at Kelly.

  “Well, I don’t know what you mean by that,” said Kashifah a little huffily.

  “I don’t hunt,” Kelly told him. “But I could if I wanted to. Not that I do.”

  “I could hunt if I wanted to,” said Nusrat. “But I doubt the animal kingdom would have much cause to tremble in the woods.”

  “So what do you do?” asked Jemail reaching for a cake. “If you don’t hunt, I mean. Where do your interests lie?”

  “Well…” It was hard to think of anything she could mention that wouldn’t completely baffle her audience. “I listen to music,” she said. “And I read.”

  “I favour the work of the Persian poets,” said Jemail. “Has rumour of their skill reached even your far corner of the world?”

  Kelly shook her head.

  “And he writes poetry himself,” added Kashifah. “You must read us some, cousin.”

  “You
flatter me, dear,” said Jemail looking modestly into his lap. “I would hardly describe my meagre scrawlings as poetry.”

  “And neither would I,” said Rakesh dryly, returning from his kite flying duties, having managed to pass the task on to Tanya. “Neither would any being with greater wit than a mule.”

  “Oh stop it, do,” hooted Kashifah. “You are so unfair to your brother. He writes with such style, such lucidity.”

  “Ha!” said Rakesh without further comment, setting to at a plate of fancies with single-minded concentration. He struck Kelly as unlikely to be a discerning critic of poetry. She noted with interest the wounded expression that had settled in Jemail’s features, an expression that faded with a bashful smile as Jemail realised she was looking at him.

  “I would like to learn more about your country,” he told her.

  “You shall,” she said.

  Chapter Seven

  Jemail was not the only one of their hosts to be keen to learn more about their country. Alex received a summons from the Grand Vizier to attend him in his audience chamber. This was couched in the form of an invitation, but there was no doubt that he had little choice but to attend. What made things worse was that he had had a harrowing day following the Sultan around as he inspected the naval warehouses around the dockyard. Having looked at a great many oars, masts and cordage, and being asked his opinion of them, all he wanted was a quiet evening with his friends. There were occasions when he looked back nostalgically upon his time in Intersticia.

  “Message from the GV,” said Will, without looking up from the game of cards he was playing with Henry as Alex walked in. “On the table by the door.”

  Alex picked it up and groaned.

  “What’s that then?” asked Henry, considering his hand. “The GV having a little soirée, is he?”

  “Where’s Kelly and Tanya, anyway?” asked Alex, flapping the note distractedly and glancing around.

  “Out with their girly pals,” said Will, throwing in his own hand whilst Henry scooped coins across the table. “I don’t know why I bother with this.”

  Alex’s interview with Hussain proved to be a one-to-one affair, although it was highly likely that unseen ears were listening from behind the pierced metal screen on one side of the audience chamber. There was an impressive throne on a low dais at one end of the chamber, but there was a long polished table too, and Hussain sat on one side of this, inviting Alex to sit opposite him. There was an ornate silver flask on the table from which Hussain poured himself a goblet of wine. He offered Alex one, too. Alex declined.

  “Are you sure?” said the Grand Vizier with a laugh, which was perhaps intended to put Alex at his ease. “It’s not poisoned, you know.”

  Alex was not at all put at ease, knowing something of his host’s reputation for deviousness and callous wrongdoing. Poisoning was very much within his repertoire.

  “I’ve been looking forward to having a proper talk to you, Alex,” he explained. “All aspects of the Sultanate’s governance are my concern, you see, and I am curious to know more about visitors of such particular importance to His Highness.” He paused, casting his eyes upwards, his hands working in the air as he affected to pluck the right form of words from a mire of potential indiscretion. “I shall speak frankly,” he continued after a moment.

  “His Highness is a young man and prone to enthusiasms, infatuations shall we say. Who is to say which person or persons will occupy the forefront of his mind this time next year, next month perhaps? At present you are armoured by the glow of his interest and his approval. There may come a time, however, when you need an advocate at court, someone who can speak on your behalf. Do I make my meaning clear?” asked the Grand Vizier with a grim, tight-lipped smile.

  Alex squirmed somewhat uneasily in his chair, getting a shrewd idea of who he might need to keep on the right side of in order that his future interests should be provided for. He nodded.

  “Good,” said the Vizier, leaning back in his own chair and steepling his fingers over his very considerable paunch. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now, tell me all about yourself, Alex, you and all your little friends. I am a creature of insatiable curiosity, you see. I find that my thirst for knowledge can never be slaked. The more I know, the easier I sleep in my bed. I have heard it said that you came hither from a far, far country, so distant that few, or perhaps none, have ever heard of it. There are those also who claim that you come not from a distant country but from a different world altogether and from a different time indeed. Such claims stretch credulity, do they not, but I am an open-minded man, and, as I have said, very eager to learn.”

