017 -- The Blue Parrot

" . . . and something from the South, too."

Hakan thought for a minute. "And a bowl of the Escobar Blue, please."

The slightly bewildered serving girl nodded before sliding away back into the semi-darkness. Hakan and Alexis had just finished ordering at the Blue Parrot, one of the most highly-respected teahouses and smoking establishments in the city. Alexis, of course, had ordered a dizzying array of tobaccos and teas in a quantity far beyond her ability to consume, a pattern that had become familiar to Hakan over the past week. He sympathized with the skinny brown-skinned girl who had taken their order . . . luckily for her Alexis would have a hard time noticing any slip ups, as Hakan had picked most of their selections.

"So how did you know what to order? There was no menu."

"Did you see the two rods outside?"

The stoic exterior of the Blue Parrot had only two decorations -- a small mosaic of a blue bird and pair of long rods that ran the length of the building. Hanging from these rods were several hundred small metal figures; people, animals, plants, stars, ships, geometric shapes, and a few letters from different languages. Each represented a type of tea or tobacco that the house had in stock that day, and the elites of Asfar were expected to know them by heart. Most servants, however, had not had the luxury of such an education, and so a circle of young women could be seen around each tea house early in the morning as the shapes went up, armed with small notebooks furiously deciphering and recording the day's offerings should their masters decide to dine out unexpectedly.

". . . My tutor used to teach me a couple figures each day. He would tell the stories that went with a particular shape . . . most of the shapes have some sort of story behind them, especially the older ones. Haskel says that if you combined them all, it would form a nearly complete history of Asfar and the five houses. I don't know if that's true, but the stories make them a lot easier to --"

But Alexis had stopped paying attention. "Who's that?" she said, breaking in on Hakan's explanation and pointing at a few large men grouped in a corner.

"Hmm?" Hakan squinted in the semi-darkness. He was glad that it was difficult to see in the tea house, as it covered up Alexis' frequent and often jarring directness. "Them? I'm not sure. They're probably smugglers."

Alexis looked up quickly. "Smugglers? How can you tell?"

Hakan laughed. "Supposedly, smugglers use tea-houses for their meetings, because they're so dark. When the guards come in, it's too dark for them to see until their eyes adjust, and that gives them a chance to get away. I don't know if that's actually true, though."

"Oh." Alexis looked disappointed. Her disappointment lasted only for a moment, though, because soon a stream of serving girls arrived carrying several ornate pipes and clay teapots.

Hakan watched, amused, as a circle of small pots and smoke materialized around Alexis. He accepted his own tea with the appropriate nod and sipped it gently. It was relaxing to sit for a moment after spending the morning trying to keep up with Alexis.

They'd met shortly after breakfast that morning, a few streets from the Tarif estate at a fountain that had served as a rendezvous all week. Alexis had promptly informed him that they were going to spend the day visiting the high market, although after a few questions Hakan quickly realized that she had no idea where it was. The high market was sandwiched between a pair of elevated thoroughfares that ran from the outer wall to the temple of Rahm. Expensive shops lined the avenues on either side, second story storefronts open to the elevated street and decorated with opulent mosaics.

Their lower levels, however, opened into the market itself, which catered to a much broader range of tastes. There was no road access, patrons either had to pick their way carefully down a narrow staircase cut into the avenue's embankment or negotiate one of many winding tunnels that emerged into the open air from other, quieter parts of the city. The open space between the roadways was filled with tents, vendors, flags in a dizzying array of colors, incense burners, small brick ovens, and even temporary pens filled with animals. From mid-morning until after nightfall the market swarmed with people of all ages, colors, and backgrounds, all milling about among the smells of sweat, roasted meat, straw, perfume, fried dough, animal dung, and a thousand other things.

It was through this labyrinth that Hakan had been following Alexis. The young woman had plunged into sampling as many things as she could get her hands on, picking, partially consuming and discarding food nearly as fast as Hakan could pay for it. He didn't mind indulging Alexis' whims, as every night for the past week a strangely taciturn and unapologetic old servant had stopped by the Tarif estate with a purse of gold, making up for Alexis' numerous purchases. Finally, though, she had declared herself tired, and declared that they would stop at the Blue Parrot.

"Why did you pick the Blue Parrot?"

"Hmm?" Alexis' eyes shown out from the haze of blue smoke encircling her head.

"The Blue Parrot? How do you know of it?"

"My father mentioned it, he said I should be sure to visit."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, but I didn't know it would be so . . . dark!"

Hakan laughed. It was quite dark inside the tea house. Other than a few bright shafts of light stabbing down from the skylights that also served as chimneys, the room was totally unlit. Every once in a while one of the serving girls, dressed in slinky, semi-transparent fabrics that had copper and silver pieces woven into them, would pass under a skylight and shine like a mirror. Even then the thick haze of tobacco smoke meant that the far corners of the room remained totally unlit.

"That's how you know it's a good tea house, if you can't see when you first come in . . ." but Hakan trailed off. Someone had just blundered in from the vestibule carrying a long object wrapped in cloth in one hand and feeling his way along the wall with the other. He saw one of the serving girls head the person off, and they had a short, frenzied conversation before she began leading him through the room. As they approached Alexis and his cushions, Hakan recognized the young man as his servant, Simge.

