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

by Martin Dukes

  A search of Kelly and Tanya’s room revealed a similar grille, soon dealt with in the same manner. When this was done all five of them and Zulfiqar gathered in the boys’ room.

  “Well, Zulfiqar,” said Alex, still speaking in a low voice. “Do you think we’ve been bugged? Do you think someone has been spying on us?” he added when Zulfiqar regarded him blankly.

  The servant looked extremely frightened now, glancing from face to face, as though he expected any moment to be jumped on and slapped about. It was clear that he was weighing his words carefully.

  “I know not,” he said. “Although I see that it might be done.” He was trembling. “Is that all, masters? May I be dismissed now?”

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” Alex told him. “I just want to know who might want to spy on us.”

  “I think you know this already,” said Zulfiqar. “I can say no more, lest my tongue betray me.”

  “Duh! I think it already has,” said Henry, cutting off his escape route to the door. “Come on, name names.”

  “I think we all know who it was,” said Alex, although he may have overestimated Tanya’s understanding of the situation. “I just want to hear you say it.”

  “Very well. It is the Grand Vizier’s duty to know all things,” he said, glancing up at the sock-blocked grille. “But there are others who thirst for knowledge also.”

  “Go on. No one can hear you now,” said Kelly. “You’re quite safe.”

  Zulfiqar gulped, giving no indication of feeling at all safe.

  “And my mistress, Shaquira,” he said. “There are those who do her bidding, too.”

  “Great,” said Alex. “That’s all we need. Two sets of spies. And who do you serve, Zulfiqar?”

  “I serve His Highness,” said Zulfiqar adamantly. “And now I must bid you goodnight, if you will forgive my impertinence.”

  So saying, and with an expression of sullen intransigence, the servant backed out of the room.

  “What’s going on?” asked Tanya when he had gone. “Has someone been spying on us?”

  “That’s what it looks like,” Kelly told her.

  “Through that grille in our room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I undressed in front of that,” said Tanya ruefully.

  Kelly blushed, pressing both hands to her face. “You and me both,” she said. “OMG!”

  “Did we say anything we shouldn’t have said?” asked Will. “I mean, anything that might have got us into trouble.”

  “I’m trying to think,” said Alex, casting his mind back through the many conversations that had taken place there since their arrival.

  “We’re just going to have to be careful from now on,” said Henry. “There’re all sorts of politics going on here and we don’t want to get sucked into it.”

  “Easily said…” observed Kelly dryly.

  The difficulty of keeping out of the politics of Zanzibar was driven home the next day when a carved wooden casket was delivered, containing some fine silken garments. They were of the most beautiful workmanship, studded with gems and embroidered with twisted gold threads. The two young men who delivered them explained that they were a gift for Alex in recognition of his services to the nation and to His Highness. Henry and Will were examining them when Alex returned from his day’s duties with the Sultan.

  “Neat,” said Will, holding up a sky blue jacket with crimson cuffs and lapels. “Looks like about your size, too.”

  “Wow!” said Alex. “That must have set someone back a bit. Who’s it from?”

  “Someone called Latif bin Salim. What’s the matter?”

  Alex had turned suddenly pale. He sat down heavily on the edge of his bed.

  “That’s the name of one of the guys in this big legal case I’ve been hearing with the Sultan. There’s millions at stake for whoever the Sultan decides has a better legal right to this huge big estate up in the north of the island. There’s been a complicated wrangle over inheritance, see, and their lawyers have been going at it hammer and tongs for days. Boring as hell. I can hardly stay awake, but his nibs wants me to listen in and help him make his mind up next week when it’s decision time.”

  “Do you think it’s meant to be a bribe then?” asked Will.

  “’Course it’s meant to be a bribe, you idiot,” said Henry. “This place is rotten with corruption from top to bottom. The Captain of the city militia gets paid to support five hundred troops, so Tariq tells me. He’s got barely a hundred on strength and he pockets the difference. The Master of Infantry gets paid a big kickback for not snitching to the Grand Vizier or the Sultan.”

