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

by Martin Dukes

  He was looking at Alex earnestly now, whilst his sword belt was buckled around him.

  “I guess,” conceded Alex with a shrug.

  Three hours of listening to chaps discussing clove export quotas wasn’t Alex’s idea of living life to the full, but he forced a smile nevertheless and the Sultan punched him on the shoulder.

  “That’s better, my friend. We shall have a fine day, you and I. You shall see.”

  Kelly had a fine day, too, in what the Sultan had described as feckless indolence and the pursuit of pleasure. It was early summer in Zanzibar but a sea breeze from the east stirred the sultry heat that had settled on the island in the last week and flocks of bright birds chirruped in the groves to the north of the palace. It was here, in the cool of early evening, that Kelly walked with her new friends. Tanya had her own set of pals amongst the younger girls, and Kelly could hear their excited whoops and cries as they played hide and seek where the trees were planted more densely on the lower slopes. Lengthening shadows were creeping across the paths, humming birds darting here and there amongst the bright blossoms as Kelly turned to wait for Kashifah, Nusrat and several of their friends. They were some way back, their attention drawn to a monkey in one of the taller trees by one of the other young men they had met there.

  “Is it true you are betrothed?” asked Jemail, who had been walking with her.

  “Yes,” said Kelly after taking a moment to consider whether she should keep up the pretence.

  “I see,” said Jemail with a frown. “And when are you to be wed?”

  “Well, we haven’t really set a date. It’s a fairly informal arrangement, really.”

  “Informal. I see. And do you suppose you will agree, by and large – when married, I mean?”

  Kelly stopped abruptly.

  “I hardly think that’s any business of yours,” she said sharply.

  The expression of wounded confusion on Jemail’s face caused her to relent, to feel, despite herself, a surge of something that might have been affection in her breast.

  “Of course, you are right. Forgive me,” he implored humbly, waiting for her to catch up with him. “Let us speak of other things.”

  “Yes, let’s,” she said with a wry smile. “Do you know how to make daisy chains?”

  It seemed that the technology of daisy chains was unknown in Zanzibar and the daisies needed for their construction likewise unavailable. Nevertheless, Jemail found some little flowers under the trees and together they did their best to make a garland. The stems were rather too hard and woody for a fingernail to easily split, but they persevered whilst Jemail told Kelly about his family and she told him something of her experiences in the desert and the oasis.

  “How much of the world you have seen?” enquired Jemail. “I know only Zanzibar. I travel in the pages of books, though, and have seen some of what you mention through eyes other than mine. How I should like to show you my estate in Pemba. There is such fine country in the eastern uplands, where a man may ride for hours and see not another soul.”

  “I should love to,” said Kelly, realising suddenly that she meant it.

  She was, on balance, rather relieved when Tanya came back with her little friends, when the other young ladies approached to consider her stringy little garland. Their faces and conversation were not as strange and as foreign as once they had seemed. Although there were aspects of life in Zanzibar that continued to fill her with horror, she nevertheless felt a curious sense of being drawn in to the life of the palace.

  Every night, Alex did his best to dream of the string factory, in order to recreate the conditions of his last communication with Malcolm. Whereas Kelly, Henry, Tanya and Will had all made friends amongst their hosts, Alex had made only one, the Sultan, if that could be even described as a friendship. It felt like embracing a barrel of gunpowder. With every day that passed, Alex became more desperate to be rescued from this place of so-called ‘safety’ that Malcolm had marooned them in. If this was ‘safety’, Alex could hardly imagine what ‘peril’ must be like.