"Simge, what are you doing here?"

"Master, thank goodness you're alright!" Hakan's clumsy servant had clearly rushed in without giving his eyes time to adjust, and was staring into space. "I had to come right away, but I can't see. Where are you?"

Hakan got to his feet. "Over here, Simge. What's going on?"

Simge groped in the dark before finally finding Hakan's hand with obvious relief. "Someone left a message at the estate just a half hour ago, saying that you were at the Blue Parrot and were in extreme danger!"

"Danger? What kind of danger?" Alexis was on her feet now as well.

"It's because of Mistress Temrin, Master Tarif. There are men outside waiting to kidnap her. Many men, with weapons!"

"Kidnappers? Excellent!" The young woman sounded excited. "Oooh, Hakan, what will we do?"

Hakan frowned at her, about to reply, but was cut off by Simge.

"I grabbed these, Master, and came as quick as I could." He unrolled the cloth to show a sabre and a pistol. The serving girl gave an alarmed cry, and started to say something, but Hakan ignored her.

"Simge! Excellent work. Does my father know about this?"

Simge shrugged. "I sent a message to your father and his bodyguards, but they're away at a meeting and I don't know when they will get it."

"Alright." Hakan thought for a moment, shedding his outer coat and buckling the swordbelt around his waist. After making sure it was snug, he thrust the pistol into the back of the belt. The serving girl was still saying something about how weapons were prohibited indoors, but Hakan grabbed her hand. "Do you have a back door?"

She nodded.

"Take us to it."

Wordlessly she turned, leading the three of them through the maze of cushions and patrons. No one was looking at them, but Hakan smiled at the assortment of weapons that had unobtrusively appeared among the men seated around him. The girl pulled him through a cunningly hidden doorway into a brightly lit room and let go of his hand.

Squinting at the sudden change, Hakan stopped. "Simge, where are we? I can't see."

"We're in the kitchen. She's pointing down a stairwell."

"Can you lead me?"

"Yes, take my hand . . . you too, Mistress Temrin."

Simge led them carefully down the stairs. As his vision began to adjust, Hakan could see that they were in a cellar, about halfway full of wooden crates and hanging bundles of tobacco. A large freight door took up most of the opposite wall, held shut with a large iron latch.

"Alright, Simge, here's the plan. I'm going to take the minister's daughter out that door, and we'll run for it. If we make it, I'll see you at the estate. If not, wait here for an hour and then go find dad. Got it?"

Simge gulped, pale-faced, before nodding.

Hakan turned to Alexis, who was beaming with excitement. "When I count to -- what are you so happy about?"

"Kidnappers! Isn't this fun?"

He stared at her. "No, not . . . really. Do you actually understand what's going on?"

"Oh, of course! My father has lots of enemies, I'm surprised this doesn't happen more often."

"Alexis . . . they're not going to be very nice to you if they catch you. I don't know what things are like in Khardror, but here in Asfar . . . well, we invented torture."

"Oh, you're right! I should be scared, shouldn't I?" Alexis quickly adopted a scared face. "Is this better?"

Hakan shook his head. "Ok, sure. Whatever. Listen, just grab my hand. When I count to three, I'm going to open this door. Then we run. Follow me and don't let go, okay?"

Alexis giggled for a moment before readopting her scared face. "Okay."

"Alright." Hakan unlatched the door and braced his shoulder against it. "One . . . Two . . . Three!"

The door swung open easily. Hakan and Alexis ran out into the alley . . .

. . . and found themselves surrounded by a semi-circle of armed men in masks.

"Dammit! They were waiting for us!" Hakan pulled Alexis behind him and faced the men.

They were relaxed, but had their weapons drawn. One of the kidnappers chuckled as Hakan looked desperately for a way to escape. There was no way out of the alley . . . except for the way they had come . . .

"You can try running back in, but if you think that we're not watching the front door, you're a fool."

An old, scarred man with an eyepatch had stepped out from the shadows at the end of the alley. His voiced grated like a rusty shovel. "Only one bodyguard? And he's just a boy. I thought this would be harder."

"You can't take her!"

At this several of the kidnappers started laughing, including the old ringleader. "Come on now, kid. Just give us the girl. We might even let you live! How does that sound?"

Hakan pulled the pistol from his belt, and the kidnappers immediately stopped laughing. A few of their weapons came up. "Stay back! Stay back or I'll shoot!"

The old man laughed alone this time. "Not going to take me up on my offer? I guess you're right, I wasn't going to let you live. So you're going to shoot one of us. Then what? You only have one shot."

"I guess I'll shoot you then." Hakan pointed the pistol at the old man, and before anyone could react, pulled the trigger.

*Click*

The sound of the empty firing mechanism rang out in the crowded alley.

"A word of advice, kid -- it helps if you load it first. Take them, kill the boy." the ringleader added, gesturing to his men. They surged forward as one. Hakan threw down the pistol and drew his sabre with a wordless yell.