  “But what do I do?” asked Alex, glancing anxiously from face to face.

  Henry shrugged. “Search me.”

  “Do you think this Latif chappie’ll get in trouble if you tell the Sultan?”

  “I’d have thought so,” said Alex. “Where’s Zulfiqar?”

  Zulfiqar was summoned. He had seemed less than his usually cheerful self since last night’s unpleasantness, and Alex’s enquiries about bribery brought about a new decline in his spirits.

  “I cannot say, masters,” he said, studying his feet and looking shifty.

  Alex stepped forward and put his hand on Zulfiqar’s shoulder, using his other to tilt up the servant’s chin so that he could look him in the eye.

  “Look, Zulfiqar. You’ve got to trust us. We’re not going to drop you in any trouble. This place is very hard for us to understand. We will try to be friends to you but we need you to be friends to us, too. We need you to guide us through it.”

  Zulfiqar nodded, appearing to make a decision.

  “I will be frank with you then,” he said. “If His Highness hears of this matter, Latif will certainly lose his case and he will be lucky to keep his head. This was a very unwise thing to do,” he added, surveying the beautiful garments bleakly. “But then I believe Latif is one of the Grand Vizier’s creatures. He may feel that he is armoured by his protection.”

  “And what do you think?” asked Henry.

  “I do not know,” said Zulfiqar simply. “It is God’s to know.”

  “And what should I do? Should I send them back? Should I tell the Sultan?”

  “Your conscience will tell you, perhaps,” said the servant with a shrug.

  Alex took the view that honesty was the best policy. In the morning, when he was riding with the Sultan through the park behind the military academy, he broached the subject with his royal companion. By this time Alex was confident enough when perched on top of his horse to be able to conduct a sensible conversation at the same time. Nevertheless, the sudden explosion of rage from the Sultan caused him momentarily to lose concentration and control so that his horse bucked and capered until the Sultan’s sure hand on the rein brought matters to a conclusion. The Sultan’s face was a mask of fury, this observed with awestruck interest by the company of guards who rode a discreet distance behind them.

  “So!” he spat. “The dog presumes to attempt to corrupt my sworn companion, does he?! He will pay for this. I shall have his lousy hide torn with a thousand knives. I shall spill his bowels in his lap and strangle the breath from him with them, so I shall, as God is my witness! Is this how he thinks my justice functions? Is this the value he places on our judgement?”

  “Oh, dear!” said Alex weakly. “I didn’t want to get him into trouble.”

  “His trouble is all of his own making. He has made this bed of thorns and now he shall lie upon it. Pah!” After a moment’s thought he continued. “Dear Alex,” he said as some of the colour ebbed from his cheeks. “I grieve that the dog has placed you in this invidious situation and I rejoice that you have shared this with me as a friend. We shall have no secrets, you and I.”

  “No, of course not, er, Jalil,” said Alex, conscious that his pulse was racing and that events were proceeding at a rate he could have no hope of controlling. “So what’s going to happen then?” he asked, rather fearing to hear the answer.

&nb
sp; “He must die, of course,” said the Sultan with a snarl. “He considers you open to corruption. He has offered you a deadly insult and he must pay for it with his life. The matter must be investigated, of course.”

  “I see, and then…?”

  “And then you must strike off his head yourself,” said the Sultan, drawing his sword and making a meaningful slashing gesture with it. “It is the only way that your honour can be restored.”

  Alex blenched. He felt physically sick, struggling to keep his balance in the swaying saddle as a thousand tiny pinpricks of light danced before his eyes and a thin buzzing came into his ears. He must not faint.

  “An apology wouldn’t cover it then?” he heard himself gasp. “What about a fine?”

  “Indeed not,” he heard the Sultan intone sternly. “Honour is at stake.”

  Alex took a firm grip on the reins and imagined himself standing over the elderly nobleman, sword in hand whilst a crowd bayed for blood. The nobleman looked up. Their eyes met and a look of extreme apprehension was seated there. Instant death by decapitation was one thing, but Alex’s reputation as a swordsman went before him and the poor man could probably look forward to a haircut, the loss of the odd ear or a few glancing nicks to the shoulder as Alex hacked him inexpertly to death.

