The Pursual: Book 1 of The Nome Chronicles

by F. F. John

  “So much for being able to count on you.”

  “You’ll survive.” I head to the exit.

  “Oh, is that it? Is the conversation over?”

  Neith hates being dismissed by people, especially Uncle Nabo. Even though I’m upset, I recognize that in her anger, she’s trying to get me upset. I won’t fall for the bait. “Outfit approved. Produce.” I stop walking and instruct the closet. A soft whirring of motors from within the wall indicates that the dress and earrings are on their way.

  Her mouth forms into a pout as she rolls her dark hair into a bun on her head.

  “You’ve got little reason to sulk.” I walk over to her mirror, which no longer shows her twinnequin and pull a lip lacquer from my pocket. “Your boy is doing well. I’m impressed you convinced him to play along.”

  The pout is replaced with a bitten lower lip. She does that when she feels guilty about something. “Neith?” I draw out her name and wait for her to acknowledge me in the mirror. “Spill.”

  She looks everywhere but at me. “Well …” She struggles with that one word, dragging it out for longer than required.

  I study my best friend as I color my lips. Slipping my lacquer back into the pocket of my uniform and wait.

  She finally darts a furtive glance at me before staring at her bare feet. “I’m worried Invier will want the pass.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. He’s won the first two competitions and only Seth has a chance of catching up with him.”

  Invier would have to skip competition or perform badly to lose his current position in the Pursual. There’s no reason to want out. Not now that he’s on the path to winning. Something else must be going on. Neith is no good at secrets, something I relentlessly tease her on. There’s no room for me to get upset, however, as there are things I haven’t dare share with her. I choose the gentle route.

  “What are you not telling me, Neith?” I ask. “You have something else on your mind.”

  “Tricking him this way … how will it affect our relationship in the long-term?” She looks to the ceiling and lets out a loud sigh. “And if he demands the pass, we’d have no chance of being together and would that mean that he didn’t love me as much as he said he did? I did all this for him.” A tear rolls down her cheek and my heart sinks.

  Although I would have done things differently, I understand Neith’s worries. Her position as scioness has forced her to circumvent the rules and expectations to make her own happiness. That happiness is a life with Invier. Someday, I’ll tell her how much I respect her drive to create her own solution. Nome life can be so rigid and stifling.

  “Invier has to understand that this Pursual is the only way. If he wins, Uncle Nabo could never disapprove of a marriage, even if he found a way to not fully integrate the Florans into their business affairs.”

  “That’s what I thought but I have a sneaky suspicion that things might not pan out as planned.” She wipes a tear as she slides to the floor, her legs stretched out before her. “I crossed the line and took things much too far again. Right?”

  I walk over and squeeze myself between her and a decorative, pink ottoman. She gets rid of another tear and I put my head on her shoulder. She’s shaking.

  “That’s why you have me to reign you back in Neat.”

  She lets out an exhausted sigh that causes her to shudder. “What do I do?”

  Studying my cherry red fingernails, I take my time to think of what to say. “Wait for him to ask,” I suggest. “And if he does, be sure to point out that using the pass means you end up with someone else.”

  “I’ve mentioned that already.” Already hunched shoulders sag even further.

  “Then remind him that he doesn’t need it as he’s already in the lead. If that doesn’t change his mind …” I hesitate to finish my statement, but it has to be said, “then let him go.”

  She springs away from me. “What? You can't be serious.”

  “I am.”

  She hops to her feet and scratches her scalp.

  “I can't do that.” She flexes on her tiptoes to loosen her tense muscles and regain a modicum of composure. “Not after everything I’ve done to get to this point.”

  “Listen, if he wants the pass enough to abandon his lead then you’ll know where you stand.” My toes curl and uncurl, and a manicure-matching pedicure plays peekaboo with me.

  “Wouldn't you want to know as early as possible if he doesn’t care to make it to the end?” I spread my hands for pointed emphasis. “You can't force him to be paired with you if he doesn't want to, so it’s better to not waste your time.”

  Her back to me, she casts her eyes on the ceiling. Twinkling stars stare back. One shoots by followed by several others in an array of bright streaks against a night sky.

  “I want this over with.” She takes two steps to her right then, another two to her left. “I wish I could go talk to him right now but I'm not allowed to fraternize.”

  Even if I’d wanted to stop myself, I couldn’t have kept my eyes from rolling in their sockets.

  “Oh, please Neith. Who do you think you’re fooling?” I return to the mirror, adjusting my uniform to admire its buttercup yellow brocade lining. It’s non-standard and a stark opposite to the usual dull gray cloak interiors. Exactly how I like it. “You think I don't know where you've been the last two mornings?”

  A guilty smirk flashes across her face but it lasts mere seconds. It’s replaced with fear and she whips around to stare at her outfit. Lying flat on a metallic ledge that slid out of one of the closet’s walls, the dress looks great. The selected accessories sparkle beside it.

