by Martin Dukes
“Here, come and have a look,” said Zoroaster, setting the jar on the shelf and holding the lamp close to it. “A trader brought it to me this morning.”
Will peered into the jar in which there were a few dry sticks and leaves.
“There. See him?” said the old man, regarding him from the other side of the jar so that his features were weirdly distorted by the glass and the lamp light.
“No,” said Will, frowning.
“There,” said Zoroaster with a touch of impatience. “On the end of the stick.”
“That’s a worm?” asked Will incredulously. “It’s so small. I thought it was a bit of wood fibre or something. No, hang on, I see it move now.”
The small white worm was only as long as a fingernail and as broad as a thread of cotton. It lifted its front half and writhed a little, as though to draw attention to itself for Will’s benefit.
“That,” said Zoroaster with satisfaction, “is the hungriest little beastie known to man. Do you see how few leaves remain? This jar was full to the top this morning.”
“Wow! How many worms are in there?”
“Just the one,” said Zoroaster, beaming at him grimly through the glass. “Remarkable, isn’t it? Just like I said.”
“No way,” said Will. “That one tiny worm ate all that in one day? Why isn’t it fat as a pig?”
“Feel the glass,” said Zoroaster.
Will placed his hand on the glass and found that it was surprisingly warm to the touch.
“It seems that it turns it into heat,” said the old man.
“Wow! You could use one or two to heat your house,” said Will impressed.
“You could if you were prepared to shovel leaves into them all day,” said Zoroaster. “I imagine it would be less trouble to heat one’s house with wood in the conventional way. And they don’t just eat leaves, Will. They eat just about anything. There was a dead mouse in here earlier. No trace of it now, not even the tip of its tail,” he said, tilting the jar to inspect the other side. “There’s only one thing it doesn’t eat and that’s the piece of twig it came on. The trader that I bought it from called it ‘wormwood’.”
“Where did he get it?” asked Will. “I mean, where do these things come from?”
“The person he acquired it from knew not. The question you ask has been the subject of my studies for some years now. This is the third I have seen in twenty years – and one of those was dead. If its lifecycle is like that of other insects we may presume that it grew from an egg laid by an adult female. When it has eaten its fill it will pupate, attach itself to a twig and emerge as an adult imago within the space of a month or so. The insect that emerges is entirely unremarkable and dies within a few days, having shown nothing of the voracious appetite of its previous condition or indeed eating anything at all. I presume that in the wild it exists simply to seek a mate and continue the lifecycle into the next generation.”
Zoroaster placed the jar back under his bed.
“There is no record of their existence anywhere along the coast or indeed across the Eastern Sea. My own theory is that they come from the regions beyond the Great Western Desert, beyond those regions inhabited by human beings.”
Will frowned. “But if you hardly ever come across them, how come they’re so, you know, iconic?”
“That, my boy, is the question,” said Zoroaster, clapping him on the back. “And I mean some day to have an answer.”
The Sultan was in deadly earnest about his plan to punish the pirates and slavers who inhabited the rugged and desolate coastline to the north of Zanzibar. Spies had been surveying the river estuaries amongst the swamps where the pirates drew up their light dhows and skiffs. Several of the spies had failed to come back and were likely to have paid the ultimate penalty for their curiosity. The Sultan seemed to think this an acceptable risk. In a high chamber in the heart of his palace he had a great map made to show the location of the pirate and slaver strongholds. This was marked with the exact shape of the estuaries, every twisting creek and inlet picked out in coloured paint. In this enterprise he was assisted by the Grand Vizier and by Zoroaster’s mortal enemy Fajaruddin, who seemed to serve as general scientific advisor to the court as well as being Royal Astronomer. The Sultan was determined that his new friend, Alex, should be involved in the planning from the earliest stage, and so Alex was required to attend the meetings at which arrangements and tactics for the forthcoming campaign were discussed.
“Are you sure this is fair to our guest, Your Highness?” said Hussain, the Grand Vizier, doing his best to look pleased to see Alex, when the Sultan introduced him to the War Council for the first time. “It seems a hardship to weary him with the tedious details of our enterprise.”