  Dreams had a way of turning out unexpectedly, however, and it was long before Alex’s intentions on retiring to bed were translated into actual results. Some nights he could recall no dreams at all – from others he awoke sweating, pulse racing as the vengeful ghost of Latif bin Salim stalked the darkened corridors of his mind. At length though, after a day spent in the Royal Treasury supervising the minting of new coins, he was able to find his way back to the string factory. It was with a sense of mild elation that he wandered amongst the familiar humming machines, painted green for the most part, with whirring pistons and pulleys. String in various colours spewed from between rollers and hurried along conveyer belts beneath his approving gaze. Of Malcolm there was no sign, however. He had almost given up looking when the screen of an enormous old fashioned television sprang into life. At first there were a great many writhing zigzag lines accompanied by an intense crackling sound. The zigzag lines settled down somewhat and faded until a black and white image of the factory he was standing in could be made out, hidden by a dense pattern of snow-like interference. Occasionally the whole image rotated upwards and reappeared at the bottom of the screen as though it were fixed to a large roller. Alex was about to walk away, distracted by the large purple penguin at the end of the hall, when Malcolm appeared on screen. The image remained grainy and indistinct but there was no doubt it was he, his voice audible enough amongst intermittent crackles and pops.

  “Are you there, Alex?” he asked. “Get a bit closer, if you can. This is a shocking line.”

  “Malcolm?” said Alex, approaching the television and placing his hand on the smooth curvature of the screen. “What are you doing in there?”

  “Long story,” said Malcolm. “I guess I need to fill you in on a few things.”

  “You could say that,” said Alex warmly. “You’ve got to get us out of here, Malcolm. Things are going pear-shaped, big time.”

  He described to Malcolm the ways in which things were going pear-shaped. It felt slightly odd to be holding a conversation with a television, but then there were a number of odd things about the string factory and he didn’t let this consideration interrupt his flow.

  “How do you think that makes me feel?” he demanded, after having described the circumstances of Latif bin Salem’s death. “I’m always going to have that on my conscience, aren’t I? I feel out of my depth here. I thought this was supposed to be a place of safety. I can tell you, I never felt less safe in my life. You’ve got to get us out of here. And next time you have to dump us somewhere safe, can you make sure it’s got cutlery and proper toilets?”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” said Malcolm. “But I’m afraid it’s no-can-do. You’ve got to hang fire there until I can sort things out at my end. Believe me I’m trying. I really am.”

  “Hmm,” said Alex doubtfully. “So you claim. And how come Tanya and Will turned up here? I never got time to ask you in our last little chat.”

  “Huh?” Malcolm looked genuinely surprised. “I never knew that. I knew the interstice folded after you dropped out of it, that’s all.”

  “Well, they’re here,” said Alex. “’Turned up on the other side of the island about the same time you so thoughtfully dropped us in the middle of the desert.”

  “I can’t explain it. Not for sure,” said Malcolm. “I’m guessing they kind of got sucked along after you in the turbulence kicked up when you dropped out and the interstice bombed. I’ll ask some questions, if you like.”

  “So what’s going on out there, anyway?” asked Alex with a nod. “Are those guys still after my head? Have you found out what makes me so special yet? I can’t say anything’s turned up here that’d mark me down so far.”

  “Whoa!” said Malcolm. “Too many questions. Let’s start with the Brothers. Yes, they are still trying to track you down, but it seems you’re just one of a number of leads they’re following up. I guess they’ve got to gather in quite a few skulls to be su
re of getting the right one. But that’s good because it means they haven’t got the whole of their attention focused on you alone. They’re spreading the lurve, see, which suits us just fine, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess,” said Alex, feeling no great sense of relief.

  “I actually managed to get Mike interested. He’s one of the main bosses up here, see. To a lot of folks the Brothers are just a bunch of harmless eccentrics, but Mike agreed with me that something’s got to be done in this instance. So we’ve got this whole sector locked down, whilst he gets their top guy in for a chat. Nothing gets in for now and nothing gets out, or Mike’s going to hear about it.”

  “But why can’t you get us out of here and get us back home?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “It’s like I said. The sector’s locked down pending investigation of illegal interference with Reality. That’s what it says on the press release.”

  “Oh great!” said Alex, slapping the side of the television. “Thanks for that.”

