by Karuna Riazi
Ahmad squared his jaw and grasped the doorknob, but it swung inward before he could open it. There stood a woman. She was hidden under gauzy shawls dangling from her arms. Her face was veiled with an oversized and knotted dopatta. It didn’t matter.
Because somehow, Ahmad knew exactly who she was.
CHAPTER SIX
MADAME NASIRAH,” AHMAD WHISPERED in awe. “The Gamekeeper.”
The woman seemed to be taken aback for a moment, before she spoke cheerily.
“Why, yes! I suppose with these new doodads . . . No, what am I supposed to call them? Upgrades, that’s the word. Anyway, I’m sure they probably have instructions to keep the players’ heads on straight. I am indeed Madame Nasirah, your Gamekeeper.”
Winnie eyed Ahmad curiously as the woman turned to set down the tray in her hands. “But how do you know who she is?”
“I don’t know,” Ahmad responded. In his head, he had always pictured Paheli with a bustling, colorful cast of characters. But he never bothered to write down the backstories and family ties he dreamed up, more focused on trying to lay out the city itself. So they tended to change every so often.
Still, though, the memory of the woman and her name had come without difficulty, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. After all, a game had never been part of what he imagined about Paheli.
“Now there,” Madame Nasirah said, clapping her hands free of dust before lifting the teapot off the counter. “First things first, you’ll need some tea and . . .”
Somewhere behind the layers of cloth, her eyes met Ahmad’s. Her hand flew up to her mouth.
“Oh! Oh my!”
The teapot Madame Nasirah held slipped from her fingers.
Crash!
“Oh no!” Winnie gasped, rushing forward to grab the woman’s hand. “Are you okay?”
It was a very Winnie reaction, and it would have made Ahmad smile. Except that the woman didn’t answer. She stared at the both of them, frozen. When she did move, it was in a quick rush of limbs, lunging at him with open arms.
“It can’t be,” she whispered. She clasped Ahmad’s face between her hands. It took him a minute to realize that tears were silently dripping down her cheeks. “This shouldn’t be possible.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ahmad didn’t do well with crying adults in general, but this was a new level of weird. He made wide, desperate eyes at Winnie, who looked just as panicked. That was a little surprising, considering how much better Winnie was with adults usually.
“Your face is so familiar,” Madame Nasirah said. She leaned back and dabbed delicately at her eyes, trying to laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Ahmad awkwardly wrapped his arm around her and gave her a few pats. Her embrace did feel familiar. She smelled of cardamom and cinnamon: like all the best desserts and his mother’s favorite tea blend. But a bit deeper and mustier. Older.
Winnie politely cleared her throat. “Sorry to butt in, but . . . you’ve seen Ahmad before? As a player?”
Madame Nasirah blinked at her. “Is Ahmad his name?” She looked back down into Ahmad’s face, squinting her eyes. “If only I could recall properly. This city keeps changing its rules on me, which is not unusual for Paheli. Its name after all means . . .”
“Riddle,” Ahmad finished for her. It always had been the best type of puzzle to him. He’d try to pin down the streets that were sometimes so vivid in his mind, but they seemed to change the next time he had a pencil in his hand.
“Yes.” Madame Nasirah smiled fondly as she bent down to pick up the strewn pieces of the teapot. “That’s Paheli for you. But recently, after this MasterMind or whoever arrived, there’s all these new words to learn and sometimes you go out to find a street you could find at a particular hour has vanished entirely—”
She broke off, shaking her head.
“But oh! The tea! I’ll need to put on another pot. You’ll need every last drop for strength before you proceed deeper into the game.”
Ahmad’s eyes widened, and he glanced toward Winnie.
Enjoy every last drop.
They were definitely in the right place.
At Madame Nasirah’s urging, they gingerly sat on dusty silk cushions around a small, round table. Everything about the shop, in comparison to the high-tech glamour of the street outside, seemed unloved and secondhand.
Winnie nudged Ahmad in the ribs, and hissed, “Do we really need to drink the tea?”
“The MasterMind said . . .”