  “You’ll just have to practise,” Henry told him matter-of-factly that night.

  Will, Kelly and Tanya were regarding him, wide-eyed with horror.

  “We’ll get you some meat from the butchers and a big old block of wood. You’ll be fine.”

  “I will not be fine,” Alex told him curtly. “I’m not bloody well doing it.”

  “You’ll have to,” said Henry simply. “The Sultan has commanded it.”

  “Just stop it,” Kelly told him. “You’re starting to sound like the Zanzibaris. You’re creeping me out. There’s got to be another way, Alex.”

  “I know, I know,” Alex said as he paced up and down the room, kneading his forehead with his knuckles. “What on earth am I going to do?”

  “Couldn’t you shoot him?” suggested Will, thumbing his spectacles up his nose and frowning. “You’re not a bad shot. Actually, you could just put a pistol to his head and pull the trigger. Anyone could do that.”

  “You’re not getting it,” said Alex frustrated. “I just don’t want to have to kill anyone, thank you very much.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Tanya, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s just too horrible. That poor man.”

  “We need to get out of here,” said Will. “This place is too… alien.”

  “It’s not really alien, well, except for the moons, it’s just the past,” said Henry reasonably. “It’s how they do stuff in the past. They used to have public executions in London until about the same time in history.”

  “Well, I want out,” said Will with a shudder. “Alex, you’ve got to get in touch with Malcolm.”

  “How can I?” demanded Alex, conscious that everyone was suddenly looking at him.

  “What about the Grand Vizier?” asked Kelly after a while. “Can’t he do something about it? Didn’t Zulfiqar say he was under the GV’s protection?”

  “I am glad that you have brought this matter to my attention,” said the Grand Vizier, somewhat later that night. “And of course no disloyalty to His Highness is inferred by this approach. You fear yourself too squeamish to deliver the fatal blow and you wish to discuss with me how you may reconcile yourself to this task. Am I correct in this analysis?”

  “Er, yes,” said Alex rather uncertainly. “I guess that’s about the size of it.”

  “Corruption is the scourge of our society,” said the Grand Vizier. “And it always has been. Yet we cannot live in ivory towers, aloof from the reality that confronts us. The wise man learns to accept what cannot be changed and to turn his mind to how he might steer a virtuous course amongst the perilous shoals of self-interest.”

  “Yeah, all that,” said Alex glumly, but the Grand Vizier was in full flow and not about to be stopped.

  “Ultimately, and setting aside all selfish motives, a man must look to the interests of his friends, his family and his country. And if he perceives that he is of value to these there is no shame in seeking to bolster his position in the world, in order that he may better be able to advance those interests. Do we understand each other, Alex?” asked the Grand Vizier, favouring him with an oily grin.

  “What, so you’re saying I should have accepted the bribe?”

  “Did I say such a thing?” asked the Grand Vizier, pretending surprise. “That is an ugly word. An expression of esteem, perhaps…”

  “A bribe,” said Alex, holding his eye steadily. “And I’m not taking it. I’m not taking any bribes from anyone. But that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here because I’m told this, this Latif character, is a pal of yours, and since I don’t want to see the poor guy killed, least of all by my own hand, I’m wondering if you can see any way out of it.”

  “So you seek to fly in the face of the Sultan’s will?” asked the Grand Vizier, forcing his fat face into a frown.

  “It’s not like that, and you know it’s not,” said Alex shortly. “Stop playing stupid word games with me. Can you do something about it or not?”

  “Well, you are passionately direct in your speech,” said his host with a sniff. “Latif is already being investigated as we speak. He made a grave error of judgement in approaching you as he did. You are not acquainted with our ways, and your response was perhaps unexpected.”

  “I’ve always been told that honesty is the best policy,” said Alex.