  “And as for your ‘specialness’,” said Malcolm, moving things along, “we really need to get you in for a proper scan, but my mate Dave thinks he might have an angle on it. I’ve run some of my own ID fixes past him and he’s got a shrewd idea what we may be looking at.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Well, nothing’s nailed down yet but there’s a chance you may be dimensionally unstable.”

  “What, like I’m mentally unbalanced or something?”

  “Nothing at all like that,” said Malcolm with a grin. “It means you may be able to pass right through from one reality to another. In the right circumstances, of course, and with the right training. If you can, that’s a pretty special little skill you’ve got there. It takes a whole bunch of power and a whole lot of technology for us to do it. If you can punch a little hole in the fabric of space-stroke-time and step right through, that’d make you one special guy.”

  “You’re crazy!” Alex told him. “What on earth makes you think I can do that kind of stuff? I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  “I’m not saying you can,” said Malcolm. “I’m no great shakes on the technical side. But if Dave is right it would explain why the Brothers have got the hots for you. Your skull must be real pretty.”

  “That’s a comfort to me,” said Alex bitterly. “So what happens now?”

  “Nothing happens now – not until we get the Brothers off your back and this sector freed up again. Then we’ll see about getting your head looked at, if you’ll pardon the expression. The Brothers aren’t going to be able to get at you now. All you need to do is hold tight and keep yourselves out of trouble.”

  “Out of trouble, that’s what he said. Out of trouble and here you are telling me you’ve got to fight a duel,” said Alex incredulously to Henry the following afternoon.

  “Well, I know it’s not ideal,” said Henry, whose whole demeanour was perceptibly less cocky than usual.

  “Not ideal! Are you insane? You could be killed,” said Kelly.

  “Can’t you get out of it?” asked Will anxiously.

  It appeared that Henry had insulted one of the noble youths with whom he was undergoing military training. He had made an uncomplimentary remark about the size of a young nobleman’s nose and the youth, whose hearing was acute as his honour was sensitive, had taken serious offence. Without much pause for thought he had pushed Henry against a wall and, goaded by a group of his friends, challenged Henry to a duel the following morning at dawn. It was, he said, the only way that the stain of such an insult could be wiped from his honour. Unfortunately, given that Henry had injudiciously picked a fight with the sharpest swordsman of his year, the likelihood was that they’d soon be wiping Henry’s entrails off the parade ground.

  “I can’t,” said Henry, flushing around the cheeks somewhat. “It’s a matter of honour. You know, that stuff they’re all so keen on here… Yeah. I can take him, anyway.”

  “Pah!” scoffed Alex. “You should listen to yourself. You’ve only actually been using a sabre for the last couple of weeks. I know you think you’re pretty sharp with it, but do me a favour. Do you actually think you’re up to fighting a duel? Come on! Get real!”

  “Well, I can hardly go in with a sick note from my mother,” said Henry. “This is serious stuff.”

  “Yes, and it’s your big mouth that’s got you into it,” Kelly told him. “I could have told you your big stupid cocky mouth was going to get you killed.”

  “Here, hang on a minute,” said Henry, advancing through a few more shades of red. “Who says I’m going to get killed? Thanks a lot for your support, guys. Thanks a lot for the team talk and all the positive thinking.”

  “You might just get maimed,” said Will. “It’s not necessarily going to be fatal.”

  “What’s maimed?” asked Tanya.

  “It’s like being crippled,” said Kelly angrily. “Like Henry is in the head.”

  “Alright,” said Alex waving his hands. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. We’ve got to think what we can do.”

  “Well, he can’t fight a duel,” said Kelly adamantly. “That’s totally out of the question. He’s fifteen years old, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I’ve got to,” said Henry glumly. “Or everyone’ll think I’m a coward. I’ll be totally washed up then. You know what it’s like here.”

  “Yeah, well I’d rather be a coward than a kebab,” said Will with a sniff.