“I know what she said. But how do we know it’s safe for us to drink it?”
Winnie’s eyes were round. Ahmad was stunned.
“Um, haven’t we switched places?” he whispered. “Usually, you’re Ms. ‘Let’s Ask the Teacher What to Do.’ ”
“And you were Mr. ‘The Adults Can’t Help Us’ not more than a half hour ago!” Winnie tapped her finger on the table furiously. “How do we know this lady is actually here to help us and she’s not like some minor boss we have to fight in order to search the shop for clues?”
At Ahmad’s stare, she sighed exasperatedly. “You’re not the only video game fan, you know.”
Ahmad looked down at the table. He didn’t know what else to say. She was right about him not usually being so quick to trust. But for some reason, the familiarity of the woman was sinking into his gut and warming him.
And the smell of chai in the air reminded him of home. How could he not want to take a sip?
Winnie leaned in to say something more, but a new tray settled in front of them.
“Here we are,” Madame Nasirah said cheerily. “Who’s going first?”
“I’m not thirsty,” Winnie started, and Ahmad broke in, “I’ll have some.”
He focused on Madame Nasirah’s smile so he didn’t have to look at Winnie’s dagger eyes. The warm, fuzzy feelings he’d had about the girl while they were plummeting through the air were starting to evaporate. Winnie Williamson wasn’t the boss of him, and she was the one who had pointed out that this was his city.
His Paheli wouldn’t hurt him. Would it?
Madame Nasirah raised the teapot so that the tea cascaded, bubbling and frothing, as it filled the glass.
“My mom’s friend from Morocco pours tea like that, but I always thought it was for fun,” Ahmad said, feeling another rush of that bittersweet sense of home.
“Of course she does,” Madame Nasirah said cheerily. “The tea tastes better that way.”
As Ahmad slid his glass carefully toward him, the woman turned to Winnie, who looked unsure. “I’m not much of a tea person. I think I’ll pass.”
“Oh, come now,” Madame Nasirah said impatiently. “It’s a rite of passage in my shop. And you’ve never had my tea. Come, child. Take some.”
Winnie bit her lip, but then Ahmad exclaimed in surprise, “It’s chai!” He stared into his cup at the creamy, carefully spiced tea sloshing within it. “It’s my ma’s chai.”
“My teapot knows,” said Madame Nasirah, smiling at them.
Winnie held out her glass and stared at its contents as they poured in. Ahmad leaned forward to investigate. “That’s not chai. But how—”
“Results may vary per player,” Madame Nasirah said primly, taking back the pot and rising to her feet in order to peer at the shop’s dusty counter. “Now, where did I put those spinach pies?”
Winnie wrinkled her nose down at her cup and looked up at Ahmad.
“What?” Ahmad asked.
She raised her eyebrows, glanced down at his cup, and then back up at his face.
Ahmad rolled his eyes. “It’s been a few minutes now and my stomach feels fine. Come on, Winnie.”
Winnie rolled her eyes right back but reached for her cup. “If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you.”
She took a tentative sip. And then stared down into the cup.
“What?” Ahmad asked anxiously. “What’s wrong?”
Winnie shook her head. Suddenly, she look
ed very small and uncertain. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“It tastes like the tea my mom makes on sick days,” she said, biting her lip. “Dad says he married Mom knowing he would make the coffee every morning because she could burn a pot of water. She really does, every time. And then Grandma comes in quietly and does something so that it actually tastes like tea again, and just smiles and nods while Mom takes all the credit.”
“Um . . . wow.” Ahmad inwardly pinched himself for that lackluster response. How come he couldn’t say something normal, something supportive?
It didn’t seem like Winnie noticed, though.
“This morning, I was so irritated with all of them. But after seeing them frozen on the screen—after tasting the tea . . . I don’t know why I was.”
Madame Nasirah squeezed Winnie’s shoulder. Ahmad hadn’t even noticed her come back in the room. “If you want,” she suggested gently, “I could pour you a fresh cup. See what else the pot could give you.”