The first kidnapper came at him with a makeshift cudgel, raised high above his head in a sloppy attack. Hakan slid inside his attack easily, ramming his shoulder into the man's chest as he came forward. He rammed upwards under the chin with the hilt of his sword, snapping the man's head back with a sharp click as his teeth came together.

The man with the cudgel fell backwards, knocking two of the other kidnappers off balance. This gave Hakan time to slide to his left, catching the sword of another attacker on his own blade before it could split his ribs. He ducked a machete that came towards his head from the other direction, and as the kidnapper's uncontrolled attack took him off balance Hakan slashed at his exposed bicep with his own sword. The man yelled and dropped his weapon, holding one bleeding arm with the other.

Another attacker came at him, also with a sword, and Hakan parried this with his blade as well. Pushing forward, Hakan stepped past the man's leg and simultaneously smashed his elbow into the man's face. Overbalancing, the man tumbled to the ground, dropping his sword and clutching his nose.

A thick club crashed into Hakan's back, nearly knocking him breathless. Falling to his knees, he managed to twist and catch the next attack on his pommel. The sword bit into the wooden club, and with a wrench he disarmed the man, flinging the club into another kidnapper's shins. Seeing a sword glint from above as it swung towards him, Hakan rolled to his left and slashed blindly upwards. He caught on something, and as his assailant toppled on to him Hakan struggled to free himself. He removed himself from the man's grip just in time to parry a knife thrust from the man who had used the cudgel earlier, and another blow from the flat of his sword left the man crumpled on the ground.

The two remaining assailants paused for a second before attacking him simultaneously. He drifted to his left, ducking under one kidnapper's wild swing and letting the man's sword catch the other attacker in the throat. The unintended victim dropped his weapon, grasping at his neck wide-eyed and falling to the ground gurgling. Surprised, the first kidnapper paused for a second until Hakan kicked him in the knee, breaking the man's leg and dropping him to the ground as well. He turned back down the alley to find the old man --

-- and found himself staring into the barrel of the ringleader's pistol. "Nicely done, kid. Too bad mine's loaded."

There was no way to reach him in time. Hakan winced, expecting the blast of gunpowder . . . but instead, he heard a soft "phssssssss-THWACK" followed shortly by the sound of a body falling to the ground.

After a moment he tenatively opened one eye. The old man had dropped the pistol and fallen backwards, a black arrow sticking straight up into the air from his left eye socket like a flagpole. At the same time, another newcomer had appeared at the end of the alley. He gave a short whistle and made a circular gesture above his head, but before Hakan could say anything Alexis rushed past him.

"What? Who's -- Alexis, what's going on here?" But Alexis had been swept up in the arms of the man at the end of the alley, who was smiling and swinging her through the air like a little girl. At the same time, two more men, this time dressed in black from head to toe, appeared on the roof overlooking the alley. They swung a rope over the side and climbed down to the street with impressive speed and agility. Hakan noticed that one of them was carrying a bow slung over his shoulder.

"Hakan, come here! I want to introduce you!"

Hakan sheathed his sword and turned back to Alexis. She was holding the stranger's hand, who on closer inspection turned out to be a massive dark-skinned man. He stood more than a head taller than Hakan, and layers of muscle rippled across his bare chest. Hakan stared up at the black giant. "Wow."

"Hakan, meet Mastiff. He's been my bodyguard since I was born."

"I see." Mastiff gazed back at Hakan with an impenetrable expression. "Talkative guy, huh?"

Alexis laughed. "Of course not, silly! He's a mute, Daddy had his tongue cut out when he bought him!"

"Oh. I . . . see." Horrified, Hakan paused. "Not to be rude, but you could've shown up a minute or two earlier."

"Oh, don't worry, they were watching the whole time. And what a lovely present!"

Hakan turned sharply to Alexis. "Present?!? What do you mean, present?"

"Every year, my father gets me something for my birthday. My birthday was last week, but this year was different. I didn't get anything except a letter, and in it he said that I should be sure to visit the Blue Parrot. I didn't know what he meant, until now!"

Hakan felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "And what did he mean, exactly?"

"He set up everything, Hakan! Daddy hired the kidnappers while in disguise to steal me away, and then sent Mastiff to rescue me! It was a brilliant present; what fun it is to be kidnapped!" And she hugged Mastiff again.

"Well, I hope I didn't get in the way of your present, Alexis." Bitterness tinged Hakan's voice, but Alexis didn't notice.

"Oh!" she cried, seemingly realizing something for the first time. "Oh, no, of course not! You were brilliant, Hakan! So brave of you to fight those nasty kidnappers for me!" Stepping away from Mastiff, she suddenly kissed him on the cheek. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine, but some of them might not be. I think I --" Hakan turned back to the bruised at battered thugs lying on the ground, but stopped in mid sentence. The two men in black had just finished quietly slicing the last kidnapper's throat, and pools of red blood were starting to soak into the street.

"Ha- Hakan?" A shaky voice came from inside the tea shop. "Are you okay? What happened out there?" Simge's head peeked around the door, wide-eyed and scared.

Hakan looked back at Alexis. She hadn't waited to hear his answer, and was being swung through the air by Mastiff again. "It's okay, Simge, you can come out."