  Henry looked from face to face as the debate continued, perceptibly low in spirits and rather diminished by events. Zulfiqar was summoned to offer his comments on the affair. After having been called upon to advance his opinions rather frequently in recent times, he looked understandably anxious, too. As soon as it became obvious that he wasn’t required to make any statements that might be politically dangerous for himself, he brightened up considerably.

  “Duels are rarely fatal,” he told them with satisfaction. “We have them all the time, although the Sultans try to discourage them because sometimes it leads to blood feuds amongst the clans. Very often it will need only that a little blood should be spilled for the victor to consider that honour has been satisfied. And who are you to fight?”

  Alex told him. Zulfiqar, whose cheerful features had been animated by the prospect of a duel, looked suddenly as though he had been slapped.

  “Oh, dear, Master Henry,” he said sorrowfully. “You must pick your quarrels more carefully. Shazad al Fulan is the best sword in the school. His honour remains intact after three duels already this year, and he has already put an older man in the ground. His honour is a fragile flower but his sword arm is sturdy and a nimble limb indeed. I trust you will make peace with your God tonight.”

  Henry was looking aghast at Zulfiqar.

  “Thanks for those thoughts, Zulfiqar,” he said. “I’m no slouch with a sabre myself, you know. I can do him, I reckon.”

  “Shut up, Henry,” said Kelly, Tanya and Will together.

  “You’ve got to go and see the Sultan and get it called off,” said Kelly to Alex.

  “Okay,” said Alex with a disgusted glance at Henry. “I guess I’ll have to.”

  Chapter Eight

  At the Sultan’s quarters in the heart of the palace, the head of his household, an ancient grey-bearded fellow called Ahmed, told Alex that the Sultan was in conference with his mother and was not to be disturbed. He agreed to take a message, however, and to bring a reply as soon as was convenient. Alex returned to the others, wondering if he should visit the Grand Vizier, too. Recent experience made this a deeply unpalatable prospect, but Henry’s life might be at stake. Under these circumstances there might be no option but to face further humiliation at Hussain’s hands. Zulfiqar did not think this necessary, however.

  “His Excellency will know already,” he told Alex, “as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow. It is his business to know. On reflection, I do not think the Sultan will permit this duel. He sets great store in you milkskins. He thinks you an omen for his rei
gn, so I do not think he will risk a death amongst you.”

  There was no reply from the Sultan that night, despite a number of increasingly anxious enquiries at his door. Consequently the Outlanders did not sleep well. Zulfiqar awoke them before dawn and led them to a place outside the palace walls where, he explained, disputes of this kind were generally resolved. Birds were already singing in the trees and silver light was creeping through the trees and branches, casting long shadows on the dew-wet grass of a little meadow. It was set to be a beautiful morning. Quite how much of it Henry was going to see was very much dependent on events in the next hour or so. The pallor of his features showed that he was keenly aware of this point.

  “Are you sure it’s not too late for an apology?” asked Kelly, having already asked this question several times before during the short journey from their quarters.

  “Are you deaf or stupid?” hissed Henry, pulling his sabre out of its scabbard and giving it an experimental swish in the air before him. “About fifty-fifty is my guess.”

  Kelly was about to say something about not caring whether he did get carved up, but she bit her lip.

  “It’s not going to happen,” Alex told her. “The Sultan’ll stop it.”

  He had convinced himself that Zulfiqar was right, that such foolishness would be forbidden, but now, as a group of other young courtiers approached across the lawn towards them, a lump came into his throat. The Sultan was cutting it fine.

  “Couldn’t you have gone for pistols?” asked Will anxiously.

  “How would that be better? Anyway, they don’t use pistols for this kind of business,” said Alex grimly. “It’s different here, not like it used to be in Europe, you know – stand back to back, walk ten paces, turn and fire. Just swords.”

  “I’m scared,” said Tanya, clinging to Kelly’s side. Kelly stroked Tanya’s hair absently as Henry’s opponent halted before them, a group of grinning lackeys on either side of him, clearly expecting to see Henry get skewered sometime soon.