Apart from the Grand Vizier a number of military worthies were assembled, including Suja, the head of his army, and Hassan, the Grand Admiral of the Fleet. All of these looked up from the map table with various degrees of surprise and disapproval as they clapped eyes on Alex, who, standing somewhat behind the Sultan, wanted to grimace and spread his hands helplessly to indicate that it really wasn’t his idea.
“Nonsense, Hussain,” said the Sultan breezily, approaching the great map table as everyone else stepped back. “A fresh eye is always welcome and I have no doubt that Alex will make a valuable contribution.”
“As you wish, Your Highness,” said the Grand Vizier, with a low bow, managing to work in heavy overtones of and on your head be it.
“May I observe that matters of the greatest confidence and delicacy are discussed in this chamber,” observed Murad, the Sultan’s chief spy, stepping out from behind the bulk of the Grand Vizier.
“No you may not!” snapped the Sultan, with such feeling that there was a perceptible frisson throughout the chamber and an awkward shuffling of feet. Murad blenched and bit his lip, withdrawing behind Hussain, bowing his head and generally looking thoroughly sheepish.
“I trust no one else here present wishes to counsel me on the company I keep,” asked the Sultan crisply, glaring about him.
No hands went up at this point and there was an awkward silence during which everyone seemed to find something of interest to look at on the floor or on the wall.
“Good,” said the Sultan eventually, in more normal tones. “Then I suggest we get on with the business at hand. Hassan, perhaps you would inform us as to the situation with regard to the tides.”
Hassan cleared his throat and approached the table, using a wooden stick to point at various features of the map that presently meant little to Alex. For a while, as everyone got on with discussing the details of the Sultan’s projected campaign, nothing was required of Alex. Consequently, his attention wandered in a way that would have been all too familiar to his teachers. The chamber was lit by three tall windows with balconies that offered pleasant views of the gardens. The shutters were folded back but some kind of gauzy material in front of them stirred gently in the morning breeze. Golden stars studded the high blue ceiling, from which hung huge brass chandeliers on long chains entwined with gilded metal flowers.
“So you advocate a two-pronged assault?” enquired the Sultan, leaning over part of the map that showed a coastal village of some sort. “Are you not concerned that we risk the division of our forces?”
“I accept that is a risk,” said Suja. “And it presents problems with regard to communications and timings, but I suggest that the effect of a simultaneous attack to the enemy’s rear by a few hundred specially picked men would have an impact far outweighing the risks of the attempt.”
The Sultan turned and looked suddenly at Alex. “Well? Your thoughts, Alex?”
“Hmm? Oh… yeah,” said Alex after a moment taken to gather his thoughts. There were precious few to gather, at least not those relevant to the Sultan’s plans. “I’m with, er, Suja.”
“Hmm,” said the Sultan, stroking his chin. “You may be right, Alex.” He crossed to one of the windows and looked out thoughtfully to the gardens beyond. Whilst h
is back was turned, Alex was uncomfortably aware of the disapproving glares being directed at him by the Sultan’s Council. He felt a flush rise in his cheeks and held his gaze steady on the Sultan’s back.
“Yes,” said the Sultan, turning with a winning smile. “I think we should be guided by Alex in this matter.”
“I believe the plan was Lord Suja’s,” said Alex awkwardly, with a glance at Suja, whose face was like thunder. “I only said I thought it sounded okay.”
“And I endorse your judgement,” said the Sultan. “We shall proceed thus. Gentlemen, I would be glad if you would push ahead with the plans as directed. Now, Khalid, perhaps you would give us an account of the stores and provisions that this enterprise will require.”
“They all hate me,” said Alex later, when he and Henry were making their way back to their quarters.
“I’m sure you’re just imagining it,” said Henry, practising a cricket stroke with an imaginary bat as they walked. “I reckon I could get a cricket team going, you know. We had a good knock with a bit of wood and a bundle of rags after training this afternoon. I wonder if the carpenter would run me up a couple of proper bats.”