Hakan's timid servant emerged from the basement, stepping carefully around the dead bodies. "Master Tarif, what happened here?"

"A birthday present, apparently."

"A birthday present? I don't understand."

"For Miss Temrin. From her father."

"Ooh. I still don't . . ." He trailed off. The two other bodyguards were now quickly loading the bodies into a low cart that was hidden off to one side of the alley.

"Come on, Simge, let's head home. I think she'll be safe enough with Mastiff for now."

"Yes, Master Tarif."

As the two young men left, Alexis was still in the arms of her massive bodyguard, laughing and humming snatches of a song. Ten minutes later, there was no sign of a disturbance at all.

015 -- Hakan Tarif

Hakan Tarif, eldest son of Osman Tarif and heir to the Tarif family name, grimaced at the stone figures sitting on the table in front of him. He was loosing, and Hakan did not like to loose. Moving his hand to the board, he reached for a knight while watching his opponent's eyes. The look he received made him think better, and so Hakan moved his rook instead.

His opponent smiled at him from across the marble chessboard, moving his bishop without a moment’s hesitation.

“Checkmate.”

It was the first word that had been spoken in the garden in some time. Hakan smiled, leaning back in the wicker chair. “How many is that now? You’re going to turn me away from chess altogether if you keep this up.”

The small, wrinkled man sitting opposite him opened his mouth in a toothless, stuttering laugh. “Ha! Heh heh heh . . . Haskel doubts that, Prince. Doubts it very much. You enjoy loosing to Haskel too much to stop.”

Hakan picked another grape from the cluster sitting at his side and popped it into his mouth. “Enjoy loosing? What makes you think I enjoy it?”

“Well, you do it so often, Haskel thinks you must enjoy it.”

This time is Hakan’s turn to laugh. “Haskel, you know that I’d beat you if I could.”

“Haskel thinks you are getting better. The prince’s opening this game was . . . unconventional.”

“I was trying something new.”

“Yes, and it didn’t work. But a good idea. It reminded Haskel of a man he played many years ago on a ship in the Southing straits. He sure was a strange one. An Agathian slave . . . but here comes young Mr. Yuksel to ruin Haskel’s story.”

Hakan turned. His young servant was indeed hurrying towards them through the garden. As they watched, Simge Yuksel was suddenly caught short as his sleeve snagged an arched trellis. Struggling to free himself, he somehow managed to entwine his arm in one of the thick vines hanging over the path. Simge’s struggles grew more frantic as his entanglement continued to progress.

Hakan stood, somewhat reluctantly. “Perhaps another time, Haskel. I need to go rescue Simge before he ends up in the fountain again.”

Simge stopped struggling as he saw Hakan approach and did his best to assume a posture of some dignity. He spoke quickly in a high, wavering tenor. “My apologies, Master Tarif. I had no intention of interrupting your lessons with Master Haskel, but your father has requested your presence indoors.”

Hakan took hold of Simge’s arm, gently unwrapping the vine that had trapped it and freeing his sleeve from the wooden trellis. “Very well. Could you let him know that I’ll be there presently?”

Simge nodded. “Yes, Master Tarif. And . . . thanks,” he added, looking at his arm.

“You’re welcome.” Simge was already hurrying away. “Simge! Where is he?”

Simge stopped momentarily. “Oh! He’s on the veranda.” Then he was gone.

Hakan turned back to his elderly tutor. “Sorry, Haskel, it looks like we have to stop early today. He wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Haskel nodded. “Haskel is sure that it is. No matter, Haskel’s pay is the same either way. Ha! Heh heh heh . . .” His stuttering laugh continued as he reset the chess board.

Hakan walked through the garden, enjoying his last few moments in the cool, quiet shade. The garden lay in the center of his family’s estate, a sprawling four story complex that occupied most of a block in the City of Asfar. A short stone staircase took him up into the second story of the estate and back into the dust and the heat that was the city.

He was immediately surrounded by the bustle of servants. People were hurrying from one end of the building to the other with large rugs, wall tapestries, platters of food, ornate clay jars with gold patterns inlaid into their surfaces, bunches of fruit, and all other sorts of things. Each one stopped briefly as Hakan walked by to bow before hurrying on to their work. Some smiled and included a low “Your pardon, Master Tarif,” with their bows. Hakan, of course, was only Master Tarif when his father was not around.

Winding through the mass of hurrying bodies, Hakan safely made it up another sweeping indoor staircase to the third story. Here things were quieter, a maze of small chambers separated by light wooden trellises and hanging tapestries. It was hot here as well, but the light inner walls allowed enough of a breeze in to make things bearable. Several of Osman Tarif’s higher level advisors had offices here, splitting their time between the Tarif estate and the much larger Asfar palace. The heavy scent of sweetened tobacco almost always permeated these rooms. Hakan’s father often joked that tobacco was the real fuel that Asfar’s politics ran on, and that without it all government activity would quickly grind to a halt. A murmur of low conversation came from a meeting room, punctuated by a brief burst of laughter.