  He took a sip of his wine and gestured with a hand heavy with jewel-encrusted rings.

  “Begin. Tell me all, Alex, because a clear conscience walks hand in hand with a frank disclosure.”

  Alex didn’t like the sound of this last statement because it made it seem that he was under some kind of official interrogation. Nevertheless, it was quite clear that telling Hussain lies was not a sound policy, nor even withholding the truth. Nor, in all honesty, was there anything to lie about. Alex recounted the whole of his story, from his adventures in Intersticia to his liberation by the Sultan. The only part he chose not to disclose was the part about the Brothers and their sacred quest to part him from his skull. And indeed his dream visitation from Malcolm was hardly open to investigation by the Grand Vizier’s secret police. The story was a good two hours in the telling, and at the end of it Hussain regarded him steadily for a while, without speaking. The tale might have been a shorter one but Hussain had asked a great many searching questions to learn more detail or to ask for Alex’s own views.

  “That is the most remarkable story I have ever heard,” said the Grand Vizier soberly, at length, drumming his fingers on the table top. “And I have heard a great many remarkable tales in my time. It stems either from an imagination of the most fertile and inventive kind…”

  “Or it’s the actual truth,” supplied Alex, regarding him steadily.

  “Indeed.” The Grand Vizier bowed his head. “I have never heard a lie of such complexity, and the details marry up impressively with those in the stories told by your companions.”

  “What? Do you mean you’ve had my friends in for questioning, too?” asked Alex, trying to mask his indignation.

  “Alex, Alex, Alex,” said Hussain soothingly. “You are too impetuous and I think you misjudge my motivation. I only mean that your friends have answered many questions from many listeners and that those answers have come to my ears, too.” He tugged at his earlobe, from which heavy earrings dangled. “I have remarkably good hearing, you see, and eyes in many places, too.”

  He laughed, an unpleasant laugh.

  “You may wish to remember that, Alex. Hmmm. I shall give consideration to your story. I shall do what I can to protect you, so long as we remain friends. And I hope we can be friends, you and I.” He smiled, a smile of the deepest insincerity, and his cold little eyes narrowed like a cobra’s. “Well, I have detained you too long,” he said. “You must think me an inconsiderate host. I shall wish you good night.”

  Alex tried hard not to break into a run as he made his way back to his quarters. The middle of his back was cold and sticky with sweat. His meeting with the Grand Vizier had left him with a sensation of acute anxiety, anxiety that could only be assuaged by pouring out a full account to his companions. But first there were precautions to be taken.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Henry when Alex strode into their room. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “Bit of night chill, that’s all,” said Alex, pressing his fingers to his lips and grimacing in a way that he hoped would indicate that something was up.

  “Huh?”

  “What’s goin’ on?” muttered Will, who had already retired to bed.

  Henry had been playing solitaire by the meagre light of a single lamp. His face showed the slow dawning of the understanding that something was amiss.

&nbs
p; “It’s very dark in here,” said Alex thinking furiously. “And I lost my comb. Help me find it, would you? We’ll need more lamps.”

  “Are you insane?” grumbled Will. “We can find your comb tomorrow.”

  “I want it now!” said Alex through gritted teeth. “Get yourself out of bed, get some lamps lit and help me find it.”

  There was something in the tone of Alex’s voice that brooked no opposition. Zulfiqar was summoned, Tanya and Kelly fetched out of their beds, too, standing about dazed and confused as Alex, lamp in hand, held it up to the walls of their apartments.

  “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” demanded Kelly.

  “He’s lost his comb,” said Henry with a massive wink that occupied the muscles in half of his head. “You know what he’s like when he’s lost his comb.”

  Will stretched his arms wide in a wordless gesture of bafflement and enquiry.

  It didn’t take Alex long to find what he had been looking for, a grille high up on the wall above a tall wardrobe. He indicated it to the others, mouthing the word “bugged” as he pulled a chair up next to the wardrobe.

  “There’s a shocking draught in here,” he said out loud. “Does anyone else feel that draught? Let me see. Oh, yes. It’s coming from up there.”

  The grille came out of the wall easily enough, revealing a hole as wide as a house brick communicating with a dark void beyond. It was impossible to tell if anyone had been listening from here, but there could be no doubt that there could have been. They could be listening still.

  “Pass me a couple of pairs of socks, would you please, Zulfiqar,” Alex said. “We’ll soon have that draught sealed up. And is that my comb I see over there?”