But Winnie shook her head. “This is good enough.” She took another sip, blinking her eyes fiercely.
Ahmad turned to Madame Nasirah. “So you are the Gamekeeper. Does this mean you pulled us into this game?”
Madame Nasirah shook her head. “I’m merely a gatekeeper—or what is the word that dreadful girl is always using? A tutorial. I’m here to let you know the rules, and what you need to do if you hope to win. Some spinach pies, dears.”
Ahmad jerked back as a plate of delightfully steaming pastries was plunked in front of him.
“Now,” Madame Nasirah said, watching approvingly as Winnie stuffed a spinach pie in her mouth and hummed happily. “This game is one that only ever seeks young players. And I will tell you right now that now that it has you, it will not want to let you go. So listen carefully.”
A shiver ran down Ahmad’s spine.
“Paheli is a place of riddles,” Madame Nasirah said softly. “This game is not a simple one of throwing dice and moving forward spaces. It is one that will require you to remember what you’ve seen, keep track of what is in your pockets, and know who your allies are. Even the rules I tell you now may shift.”
“Wait, then,” Winnie interjected around a mouthful of crumbly date cookie. “That doesn’t seem fair. How are we supposed to play if the rules change on us?”
“The Architect doesn’t aim to play fair. The one time he did, he lost and the whole of Paheli nearly fell apart. Now, he’s learned from it. He and his new friend, that awful MasterMind, are going to be throwing everything they have at you.”
“The Architect?” Ahmad’s heart pounded. That was not a name he had ever made up or casually written down as an inhabitant of Paheli. It should have been unfair, and yet, somehow, when she said it, something tickled at the back of his brain: a marble palace and a cold hand on his shoulder.
Madame Nasirah snorted. “The little spoiled prince of Paheli and the originator of the game. The entire city used to quake under his terrible tantrums. He would conjure up a sandstorm if someone so much as stepped on his foot.”
“He sounds lovely,” Winnie said dryly, pushing a date cookie between Ahmad’s fingers. He bit into it, relishing the contrast of the sandy dough against the sticky filling.
“If he’s friends with the MasterMind, though, I’m not surprised. She seems like a piece of work.”
“Ah, that one, I know less about.” Madame Nasirah shoved a plate of kanafe that she seemed to have conjured out of nowhere toward Ahmad. He resignedly took a slice. The language of aunties was unspoken and brooked no complaint or refusal to obey. Besides, the sweet pastry was piping hot and delicious, tendrils of cheese sliding apart temptingly between his fingers.
“The game announces players’ arrivals, so she wouldn’t have entered that way or I would have known myself. I’m not entirely sure how the game came back to life to begin with. The last player who won—” Madame Nasirah shook her head with a fond chuckle. “She did a good job of tearing it apart to the roots. In any case, all you need to know about both of them is that they are trouble.”
Winnie leaned forward. “So, even if the rules change, there has to be something about the game that helps us figure out what we need to do, right?”
“There are three rounds,” Madame Nasirah said. “Each centers on a particular puzzle that you must solve within a given amount of time. The city will be your playing board. It shifts to accommodate whatever challenge is set before you.”
“Oh, great,” Ahmad sighed. “And here I was hoping it’d be something like a relay race.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Madame Nasirah said, leaning in closer. “In any case, if you can succeed, you will earn a puzzle piece that you need to continue on. You’ll know it when you see it.”
A hand rose from beneath her shawls and Ahmad and Winnie gasped in amazement at the shining object held within her palm: a puzzle piece, but one carved from heavy metal and inlaid with precious stones.
“You need to be stingy with your time and careful with your trust. The people of Paheli hold loyalty to no one but the Architect, and that is merely because his whim rules their city.”
Winnie looked pale. “It’s so intense,” she said softly. “What happens if we lose a challenge?”
“It is,” Madame Nasirah replied, resting one hand on her head. “I won’t lie to you and tell you that it isn’t. If you lose, you’re stuck here with the rest of us. But you cannot let thoughts like that cloud your judgment. You must look ahead and see the finish line without that anxiety and doubt hanging off your shoulders. You have two enemies to face as it is, Winnie. Do not let yourself become another.”