Hakan walked between the offices down the hallway, taking a left at a break in the wooden slats. A side passage led out to a stone archway that emerged on to a wide veranda lining the inner walls of the estate, overlooking the gardens below where Hakan had recently been defeated.

Hakan spotted his father on the other side of the veranda, slowly pacing as was his habit when deep in thought. Hurrying along the walkway, he caught up with his father quickly, but Osman remained silent. Hakan settled into stride next to him, knowing from years of habit that his father would speak as soon as he wished to and did not like to be rushed.

After a short time, Osman began to speak, without changing his stride or looking at Hakan.

“The Republican Council voted down the expedition to Thyrene. We’re not going to help them retake Milos or the peninsula.”

Hakan remained silent.

“Their ambassador wasn’t happy about it. You do remember what he said six months ago?”

“He threatened to close the Thyrenian sea lanes to us. Seemed like an empty threat at the time,” Hakan replied, still matching his father’s stride.

“It did. Apparently some on the council still believe it is. I, however, think that they are serious. By the end of the month we may as well count our alliance with Thyrene as totally dissolved.”

"I'm surprised the council came to this decision."

"The houses tire of war, particularly with the recent defeats, and you know how persuasive Arquk can be. I'll admit that I underestimated how quickly the other Josite representatives would change sides, but . . ." Osman shook his head before lapsing into another brief silence.

“We’ve been allies for years . . . how did our relationship with the Thyrenians get so bad so quickly?”

Hakan's father sighed. “Mistakes, ours and theirs both. We shouldn’t have sent that idiot Baraki to Milos . . . he made a mess of everything. If we’d won there . . . well, things wouldn’t be in such a mess now.”

“The Pentarch likes Baraki.”

“I don’t blame them. He makes a good impression – he's quite an actor.”

“And because the Pentarch appoints both heads of state and heads of military . . .”

“Baraki got his chance to loose the war. The worst part of it is that we’re still not free of him. There was an inquiry, of course, but the Pentarch got him off the hook -- but you knew that already.”

“It was an interesting process to watch. Haskel had a lot to say about the Pentarch.”

At this Osman smiled. “I’m sure he did. Just don’t go around repeating what he said too loudly. We have enough trouble with the Pentarch as it is.”

“I actually thought we had him at first. It seemed pretty obvious to me that he’s totally inept.”

“To be fair, the Thyrennians were no great help. I think Baraki mentioned feeding their troops out of our supplies in his official report . . . but even so, it’s no excuse. He’s a fool, and we’re stuck with him.”

“Can’t the Republican Council just cut the funding to whatever projects the Pentarch assigns him to?”

“Well, yes, we could. But it’s a delicate balance. Angering the Pentarch means that they will be less receptive to our candidates for other positions . . . and then we could be stuck with someone like Baraki in a position that is actually of some importance.”

“The Thyrenian expedition wasn’t important?”

Osman sighed and stopped his pacing, turning to rest his elbows on the veranda’s railing. Hakan joined him. After a few seconds his father continued.

“Yes, it was important. Our continued influence in the Agathian states depended on his victory. The Eastern nations have increased their presence dramatically over the past few years, and if we don’t maintain our control over the Straits of Lucian we could find the entire Northern Passage closed to us. That would be a disaster.”

“Why?”

“Infrastructure. It will be impossible to maintain a military presence in the Upper Provinces without an open sea lane through the Northen Passage and the Straits of Lucian. As much as the Minister of Railroads brags about the “great strides” we’ve made in the past decade, we still don’t have a usable rail link any further North than Khartoba. Everything else the army needs has to go by ship through the passage.”

“Is he another worthless Pentarch appointee?”

Osman shook his head. “No, I wish we could blame him on the Pentarch, but he’s one of ours. A friend of someone on the Republican Council, I think – he’s proof that the Pentarch has no monopoly on stupidity.”

“So how are we going to maintain a presence in the Agathian states without Thyrene?”

“We will have to rely on the support of the Khardrians. They're the only power in the region that is still friendly to us, and a month from now when the Thyrennians revoke our military passage rights the council and the Pentarch will be forced to realize this as well. It’s a mixed blessing; on one hand, the council will finally be made aware how precarious our situation is in the straits – but on the other hand, we’re forced to rely on the Khardrians, and I don’t like that at all.”

“Why is that?”

“Khardror's central government is a sham; the Prime Minister is a crook and his cabinet is a bunch of tribal chieftains and criminals. Our support is the only reason that they’re still in power, and we’ve nearly withdrawn it several times. Minister Temrin does not hesitate to use force to settle domestic issues.”

“Intimidation of opponents? Beatings? Secret police?”

“He’d have started a full blown ethnic cleansing several times over if it were not for pressure from our government. Now we’ll be forced into endorsing his agenda whether we like it or not – a fact that will not be lost on Mr. Temrin, I am sure.”

“Sounds ugly.”

Father and son leaned on the veranda railing in silence, their eyes wandering through the garden below. Haskel was now playing both sides of the chessboard at once, simultaneously dancing gleefully and swearing the foulest of oaths as he took his own bishop. Hakan broke the silence this time.

“Father, Simge said that you needed me, but I don’t see where I fit in this picture yet.”

