by Martin Dukes
“I told you I had something special to show you,” said Suleiman, delighted that his companion was impressed. “You mustn’t tell anyone else, though. She’s a special secret.”
“I won’t,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“We must get back now,” said Suleiman, swivelling to look at where an enormous wave had just crashed up onto the rocks behind them. “The tide has turned.”
Chapter Nine
“The ships are being careened,” explained Jemail to Kelly as they walked on a high terrace from which they could see down to the harbour, half a mile away. This was a part of the grounds behind Kashifah’s house. There was something of a party going on, but various guests had wandered out into the garden where it was cooler and where they might evade the supervision of the elderly chaperones indoors. It was evening, after a fine day, and the soft, still air was suffused with the heavy scent of jasmine. Kelly breathed deep and sighed. There were times like this when she almost felt at home here, when the lights were a-twinkle in the dusky streets and the horizon barred with clouds bathed red by the dying sun.
“Hmmm?” she murmured, returning to an awareness of Jemail’s presence at her side. “I’m sorry, I was away there for a moment.”
“I was merely saying that those ships you mentioned, the ones lying on their side on the dockside down there, are being careened. Their hulls are being scraped free of the barnacles and other marine creatures that foul them over time and cause them to move more slowly through the water. Do you see the Sultan’s flagship there, the Jewel of the Seas? They will launch her again tomorrow. Then they will paint her afresh and gild her and make her the finest vessel that ever sailed these waters. My uncle is second in command of the chandler’s yard. A great quantity of ropes and cables has been prepared for her. You would be amazed how many stores are needed before a ship of war can so much as venture out of port.”
“I bet,” said Kelly dreamily, regarding his earnest features in profile as he looked out across the city spread beneath them. He really was a beautiful youth, she decided, with his dark eyes and the soft curls of his young man’s beard.
“The expedition is to set sail at the end of the month,” he said turning to face her. “Everyone knows it. The dogs in the street know it, although all is meant to be veiled in secrecy. Do the pirates and the slavers tremble in their strongholds? I wonder. I wish…” his words hung in the air. “I wish...”
“What do you wish?” she asked. “Do you wish you were sailing with it?”
He hung his head. “You must think me a poor creature. I have no yearning for glory, you see. I practice the arts of the warrior with the other young men, of course I do, but I have not volunteered to join the golden youth of the palace who will soon pour forth to make their reputations on the battlefield. Does that make me a coward, do you think?”
His dark eyes were suddenly full of a sadness that pierced Kelly to the heart. She took his hand and squeezed it.
“Of course not,” she said, using her other hand to playfully tweak the end of his nose. “Just because you don’t want to go off and kill people doesn’t make you in any way less of a man. I like you just the way you are.”
Jemail’s relief broke like sudden dawn across his face. “You like me,” he said. “You do actually like me, then?”
“Of course I like you,” she laughed, swinging his hand. “Why on earth would you think I don’t? I really like you.”
“You cannot imagine what pleasure it brings me to hear you say that,” he said. “My affection for you knows no bounds. My…”
Kelly stilled his voice with a finger to his lips.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Enough of this silliness. Do me some more of that Persian poetry stuff. It amazes me you can remember so much. Come on now, I really liked the one about the peacock and the partridge.”
In another part of the palace, the same evening shadows lengthened across the parade ground, which doubled as a cricket pitch now that Henry had introduced the game to his particular friends amongst the young noblemen. A pair of bats had been made to Henry’s specifications by the garrison carpenter and a wicket marked out in the dusty earth. The ball had been more of a challenge, since no one had ever heard of cork. A suitably light and resilient wood substitute had been found, however, and once covered with fine leather and stitched by the sailmakers down in the shipyard, had served well enough. A purist might have objected to a certain lack of bounce, but Henry’s friends were soon striking lusty blows and for days the parade ground had rung to their cheers and cries of “Howzattt!”
“We’re going to have to come off for bad light,” said Henry at length, having received a glancing blow to the elbow that made his eyes water. He shouldered his bat whilst his friend Khalid pulled stumps.