  “Have you?” said the Grand Vizier, regarding him as though he were a visitor from Mars. “Have you indeed? You are a child in the world. Well, I wish you luck in that policy. This honesty you speak of, is it that which prompts you to speak to me tonight? Is it that which makes me wonder if you wish me to take some action contrary to His Highness’s expressed desire? So this is honesty, is it? If you refuse to do our master’s bidding, would not the honest policy simply be to tell him this? I only pose the question. I am not myself an honest man, you see, although I do admire it in others. So what should I admire in you?” He smiled, a sly mocking smile, and leant back in his chair.

  Alex bit his lip. A mixture of emotions competed for control of him, with bitterness and confusion rising to the top. He felt weak, defeated and drained of all willpower.

  “Yeah, well…” he said, swallowing hard. “Nothing much, I guess.”

  “Oh, Alex,” said the Grand Vizier with a soft laugh. “Do I oblige you to confront your own hypocrisy?” He studied his immaculate nails for a moment. “I will do what I can, Alex, although you may be sure I should have done it anyway, regardless of your feeble bleating. Ties of mutual obligation count for much, you see, and Latif is one of mine, as you have heard. You may wish to forget that this conversation took place, unless that takes too great a toll on your precious conscience.”

  The next day, news came that Latif bin Salim had been found dead in his cell, apparently from a seizure of some kind. Given that he was an elderly man in indifferent health, this did not occasion too much surprise. His family were allowed to take away his body for burial and the Sultan ordered that the investigation should be discontinued.

  “I am not a vindictive man,” he told Alex. “And I shall not punish his family for his offence. God has cut short his life before he could face justice. It is God’s will. He has been summoned to the highest tribunal of all, where he will answer for his life’s wrongdoing. You must be disappointed, however, that you were denied the chance to wipe this stain from your honour.”

  It was early in the morning in the Sultan’s apartments. The Sultan was being dressed for his day’s activity and Alex was reluctantly in attendance upon him.

  “I’ll get over it,” said Alex distractedly.

  He wondered if the Grand Vizier had had Latif poisoned – it was too much of a coincidence for it to be otherwise. Surely Latif was the author of h
is own misfortunes, but he, Alex, had been instrumental in bringing about his death. Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut. Perhaps he should just have sent the clothes back and said nothing. He felt utterly miserable and increasingly afraid, too. Events were unfolding in a manner that seemed to be entirely beyond his control. He felt like a paper boat caught up in a gutter in a storm, dashed hither and thither by the rushing currents of a rain-lashed street.

  “Today we shall receive ambassadors from the Yemen,” continued the Sultan as his servants arranged his turban for him. “Their master thinks us rather barbaric, I fear, but he covets the cloves and the cinnamon we cultivate and he wishes to expand his trade. I daresay they will present rich gifts as a token of their esteem.”

  “Not bribes then?” asked Alex glumly, and then immediately regretting it.

  “Not at all,” said the Sultan cheerfully, without any sign of having taken offence. “Clearly you have much to learn about diplomacy. I doubt I shall feel my honour offended in this case and neither will you. You must attend the talks afterwards between my Minister for Trade and their representatives. It will enlighten you.”

  “I doubt it,” said Alex under his breath, idly kicking at the edge of a rug.

  “Why so gloomy today, Alex?” asked the Sultan, whilst the servant brushed lint from his shoulders. “You seem so jaded. I trust you would not prefer to spend your days in feckless indolence and the pursuit of pleasure like some within the palace.”

  “Well, no, obviously. That would be terrible,” said Alex, half ironically, although being shackled to a royal workaholic wasn’t exactly ideal either. He wondered if the Sultan was referring to Kelly, amongst others. Her lifestyle at present could certainly be described in those terms.

  “Such a life is for young girls and for the idle, sybaritic youths of the palace,” continued the Sultan, regarding himself with satisfaction in a full-length mirror. “We are men. The world is ours to wonder at, to order and to bring within our understanding. Not an hour should pass us by that has not been squeezed dry of all its potential. Life is a blink in the eye of eternity, too brief to be wasted, not even a moment of it. Is that not so, Alex?”