“Prime Minister Temrin’s wife passed away some years ago, and he has only a single daughter. She’s his pride and joy – he adores her. She’s the only one who has any sort of influence over him, and she’s spending the summer here, in the city.” Osman turned his head away ever so slightly and coughed into his sleeve before continuing. “In fact, she’ll be here tonight, at dinner.”

“Well, that’s a funny coincidence.” Hakan started to smile. “Wait, are you actually asking me to--”

“Hakan, Temrin’s stability is important to us, and his daughter’s influence can help. Also, this is her first time in Asfar, and while I hear that her Jos is rapidly improving I know that she would appreciate someone who could show her around.”

Hakan was laughing now. “Is this another part of my political education? Why hasn’t Haskel taught me anything about winning the hearts of young Minister’s daughters? I don’t even know how old she is.”

Osman pointedly ignored his son's mirth. “She’s a year younger than you, still seventeen.”

“You’re not actually asking me to seduce Minister’s Temrin’s daughter, right?”

“No, but I am asking you to be her friend. Show her around, help her with her Jos, and if you happen to get a chance to impress upon her how important Asfar’s wishes are to her father’s continued rule, well . . .”

“This is one of the stranger things you’ve ever had me do in the name of Asfarian politics.”

“I’ll admit it.”

“She’s ugly, isn’t she?”

Osman ignored his question. “I also need you to make sure she comes to the party next week. We need to show the other houses that we have the Prime Minister’s ear, especially when the alliance with Thyrene comes apart. It should put us in a position of power.”

“Doesn’t it also make us responsible for his ethnic cleansings?”

“That’s why you’re going to become his daughter’s best friend this week.”

“What if we’re overestimating how much influence she has on him?”

“I have a few other ideas, but I’d rather this worked instead.”

Hakan nodded. “Hmm. What would you do without me?”

Osman turned back to look at his son. “Hakan, you know that you're not just another one of my political tools. I only ask you to do these things because I want you to be ready.”

“And also because I can go places you can’t.”

“That's part of it. But I want you to know that you’re my son first.”

“Father, you give me this talk at least once a year. Its okay, really – I enjoy these projects. Remember when you had me listen to that council meeting from the window-ledge?”

“Your mother almost killed me for that.”

“I was only three stories up, I don’t know what she was so worried about. Nine-year-olds have great balance.”

“Or when I got you hired by the Pentarch’s administrative staff – that was an interesting few months.”

Hakan wrinkled his nose in disgust. “That's one way of saying it.”

“Hmm.” Father and son stood for a few moments remembering before Hakan continued.

“Which one will she be?”

“Alexis Temrin. I’ll seat her close to you, but not too close. We’ll need at least one person between you and her to keep things from being too obvious. Your mother --”

“Mom’s in on it too?”

“—suggested Byron.”

“The son of the Cimbrian ambassador? Rahm's sake, I can’t stand that guy.”

“That’s the idea. It will give you and Alexis something to talk about, give her an unfavorable impression of Cimbrian and the Eastern powers, and keep Byron away from any of the more sensitive guests.”

Hakan shook his head. “You’re lucky mom didn’t go into politics.”

Osman snorted. “What makes you think she didn’t?”

"Good point. When's dinner?"

"You've got a few hours, which should be enough time to study the material I've prepared for you."

Hakan sighed. "I should've guessed it."

"You need to be up to date on the current situation in Khardror. We've talked to some of her aides, and they've given us a relatively accurate picture. Simge should have the papers for you when you get upstairs."

"Alright. Do you need anything else from me before dinner?"

"No, but your mother asked that you show up slightly late so that Alexis notices you. Also, she said that she's sending up a new kaftan for tonight. Burma is out looking for something right now."

"Seriously? I don't need another one, I have plenty."

"Sometimes, son, it is best not to argue about these things. Besides, the other four representatives from House Jos will be here tonight. She wants us to look good in front of my colleagues."

"Alright, alright . . . I'll head up now . . . you said Simge has the reports?"

"Yes, or at least he should. You never know with him."

"Well, let's hope he does. If not I'm sure I can track them down. I'll see you tonight, dad."

They hugged briefly. "If you see your mother, could you let her know I'm on my way up?"

"Sure." Hakan turned back inside, not particularly relishing the next few hours of studying he had to look forward to.

---

Hakan's newest kaftan did look good, he had to admit. The rich red fabric draped over his lean frame nearly to his feet, its edges marked with decadent gold lace. A subtle, sweeping pattern of gold was woven into the fabric in such a way that it shimmered as he walked. His matching slippers only added to the effect as Hakan observed himself in his tall bedroom mirror.

"I'll tell you what, Simge -- as much as getting dressed by my own mother bugs me, she has fantastic taste."

Simge's response was lost in the large wooden carton he was rummaging in. The clothing had arrived a few hours ago, brought up to Hakan's room by a young, meek servant woman whom he did not recognize. Judging by her clothes, Hakan assumed that she worked downstairs in the kitchen and did not spend much time in the upper levels of the estate.