“My apologies,” said another youth called Amjad, who had bowled the offending ball. “My bowling does not answer, I find.”
“No worries,” said Henry easily whilst rubbing the afflicted limb. “And that, my friend, was what we call a chuck.”
“You have to keep a straight arm,” explained Khalid. “Henry is most particular about it.”
“That’s because it’s the rules, see?” said Henry. “It’s the laws of cricket.”
“Oh dear,” said Amjad frowning. “And what are the penalties for transgression? Need I fear a whipping or does a fine suffice?”
“It’s a game,” said Henry with a grin. “Nobody’s going to chop your head off for chucking. There’d be a bloodbath in my school if they brought that in. Where’s that Naseem now? I thought he was coming down to play.”
The other boys exchanged awkward glances.
“I don’t think he will come now,” said Khalid. “Shazad has forbidden it.”
Henry broke off from drinking from his water bottle and stared at them incredulously.
“What?! He was okay to play yesterday. He’d got the makings of a decent bat, I’d say. What’s old big nose got to do with it?”
“Naseem’s father owes a great deal of money to Shazad’s father, and so Naseem must do as he is asked. You do not understand the subtle web that holds us all together here. All our families are intertwined with ties of blood and obligation. I fear you have made a dangerous enemy there,” said Amjad, an improbably tall youth with a long face best suited to looking mournful. It looked mournful now. “Just because the Sultan has forbidden Shazad to fight with you does not mean that he may not injure you in other ways.”
“He is a creature of the Grand Vizier’s,” said Khalid, peering anxiously into the shadows between the columns of the headquarters building. “And such powerful protection makes him bold. And his father has vast estates in Zanjd – he is exceedingly rich.”
“A man must pick his friends with care but his enemies more carefully still,” said Amjad sanctimoniously as they walked towards the barracks.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Henry carelessly. “And he’s got lousy skin, too. Remind me to mention it.”
That night, Will broached the subject of his visit to Zanjd. Zoroaster had said that the visit should take no more than a few days, but Will had noted a certain vagueness about the old man with regard to time and he felt a little anxious about going. It would not have been enormously surprising if a few days turned into a few weeks or even months. At the very least he would be parted from his friends for a great deal longer than he had been since his arrival in Zanzibar. He had come to think of the Outlanders as his family, his refuge, his welcome dose of normality at the end of the day.
“Zoroaster wants me to go with him to Canopus for a few days,” he said, trying his best to sound casual and offhand. “I suppose that would be okay? I mean, what do you think?”
Henry was lying on his bed with his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling and doing nothing in particular. Alex was playing cards with Tanya.
“Fine with me,” said Henry laconically. “I’m not one of those people who can’t get comfortable unless there’s a fat person a
round.”
Will blushed and thumbed his glasses up his nose in the way he had when flustered.
“You are sooo rude, Henry,” Tanya told him, setting down a card.
“Sounds good,” said Alex with a disgusted look at Henry. “You’ll be back before the expedition sails, I suppose? What are you up to, anyway?”
Will explained about the mystery of the wireworm and Zoroaster’s intention to investigate the ancient towers in the vicinity of Canopus.
“Sounds interesting,” said Alex.
“Sounds dull,” said Henry. “Are we having dinner soon? I’m famished.”
“Zulfiqar was working at it when I came in,” said Alex. “Where’s Kelly, anyway? She’s late, isn’t she?”
There was a slight pause before anyone answered. Alex spent nearly all of his days in close attendance on the Sultan. Accordingly he only had conversations with people who were exceedingly careful about what they said in his company. To make matters worse, although Alex very definitely had his finger on the pulse of the state, he knew virtually nothing of the gossip that provided the background to all activity in the palace. Everyone knew that Jemail bin Afzal was deeply smitten by Kelly and that she was doing nothing in particular to fend him off.
“She’s at Kashifah’s,” said Tanya with an anxious glance at Will. “I expect she’ll be back in a minute.”
“Christ,” said Alex, throwing his jacket onto his bed. “I don’t know why she doesn’t just move in there. She’s pretty much a permanent resident with those girls.”