  “What if …” her voice trails off.

  I take her hand, giving it a tame squeeze.

  “Better to take control of your fear than let it control you, Neat.” I glimpse at the time on my wrist. I’ve spent more time in here than I’d planned for and must hustle to my ship.

  “There has to be another way,” she says, rubbing her forehead with her free hand.

  “Of course there is, silly,” I say. “Cancel the rest of the competition and let him ask for your hand.”

  She yanks her hand away. “Not you too! We know Father will say no.”

  “You can’t know anything until you try,” I say. “Don’t assume he wouldn’t support a union with Invier especially now that he’s proving to be a good competitor.”

  She puts her back to the wall. “Marriage is about aligning nomes for profit and Invier’s is too lowly ranked.”

  “Uncle Nabo will understand that you love him. He’s your father and he loves you. He’d support you guys despite whatever anyone else would say. You must convince him. It won’t be easy but nothing good ever is.”

  She walks over to the table, stroking the dress’ fabric. “I wish that were true.”

  “Why isn’t it?”

  “Because I brought the issue up with Father and he said no.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Invier

  A cool breeze swirls the sand past us as we move through one of Ghitu’s dusty promenades. Lanterns sway from warped wooden posts pierced deep into the desert’s dry flesh. On either side of the street are flapping fabrics propped up to prevent the brown haze from blowing into the tents, shacks and other structures that pass for buildings here.

  “Don’t worry guys. Nobody will mess with us here.” Mehrdad calls back to us from his position at the front of our group. Unlike the others, my head pivots to take in the sights.

  On the flight over, Mehrdad boasted that we were going to the best establishment anywhere in the Lesser Lands. It took a while but after some questioning from me, he confessed he’s taking us to a nightclub run by distant relatives of his.

  Still, his assurances do little to allay the skittish feeling at the back of my neck. I’d kept my nerves at bay during the flight but as we trek from Ghitu’s parking terminal, my nerves set in.

  This is the Lesser Lands after all. This might be my first visit to a Less
er Land city but I didn’t need Adela’s pep talk to know Ghitu is a tough place. Years ago, in Nome History class, Lady Peshan pointing out how Lesser Land cities dot the planet like a scourge with people who refuse to work for the businesses owned by the nomes or the sixty families of the Lower Houses. I also recall my mom sharing tales about the unspeakable violence that goes on around these parts. Hands chopped off for stealing. Feuds between families stretching back decades. Body mutilation to illustrate one’s affiliations. And of course, rebel activity.

  The rebels are becoming a problem for the nomes. Approximately two months ago, the Nikans experienced an attack at one of their smaller on-world construction facilities. A few weeks later, a transport ship full of Nome Sirou’s workers was hijacked in broad daylight. They had been on their way to a water processing plant. Fortunately, they were released without harm but nobody knows what these rebels want.

  Several drably-attired people scamper out of our way when they see us, choosing to head down narrow alleyways lying crossways to the street. All apart from one individual. An old woman, bested by time and the lack of access to a restorer’s care hobbles through our group, oblivious to our presence.

  A sharp breeze whistles past swirling a wall of dust around us. Nothing but the screeching wind keeps me company and when it dies down, the old lady is on the floor, James leering over her.

  She rises with jerky movements and continues on her journey only to stop paces away and look over her shoulder. Her hunched form stands under a particularly bright lantern, features set in fury. Another gust rolls through and she disappears within its cocoon.

  “Enjoying the sights, Floran?” Mehrdad asks. “I’ll happily leave you behind if you like?”

  Tucking my hands into my pockets, I hasten my stroll. Our group hooks a right turn and enters a wide boulevard that’s distinct from the lantern-lit street we’re on.

  The structures here are constructed from recognizable materials, not slapped together with whatever scraps the owners could find. Potted plants are everywhere I look and they boast a range of brilliant colors. Music blasts and lights flash from shops on either sidewalk.

  People go to and fro buying street food from merchants whose wares scent the air. One of the street stalls has a long line. A man calls out, “Get your doubles. Best anywhere north of the equator!” Whatever he’s selling smells delicious. I expected all of Ghitu to be battered and gray. Like the old lady. Instead, the people here are young and vibrant. Could some of them be from the lower houses? Or even from nomes? I can’t believe these are Lesser Landers.

  We walk past a large glass window with upwards of eight women staring out from within. They range in age, color, height, and weight. A few pick at their nails. Others fuss with their hair. They all share blank expressions. One woman appears to be a girl aged about thirteen. I remember when Song was that age, only two years ago. She was all limbs at the time. This girl stands within the group with deep red locks. Her lips curl in a practiced smile that fails to warm the rest of her face. She wriggles and beckons me with a hooked index finger.

  “Keep moving,” Erhart advises, suddenly by my side. “Come on, you know about this, right?”