The Tarif estate's fourth floor was only partially roofed. Hakan's parents' rooms stood the tallest, overlooking both the street and the inner garden from their perch on the estate's most prominent corner. Hakan's quarters, by contrast, were shorter and further back. They still stretched all the way from the outside edge of the roof to the inside edge, but his windows overlooked a service alley instead of the main thoroughfare. A longer set of rooms of about the same height wound its way around the remaining corners of the estate, home to many of the higher ranking servants and caretakers.

In between these rooms the fourth floor was open to the sky and filled with luxuriant green plant growth. In contrast to the neatly trimmed, well-organized garden in the courtyard below, this one was wilder and teeming with brightly colored flowers and dark green shoots. In the summer the garden was constantly buzzing with the sound of fat bumblebees and the incessant chirping of birds. Winding paths through the overgrowth linked the different rooms to one another and to small clearings hidden in among the vines and trellises. A network of small stone sluices carried water among the plants at night, powered by servants working below at a large crank pump.

The heat of the day had begun to dissipate, but it was hot enough that Hakan still had his shutters wide open to catch the evening breeze. His thin curtains were waving in the wind, and his wall tapestries moved slightly with each gust of air. A burst of wind stronger than the others mussed his hair slightly, and he carefully brushed it back into position.

"Simge, have you found the hat yet?"

Simge emerged from the crate bearing a red cap with several tall, upturned corners. "I . . . think this is it."

They both stared at the strange garment for a moment.

"Rahm save us if this is the latest style. Which end is the front?"

Simge shrugged helplessly.

"Well, I like the kaftan, at least. Maybe we can find a better hat later . . . hopefully I'll never have to wear this one again." Hakan picked a corner at random to be the front and pulled the strange object onto his head. "How do I look?"

Simge nodded. They both continued to stare at the odd garmet for another moment before Hakan shrugged, resigning himself to his fate.

"Well, I'm headed down, then. Simge, could you take these notes back downstairs to the library?"

"Certainly, Master. Have a good dinner."

"I will . . . I hope. It should be interesting."

The shutters had been thrown open downstairs as well to catch the last of the evening breeze, and Hakan appreciated it as he sweated in his heavy formal wear. Most rooms in the lower levels of the estate didn't have solid walls, but were rather set for each occasion with light cloth hung from the ceiling and anchored with decorative weights. Judging from the contents of the silver platters being rushed past him on either side, Hakan had arrived just in time.

Following the sound of muted conversation, he threaded his way through one of the gaps in the sheets of red fabric and emerged into the open center space where the dinner was being held. There were perhaps twenty or thirty guests, all seated on floor cushions scattered in a rough circle on the thick rug that had been laid down for the event. Spotting his seat, Hakan made his way around the circle. A few pairs of eyes noted his tardy entrance, but they quickly flicked back to their respective conversations.

"Hakan! We were wondering if you were ever going to show up!" A pinched, nasal voice that nonetheless possessed considerable projective capabilities rang out amongst the guests. A few even turned to see who had spoken up so loudly.

Hakan winced at Byron's lack of tact as he sat down. "Lord Byron Culvington, a pleasure to see you, as always."

"Hakan, Hakan -- how many times do I have to tell you to call me Byron?"

"A few more times, I think, Lord Culvington."

The young man to Hakan's right threw his head back in a high, whinnying, hissing laugh that carried as loudly as his earlier greeting had. This time, however, the other guests were prepared and tactfully pretended not hear it.

Byron Culvington, son of the Cimbrian ambassador to Asfar, was only a few years older than Hakan, but was already showing signs of baldness. The pale, clammy dome of his skull worked with the rest of his emaciated frame to create the impression of a person permanently wracked with malady. In fact, the only part of his body that seemed healthy at all was his prodigious nose -- an impressive organ that glowed red with health and vitality. Hakan and the other youth of high class in the City of Asfar had hoped that Byron's parents would have seen the wisdom of purchasing a military commission for their son as he came of age, but rumor had it that Lady Culvington was too concerned for Byron's health to let him out of her sight even as he aged into his twenties. As a result, Hakan was stuck with Byron's loud greetings, forced jollity, and devastatingly irritating laugh.

Byron was perched nervously on his cushion, as he usually was at Asfarian-style dinners. Hakan found his almost constant attempts to adjust himself captivating, particularly when viewed in contrast to the grace with which most of the guests were sitting. Hakan, of course, was sitting with crossed legs as was customary in Asfar.

Having recovered from his laughing fit, Byron wiped his eyes theatrically and turned back to Hakan. "Seriously, Hakan, we were wondering when you'd come in. I wanted to introduce you to Lady Temrin!" Byron leaned back and allowed Hakan his first glimpse of Alexis Temrin.

His first impression was of a short, wiry young woman with unruly hair sitting easily atop the cushion apportioned to her. Her eyes were small and bright, and stared pointedly at Hakan from behind her tangled locks. "Hakan Tarif, Rahm bless."

Hakan raised his eyebrows at the traditional Agathian tribal greeting before nodding in return. "Lady Temrin, a pleasure to--"

She shook her head once. "No Cimbrian. And not Lady . . . Alexis."

Byron stuttered. "B-but Cimbrian greetings have become quite popular here in Asfar for diplomatic functions, Lady -- er, Alexis -- er --"

Hakan smiled and bowed more formally. "Jemahl's blessing, Alexis."