“Yeah, she’s a real girly girl,” said Henry dryly, swinging his legs onto the floor and rubbing the back of his neck.
Kelly arrived as Zulfiqar and another servant brought in dinner, setting it up as usual on a low, round table in front of one of the full-length windows. Henry closed the windows and surveyed the steaming dishes of fragrant rice, meats in sauce and various vegetables, some of which would have been recognisable to the average supermarket shopper at home.
“This looks great,” said Alex politely, rubbing his hands together as Zulfiqar withdrew with a low bow.
“It does,” said Henry, lifting the lid off a covered dish experimentally. “But don’t you sometimes long for a really good fry up? I’d kill for a bacon sandwich.”
“Well don’t hold your breath” said Will pulling up a cushion. “It’s proper tables and chairs I miss.”
“What about trifle, cheesecake, steak and kidney pie, fish and chips and Pot Noodles?” asked Tanya, loading food onto her plate.
“Yeah, those too,” said Will around a mouthful of food. “This is good, though. Don’t get me wrong.”
“Are you okay, Kell?” asked Alex as Kelly came in from her bedroom and they made way for her at the table. What have you been up to then? Not getting yourself into trouble, I hope?”
This last comment was intended as a joke, but Kelly blushed and cast her eyes downward awkwardly, which caused Alex to feel a mixture of emotions, some of which he was unable to identify.
“No, just boring stuff,” she said, reaching for a stick of celery and then turning to smile weakly at him.
“Did Nusrat get that new dress?” asked Tanya, throwing Kelly a lifeline.
“Not ‘til tomorrow,” said Kelly, seizing it gratefully. “The seamstress has been ill. She’s really looking forward to it.”
The following evening, Alex received a summons to attend upon the Lady Shaquira. He was walking home from the Sultan’s apartment when Shaquira’s enormous manservant stepped into his path. In this narrow passage there was no easy way of getting past Hassan short of climbing over the top of him, so Alex paused to hear what was on Hassan’s mind.
“My mistress wishes to converse with you,” he squeaked in a manner that made it hard for Alex to keep a straight face.
“Well, I was just on my way home for dinner,” said Alex, looking at that part of his left wrist where his watch used to be until the battery ran out. “Shall I see if I can make time tomorrow afternoon? I think the Sultan is visiting his saddler, so he may be able to spare me.”
“She wishes to see you now,” said Hassan, folding his arms and looking down at Alex meaningfully. “She was most insistent.”
“Okayyyy,” said Alex, sensing a lack of options. “I suppose I’ve got a few minutes.”
“My Lady will be pleased.”
On the contrary, there was precious little evidence to suggest that Shaquira was pleased to see him. If anything, her attitude suggested that he, Alex, was inconveniencing her. She sat in a high-backed chair and Alex on a wicker one of worrying fragility that Hassan had brought for him. The whole flimsy structure seemed in danger of imminent collapse, so Alex was obliged to work hard at keeping his balance in case he should be suddenly dumped to the floor. Hassan also brought a low table and some thimble-sized vessels of the sickly sweet tea the folks in Zanzibar insisted on serving to each other.
“And how are you getting on with my son?” she asked imperiously. “I am told that you are bosom companions.”
“I think we’re getting on okay,” Alex said cautiously. “He seems to value my opinions.”
“So I hear,” she said with a disapproving sniff. “He is a young man of sudden enthusiasms, whose judgement is not always mature. He means well, of course, but he lacks experience. It is quite natural that he should seek guidance elsewhere, but I do wonder why he places such confidence in you. Perhaps you can enlighten me.”
A raised eyebrow and an experience of sour disapproval accompanied this assessment of the situation. It was hard to disagree. Alex spent a great deal of every day wondering what on earth he could add to the Sultan’s understanding of the challenges he faced in governing his realm.
Alex shrugged. “He seems to trust me.”
“And yet there is a council of the wisest heads in the land whose opinions he spurns, whose dignity he insults by placing you, a mere callow youth and a foreigner, in their midst.”