“You’re not listening to me!” said Alex, stopping abruptly.
“I was,” said Henry, raising an apologetic hand. “You were saying how everybody hates you.”
“I said the Sultan’s Council hate me,” said Alex tight lipped.
“Well that’s hardly anybody,” said Henry airily. “I shouldn’t worry about that.”
“Will you just take things seriously for a moment?!” snarled Alex.
Henry frowned and scratched his head. He sighed. “The Sultan loves you, doesn’t he? Isn’t that what counts? I mean, if it was the other way round I could see you’d have grounds to get your knickers in a twist.”
“I’m serious, Henry. If the Sultan goes off me, or gets bored of me or something, we’re in trouble.”
“What’s with the we?” started Henry, and then, after a moment’s reflection, “Yeah, okay, point taken. Better stay on the right side of his nibs then, eh?”
“I’m trying. Believe you me, I’m trying. But I just don’t know where this is heading.”
The next night brought with it a new surprise. Will came panting into their quarters, very red in the face and wheezing as though he had been running for some distance. His face, though, showed no sign of obvious alarm and his eyes were positively gleaming. Tanya and Kelly, hearing the door slam, came in from their room. Henry and Alex looked up from the game of chess they had been playing.
“You’ve got to see this,” gasped Will, clutching his sides and striding towards the windows. These were open, since it was a mild night after a warm day.
Alex and Henry glanced at each other and then followed Will, who was leaning over the window sill and peering to the right, placing himself in some danger of falling into the garden below.
“No good,” he said. “Let’s have a look from your room, Kelly. You’ve got that little window that faces the other way.”
“What’s going on?” asked Kelly as Will pushed past her.
The largest window in the girls’ room also faced onto the garden but there was another, smaller one that looked out over roofs and quadrangles. This was high on the wall and usually kept closed. Stepping up onto Tanya’s bed, Will flung open the shutter.
“There,” he said, turning back to regard his friends with satisfaction. “Take a look at that!”
The others stepped forward into the room, their faces bathed in the moonlight that now streamed in, eyes wide in astonishment, for the sky was lit by two moons. The ordinary, normal moon, the moon that was so much part of the night’s familiar furnishings, rode high amongst silver streaks of cloud. Another, somewhat smaller and completely alien to their eyes, hung low on the northern horizon.
“Oh my god,” said Kelly.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” said Will beaming. “The smaller one, the one we’ve never seen before, is called Actaeon. Our moon they call Artemis.”
“But why…?” started Henry.
“Why have we never seen it before? Because we can only see it from here in Zanzibar for about six months of the year. Even then it keeps pretty low in the sky. Zoroaster was telling me.”
For a while nobody moved or spoke. Up until this point the world had seemed a familiar enough place to them in all its details, even if time and place were all wrong. The roses in the garden, the clouds in the sky, the birds that squabbled and fluttered in the bushes – all these had been recognisable parts of a world they knew and understood. But this alien moon, this brooding interloper beyond the towers and minarets on the northern edge of the city, was something unlike any of them had seen before. It thrust home with brutal suddenness the consciousness that they were far, far from home. A lump came into Alex’s throat, and for the first time in days his mind was suddenly filled with simple, ordinary images of home – his bedroom floor strewn with clothes, him emptying the dishwasher, his mum ironing in front of the TV.
“I don’t like it,” said Tanya in a small voice, taking hold of Kelly’s arm. “Make it go away.”
“Why’s it orange?” asked Kelly, without shifting her gaze to Tanya.
“Atmospheric haze,” said Henry authoritatively. “It’ll turn white as it gets higher.”
“I want to go home,” said Tanya with a sniff.
Alex put his arm around her small shoulders and stooped to her level.
“We are home,” he said, indicating the five of them. “All of us. This is home. Stick together and we’ll be alright.”
Kelly’s eyes met his. He saw disquiet there and a strange longing, too.