Winnie swallowed hard.
Ahmad, though, leaned forward. “Where do we start?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THIS PLACE REALLY GIVES me the creeps,” Winnie muttered under her breath as the kids edged through a crowded alleyway. Madame Nasirah had suggested a stroll through the souk so they could get their bearings before the challenges began. But Ahmad felt he couldn’t quite find his footing.
“I know what you mean,” Ahmad agreed.
Paheli felt like it was squirming out of its skin, right beneath their feet. Maybe it was something to do with the music track that blasted in the background, on loop like any typical video game. There was something dark and wildly violent about the distant drums and shrill flute.
It was unfair, actually, because the rest of Paheli wasn’t dark or scary or disturbing at all. The best way Ahmad could think of it was that they were underwater—at least, if the ocean floor was designed by whoever at Disney dreamed up Tron: all sparkle and metal surfaces, cut through with neon avenues and hologram storefronts.
Winnie darted backward, gasping, as the sweets shop they passed blinked out of existence.
“Did I do that? What just happened?”
“I don’t know—” Ahmad started, and then gaped along with her as the store flickered back into existence. But something had changed. There was now a silver awning, and instead of the cheery, round-faced woman arranging frosted cakes alongside trays of syrupy orange jalebi in the window, a stern young man adjusted odd suits on shiny steel mannequins.
“How did it do that?” Ahmad whispered.
Winnie was leaning close to the window.
“What are those suits made of? I’ve never seen a fabric that can do that.”
The suit—a simple kurta shirt over billowing pants—seemed a vibrant green at first glance. Once the kids focused, though, they could see an underlying purple paisley print, pulsing in and out of existence like a heartbeat.
“Let’s see if we can make it do that again,” Ahmad said eagerly, leaning forward.
The kids giggled as the shops glimmered back and forth, in and out of existence. One moment, it was the elegant clothing shop, and the next, they caught a glimpse of the woman popping a frosting-covered finger in her mouth before guiltily waving at them.
A tap on the glass startled both of
them, along with a muffled “Ahem.” The young man scowled at them and pointed at a sign above his head. Words glowed on it, formed by a hundred small light bulbs like the type you might see at an old-fashioned Broadway show.
“What does that say?” Winnie said, blinking rapidly. “All I see is paisley.”
“Please mind our automated store,” Ahmad read aloud. “If you do not wish to come inside, step back and give us time to prepare for our customers.”
When Ahmad looked back at the salesman, he made a shooing motion with his hand.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” Winnie mumbled, tugging Ahmad back. “Ahmad!”
Ahmad couldn’t resist one last hand wave in the direction of the shop. The disapproving young man opened his mouth to protest, but in a moment, he was replaced with the charming pastel and jewel-laden cake stands of the sweets shop.
The woman looked up from her frosting with a smile, right as a group of customers wandered in.
“Ahmad,” Winnie said again, trying to look disapproving. “That wasn’t cool.”
Ahmad shrugged. “I stopped. That’s what he wanted, right?”
Winnie narrowed her eyes, though her lips were still twitching at the corners.
“You know that’s not what he wanted. He was a bit snooty, but so what?”
So what was right, and Ahmad knew it. But he couldn’t help himself, just like he couldn’t help himself at school when a teacher said something that brought to mind a snarky comeback or a student wrinkled their nose up at his lunch.
“I said I stopped, okay?” Ahmad insisted. “I won’t do it again. Sorry.”
Winnie looked at him hard for a long moment, and then relaxed into one of her easy smiles.
“Whatever. It’s fine. Let’s keep going.”
They turned their backs on the shop.
“Automated store, huh?” Winnie said. “That is pretty cool.”
“Thinking about it sounds really stressful,” Ahmad responded. The man didn’t look like he was ready for it to switch. Ahmad felt a guilty twinge in the pit of his stomach. “And what if someone can’t decide which shop they want right away, or they step into one without realizing they stepped into the wrong shop?”