“Yeah,” said Alex, rather resenting her tone but seeing the validity of what she was saying. “It’s hardly my fault though, is it? Have you tried saying no to him?”
“It is not my place to say no to him, not now he is the Sultan, but I like to think I know what is best for him. He remains my son, the fruit of my loins,” she said, causing Alex to feel a moment’s discomfort. “And a son owes some filial duty in these matters. He should listen to his mother’s views, don’t you think? And he should weigh these opinions respectfully when making his decisions. It is no more than blood obliges, is it not?”
“I guess,” nodded Alex. “So what are you saying? He’s not listening to you, is that it?”
“He most definitely is not,” snarled Shaquira. “And more than that, he is allowing himself to be manipulated by those whose interests are not aligned with the wellbeing of the state. Do we understand each other?”
“I hope you don’t mean me,” said Alex, eyebrows raised.
“Of course I don’t mean you!” she snapped. “You wouldn’t have the wit to manipulate a child’s puppet. I refer to the Grand Vizier, a poisonous creeper whose tendrils reach into every arm of state, a man whose many ears listen at every door.”
Alex nodded, flushing around the cheeks somewhat at this latest assault on his dignity.
“It is a matter of balance,” she continued, taking a tiny sip from her cup. “The Sultan’s course should be determined by a reasoned choice amongst those options placed before him. If he is entirely surrounded by the Grand Vizier’s placemen he is robbed of his freedom of action. Do you see that? Furthermore, he is placed in great peril. He becomes a puppet to be manipulated as the Grand Vizier sees fit. I fear for his safety, for the safety of the realm.”
Alex, who was beginning to get a fair idea of how things worked in Zanzibar, saw that Shaquira was upset because her own placemen, clients and supporters were losing out to the Grand Vizier’s. In the subtle game of chess for control of the Sultan’s government, the Grand Vizier was getting the uppe
r hand. This judgement was confirmed by her next statement.
“This Admiral Hassan, that my son has appointed to lead the naval side of the forthcoming expedition, is a man of very modest talents,” she said. “And he owes his appointment to the weight of his purse, not the lustre of his reputation.” She placed her finger against the side of her nose and smiled a wry smile. “Oh yes, you may be sure a great quantity of gold has passed into the Grand Vizier’s coffers.”
“I see,” said Alex cautiously. “And who, in your view, would do a better job?”
“Since you ask, I would say that Tariq Hakim would be admirably suited to command the Sultan’s fleet. He is a man of the highest integrity and has the sea in his blood.”
“He’s about a hundred years old,” objected Alex. “I’ve seen him in Council. He doesn’t look like he’s got any blood at all”
“But his vigour is undimmed,” she said regarding him stonily.
“And how much is he paying you?” asked Alex sharply. “I’m guessing you want me to try to persuade the Sultan to drop Hassan and appoint this Tariq Hakim in his place.”
“You do me an injustice,” said Shaquira with a sniff. “I only wish to press the claims of reason. Are you happy to see the Sultan surrounded on all sides by the Grand Vizier’s creatures?”
“I’d just like to see him get the best advice from the best people,” said Alex. “Without anyone else pulling their strings. I suppose that’s too much to ask.”
“Poor, deluded child,” said Shaquira, shaking her head sadly. “You are indeed a stranger in our world.”
“I suppose you know I’m bound to tell the Sultan what we’ve talked about,” he said.
She pursed her lips and shot him a look of pure venom.
“I would not advise it,” she spat. “I have identified the issues at stake. Up to this point I have regarded you as a potential ally. I would hate to have to regard you as a potential foe.”
Alex hardly slept that night. Shaquira’s threat rang in his ears. As before, he was faced with an awkward choice between being open with the Sultan or concealing awkward truths from him. He woke feeling tired and depressed – no state of mind in which to be making bold decisions. It was easier to say nothing. As it happened, it was the Sultan who raised the subject of his mother, this as they rode to the East Gate, where a new defensive work was to be constructed, the previous one having collapsed through age and want of maintenance.