A few days later, Kelly and Tanya had been invited on a picnic. It was a hot day in early summer and the prospect of a visit to a nearby lake and waterfall had seemed a pleasant one. The boys were engaged in their usual daytime activities, so when Kashifah and Nusrat came calling with a few of their friends it was easy to say yes. Since it was unheard of for noble ladies to ride, a number of carriages had been made ready, together with an impressive number of servants, bodyguards, drivers and general hangers on. The party that made its way along the lanes that led away from the city must have numbered at least fifty. There were seven carriages, each with an elegant silk awning to shade the young ladies from the heat of the sun. Alongside rode a contingent of mounted guards, splendid in palace livery, spurs and cuirasses gleaming bright, heads bound with scarlet turbans. Small children and dogs joined in the general festivity of the occasion, running alongside as the cavalcade passed through countryside still fresh and spring verdant, with a carpet of brilliant flowers spangling the verges of roads that would raise choking clouds of dust in the summer months to come.
“It’s so beautiful,” said Kashifah, clasping her hands as a bend in the road swung past a tree-lined cove. “Don’t you just adore this road?”
Kelly, who shared this carriage with Nusrat and Tanya, agreed that she did. It was easy to agree with Kashifah. She was a cheerful, open soul who found fault with no one and could always see redeeming features in the most unpromising of characters. Her half-sister, Nusrat, was dour and unsmiling but with an ironic sense of humour and a fund of scandalous stories. She was as plain as Kashifah was pretty but seemingly un-resentful of it nevertheless. She flapped ineffectually at an insect that had blown under their awning.
“Oh, do leave it alone, it’s only a harmless butterfly,” Kashifah told her.
“It’s a nuisance,” grumbled Nusrat, finally sending it on its way. “And it’s a blood-sucking crane fly, anyway. If you like it so much I’ll get you one of your own.”
Kashifah made a face. “Oh dear, are you sure?”
“Who’s the lady in the carriage behind ours?” asked Tanya, peering over her shoulder.
“That’s Aaliyah, our aunt,” said Kashifah, her frown vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “She’s our chaperone. She’s such a sweet old thing.”
“She’s here to
stop us having any fun,” said Nusrat with a knowing grin.
“Oh stop it!” said Kashifah. “She’s here for nothing of the sort. We’re going to have a splendid time. She’s simply here to see that there is a measure of decorum, that everyone conducts themselves in a seemly manner. There would be a scandal if she were not with us, would there not? What would all those wagging tongues say then? You know how palace tongues are apt to wag. Even those with the best of intentions are inclined to bold imaginings and the artful colouring of dull truths.”
“Making up lies,” said Nusrat with a wink at Tanya. “That’s what she means. And I daresay that’s the truth of it.”
“Well, anyway,” said Kashifah with a sniff. “I’m sure you take my point.”
“What is that bracelet you always wear?” Nusrat asked Kelly. “It has such an extraordinarily fine piece of glass in it, and I’m sure the design behind it has changed since the last time I saw it.”
Kelly got on with explaining the concept of a wristwatch to the two princesses as the carriage bore them on past fields and the plantations of nutmeg and cloves from which the island derived so much of its wealth.
“There is a water clock in the blue rooms,” said Kashifah, “and I have heard that old Zoroaster had a mechanical one brought back from India, but I never thought to see such a tiny, dainty timepiece. It must be worth its weight in diamonds.”
“I doubt it. My brother got it me for my birthday. Probably came from a garage.”
“I’ve got one with Disney characters on it,” said Tanya. “Back at home, I mean.”
“Disney characters – I’ll let you talk through that one,” said Kelly with a wry smile as Nusrat made to open her mouth in enquiry.
They had just got past the concept of movies and how they worked, when the road, which had been rising for the last half an hour or so, brought them out on a broad flowering lawn amongst woods by the side of small lake. On the far side the land rose up sharply into a steep cliff. Through a cleft, fringed with gnarled trees and tumbled rocks, a waterfall fell into the lake below, veils of haze drifting downwind, through which rainbows formed, dissolved and reformed with every shift of the faint breeze that stirred the dark waters.