  I shake my head and wonder if I want to learn more.

  His blue eyes dart from side to side. “The women are sex workers for rent.”

  My mouth drops and I can’t move.

  “Staring at them for too long will make their kavats angry and we don’t need that kind of attention.”

  “Kavats?” I take another look behind me. I’ve read about the sex trade but believed it was a thing of the past. Of course, the Lesser Lands would defy expectations.

  “They take care of the girls and …” he inclines his head. “You don’t know about any of this?”

  “How do you?”

  His face pales.

  “You okay, guys?” Seth joins us. On the street ahead, something yellow catches my attention and I glance that way. Whatever it is disappears into the crowd.

  “We’re here!”

  Mehrdad points to a black building. Peeling black exterior paint reveals drab gray cement below. We’re welcomed by a garish electric sign by the entrance. The sign reads ‘Fenix’ and beneath it is an image of a phoenix outlined in white bulbs that flicker on off.

  “Oh joy,” I mutter to myself but Seth hears and chuckles.

  “It can’t be that bad.” He nudges me forward.

  A swirling curtain of sand hastens me through a dented purple door. Fenix looks much better on the inside than I expected. The interior looks like a playhouse. Straight ahead of us is the nightclub’s DJ playing music on a raised stage. He’s surrounded by half naked men and women, who gyrate to pulsating trance music. A skin on the wall behind them features a phoenix that looks much better than the one outside. The mythical creature, no more than a collection of orange, red and yellow strokes, soars before disintegrating into embers, only to reform and restart its transformative dance.

  Booths line the walls to my left and right with revelers enjoying themselves. At the top of both side walls are glass windows, behind which more people having a good time. Waiters shuttle overhead from one side of the nightclub to the other on zarts. These zarts have purple lights underneath, unlike the green lights I’m accustomed to. They resemble those I’ve seen at stadiums, which come with storage space to carry multiple orders.

  Three steps down and we’re in the midst of more patrons having a good time on the dancefloor when a short man approaches Mehrdad and bows. Looming over him is a much bigger man wearing sunglasses. His stature gives off a bodyguard vibe.

  Our guides lead us onto zarts, which lift us to a landing on the top floor. A metal door swings open to a suite with plush sofas, beds framed with see-through curtains, and a spread of food and drink. Four women in short pink rubber dresses smile as we walk in. They wear identical pink wigs, cut short at their ears.

  “Your waitresses will take care of your needs. I’m a few floors down but my associate here will be right outside. You are well protected in here. The room is bulletproof and soundproof, so have a good time.” The man gestures toward his fierce-looking friend, while my body pulses to the bass pumping into the room.

  “My associate will bring the party to you or simply get one or two girls any of you request.” The man winks knowingly before zipping out with his ‘associate’.

  “Nice place, Mehrdad,” James says, walking over to the window.

  “You’re going to enjoy it here.” He sits on a sofa and summons an overly tanned waitress who listens to him with a seductive smile. After a brief discussion, she walks off with a pronounced sway of her hips and I think about the red-haired girl at the floor to ceiling glass window. Will she someday work in a place like this, or will her existence be confined to standing behind glass?

  Adela steps out the door and I look beyond our gilded cage. The party goers below sing along to the words of a song as the DJ waves his arms like a choral director.

  One of the waitresses hands me a drink. One taste of the alcoholic pomrose and Neith come to mind. She orders pomrose wherever we go. We have yet to go to a nightclub together, but I’ve got to make that happen soon. She’s always telling me to loosen up. A trip to a nightclub, not in the Lesser Lands, of course, will make for a great surprise.

  I soon see Adela on the dance floor, her white hair shimmering silver under the lighting. She’s speaking to a black-haired couple and points to our suite. They follow Adela’s hand and nod. All three now amble through the writhing bodies until they disappear.

  “Have you ever been to a club in the Lesser Lands, Invier?” It’s Erhart again. His tone is jovial and teasing.

  Taking my silence as a reply, he continues, “Life is too short to not step out of our boxes and do things we shouldn’t.” With his back to the glass, he studies our small group. He has a weird expression that I can’t place. “Anyway, don’t take me seriously. Like you, I don’t like to break the rules.”

  Should I
tell Erhart I convinced Seth to come along? I stay quiet instead. Let him make his assumptions. The truth is, he’s not too far off in his assumption. My sister has complained about me not being exciting enough for her. When we were much younger, she wanted another sibling to get into trouble with. Wait until she learns I visited a club in Ghitu.

  Whatever my expression looks like, it makes him rub the back of his neck. His face flushes.

  “Gosh, I didn’t mean anything bad by it. It’s just that before meeting you in person, I’d always heard of you as Song’s no-nonsense big brother. The …”

  “It’s all right, Erhart. Especially if you don’t mind telling me why you’re friends with those jerks?”