Byron was spared further excitement by the arrival of the first silver tray of food. Hakan took the platter from the guest on his left, picked one of the pickled vegetables, and passed it on to Byron who accepted it uneasily. "I never can quite get used to this way you people serve food . . . why can't we use a table?"

"Me like this way. More interesting." said Alexis in broken Jos, watching Byron struggle with the dish. "Like home."

"I suppose it would . . . how do they eat in -- er, wherever you're from?" Byron replied.

"Roasted meat. Stick over fire, pull off chunks with hands."

"Ah . . . that's . . . interesting." Hakan watched Byron's face pass through a series of emotions at Alexis's blatant lie before returning to a forced smile. "I'll have to try it sometime."

"No Cimbrians. Not allowed."

"Hrmm. Lady Temrin, would you like a pickled . . .?" Byron offered the tray to Alexis.

"Carrot."

"Yes, thank you Hakan. A pickled carrot?"

Alexis nodded, but as Byron moved to hand her the tray it wobbled alarmingly. Her movement was quick -- Hakan barely caught it -- but he was absolutely certain she misplaced her hand on purpose. Another quick twist, and --

BANG!

This time everyone turned to look. Byron was covered in pickled carrots that had left little orange streaks down his polished, hairless dome. The tray had somehow ended up behind him, along with most of its contents, but enough remained on the young Lord Culvington to ensure that his coat was a total loss. Alexis and Hakan, meanwhile, had gone completely unscathed.

"Oh, m- m- m- my apologies, Lady Temrin, I seem to have -- well, I --" and Byron stood and rushed off accompanied by a light patter of genuine laughter. He got tangled briefly in the wall silks before he found the exit and was gone.

Hakan dwelled for a moment on the spot where Byron had disappeared before turning back to Alexis. She was smiling ear to ear.

"That was the fastest I've ever seen someone get rid of him. Tell me, how much Jos do you really speak?"

"I'm fluent, when I want to be."

"I figured." He looked back at the mess which was already being swiftly attended to by a small group of servants. "Good thing I didn't want any."

Alexis giggled. "Me either."

Hakan didn't get another chance to speak with Alexis for several minutes, as the junior minister seated to his left seemed anxious to ask him about the developing situation in the Agathian states. They continued to pass around platters of food, removing a piece or two of meat or vegetables at a time as tradition dictated. Turning to hand on a dish of small meats on skewers, Hakan found himself suddenly face to face with Alexis, who had appropriated Byron's cushion. He jumped slightly as her wild hair was only a few inches from his nose.

"I need your help."

"Is that so?"

"I need to get out of here."

"You do?"

"Well. Not need. But want to. And I can't do it without you."

"Really? And why is that?"

"I'm bored. Make one of your servants come in with a message for me."

"Hmm." Hakan considered her request. It was a blatant breach of decorum, a transparent ploy that at least half of the guests would see through immediately. His father, though, had been quite clear with his instructions . . . and he could at least try to make things a little more subtle.

"Okay. But go talk to someone else. I'll call someone."

Alexis nodded, and immediately turned away. Hakan watched her leap over to her original seat, wincing at her lack of tact as she broke in on her neighbor's discussion. He turned back to the junior minister on his left, who had continued on with his "significant concerns" seemingly unabated.

A few minutes later, Hakan stopped feigning interest long enough to glance up at Simge who had taken up his usual post along the perimeter of the dinner. A moment's look was enough to bring him to Hakan's side, where he politely excused himself for interrupting the minister and handed Hakan what looked like an important message. While it was actually blank, Hakan pretended to scrutinize it with wrinkled brow for a moment before accepting Simge's outstretched pencil and scribbling a brief set of instructions. Bowing, Simge retreated and left the room. Hakan checked on Alexis out of the corner of his eye, and noticing that she had been staring at him the whole time he sighed inwardly.

No more than another minute had elapsed when Hakan turned to pass a platter and was startled once again by Alexis' tangled hair only inches from his own face. "What?"

"Well? Did you do it?"

"Yes. He'll be here soon."

"What's taking so long?" Alexis insisted, her voice beginning to rise.

"I'm trying to be subtle about this. Something that you're --" Hakan suppressed his strained whisper, remembering his father's instructions before continuing. "I'm trying not to be completely obvious in getting out of this dinner."

Alexis was seemingly oblivious to Hakan's discomfort. "Well hurry up! I'm bored!"

As if on cue a servant appeared at their elbow, bowing. "A message for the lady."

Alexis took the outstretched note, and without reading it got up abruptly from the circle. The sudden movement attracted most of the guests' attention, and Hakan could hear the murmur of conversation die away. She was halfway to the nearest gap in the curtains when she looked back to Hakan with a look of surprise. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

Hakan groaned inwardly. Clearly she had no concept of what passed for polite behavior in Asfar . . . he reluctantly got to his feet, the eyes of the whole party on him. "Your wish is my command, Lady Temrin." There were a few good natured chuckles from a few of the men.

He followed Alexis out of the room. "Dad, you're going to owe me for this one."