Intermix Nation (26 page)

Aldrik spots some ice chips chilling in a
nearby bucket and greedily scoops them up to rub over his sweaty
face. Nazirah cringes. Aldrik drops the now-melted chips into an
empty glass beside him. He pulls out a flask from his pocket, fills
the glass up, and then downs the sweaty-spirit concoction in one
gulp.

“Er,” Solomon says, “please make yourselves
… comfortable.”

Aldrik belches, eyes darting between Nazirah
and Solomon suspiciously. “You two know each other?” he asks,
waving his empty flask.

Solomon smiles, says, “Only the way that
flesh knows bone, the way the moon knows its craters.”

“Right …” replies Aldrik uncertainly.

Nazirah glances out the window. Even though
it’s dark outside, the red dust illuminates the chimerical
landscape. Olag weaves the limo through the winding, precarious
streets of Rubiyat at breakneck speed. He overtakes a caravan and
several donkeys, waving his fist angrily.

Solomon shakes Adamek’s hand
enthusiastically. “And the handsome Mr. Morgen,” he says. “You are
looking much better since last we met! Glad to see that lip healed
nicely.”

“Now hold on just a moment!” Aldrik demands
angrily. “Who are you?”

Solomon bows low again. “Solomon Salaahi,”
he says. “At your service, Mr. Slome.”

Olag swerves sharply, narrowly dodging
another caravan. Solomon flies headfirst into Nazirah’s lap.
Nazirah blushes profusely and helps Solomon to his seat. She hands
Solomon his minute fez, which he shoves onto his head, slightly
askew. He proceeds to utter several guttural curses directed at
Olag in Deathlandic. Nazirah has no idea what Solomon says, but
Adamek snorts appreciatively.

“
You’re
Solomon Salaahi?” Aldrik
asks, clearly shocked. “
The
Solomon Salaahi?”

“Expecting someone taller?” he responds,
winking at Nazirah.

“Okay, Solomon,” Aldrik grumbles. “I’ll
bite. Where exactly are you taking us?”

Nazirah is wondering the same thing. She
really hopes they don’t have to sleep in the prison. The telephone
in the limousine rings and Solomon reaches for the receiver.
“Enough with the questions!” he bellows, voice surprisingly deep
for so small a person. “You are my guests and you are welcome in my
territory with open arms! Please relax and enjoy the beautiful
scenery!” He begins conversing loudly in Deathlandic with the
person on the other line.

Aldrik leans in close to Nazirah. “And how
exactly,” he hisses, “is an Eridian-born intermix so tight with the
famous Solomon Salaahi?”

“He’s famous?” she asks evasively. Nazirah’s
trip to bargain for Adamek’s amnesty is not something she is open
to discussing, especially not with the likes of Drill Sergeant
Patch.

Aldrik gets extremely agitated. “We have a
mission to accomplish on this campaign, Nation!” he snaps. “If you
both keep hiding things from me, we’re going to fail …
spectacularly.”

“Hiding things from you?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he growls. “I know you’ve
got the village idiot act down pat, but it doesn’t work on me. Did
you think I wouldn’t notice the two of you sneaking off last night?
And what was that shit you pulled today, in the slums? I don’t care
if you both have lovers from Rafu to Kivar. While you’re
campaigning – until we storm the last skytower in Mediah, for that
matter – you will present a united front to the country! People
already think you’re in love, so you better start acting like
it!”

“Easy to say,” she mutters.

The limo turns onto a long, hidden driveway
bordered by cacti and lemon groves. They are definitely not at the
prison, much to Nazirah’s relief. Olag eventually pulls in front of
a large mansion and kills the engine. Nazirah hops out of the limo,
unable to keep the awe off her face. Terracotta urns taller than
she is guard the front entrance. A huge azure door, embellished in
gold, welcomes visitors inside. Vines hang from a ceiling trellis
of dark wooden beams. Minarets and marbled columns tower above her.
It’s open, flowing, and completely unlike anything Nazirah has seen
before.

“Beautiful, is it not?” asks Solomon
happily, standing beside her.

“This is where we’re staying?” she asks,
shocked. “How is this still Rubiyat?” It’s such a far cry from the
seedy inn, such a far cry from anything she’s ever thought of the
Red West, Nazirah needs to pinch herself.

“Yes,” Solomon says proudly, waving his arms
around. “Welcome to my riad, my home. You will be safe here for as
long as you need to stay in this territory. You deserve a true
Deathlandic welcome, Miss Nation, and that is exactly what you
shall get!”

“You live here?” she asks in
astonishment.

Solomon nods, beckoning for everyone to
follow him indoors.

“As if you didn’t know,” says Aldrik,
whistling in appreciation. “This is more like it!” He runs a finger
over a marble column, leisurely walking through the gated
entrance.

Nazirah turns to Adamek. “How well do they
pay at the prison?” she asks in a hushed voice.

“Solomon’s not just head of security,” he
says. “He comes from one of the wealthiest, oldest, most respected
families in all of Renatus. He chooses to spend his days at the
prison because that’s what he finds fulfilling, I suppose. My
father has tried to win his family’s allegiance for decades, but
the Salaahis are famous for their neutrality.”

They walk through the entrance. All around
Nazirah are beautiful mosaics, tiles in various shades of blue.
Iron lanterns, illuminated by candlelight, hang at varying lengths.
Gold leaf flakes the ceiling. Now Nazirah is sure she’s dreaming.
“He doesn’t seem very neutral,” she says skeptically.

They stop under an archway. “He’s not,”
Adamek says. “But this riad is a longstanding sanctuary of
neutrality, which is why we can safely stay here.”

“My friends,” Solomon addresses them, the
perfect image of a dapper host. “Olag will show you to your rooms.
Please have a restful night. We will discuss more unpleasant
matters over breakfast in the morning … a true Red West feast.”

Solomon gives a short bow and departs
quickly, leaving the three of them with Olag. They follow him
through a stunning courtyard garden, rife with exotic plants and
flowers, a huge fountain cascading in the center. Adamek walks
behind Nazirah. He gently pulls up her chin and shuts her gaping
mouth. “Wouldn’t want the dust to get in,” he says.

Nazirah is confused by his
playfulness, until she sees Aldrik nod approvingly at them.
Play along
, Adamek’s
eyes say. Nazirah smiles slightly, trying to ignore the rush she
feels at his touch. Olag gives them a curious look, before leading
their party indoors again and up a flight of stairs. They walk into
an open corridor, constructed of graceful arches that make it seem
like they’re still outside. Olag stops in front of a door, nodding
at Aldrik. Aldrik doesn’t even look at them before slamming the
door shut in their faces. The smell of fried hair and booze lingers
in his stead.

Olag leads them a ways down the corridor,
pausing in front of another door and inclining his head towards
Adamek. Adamek nods at the two of them, wordlessly entering his
room. Olag continues walking, stopping before a final door.

“Goodnight, Olag,” Nazirah says. She is
about to enter when he hands her a small scroll of paper.

Nazirah unfurls the scroll as she enters her
room, inhaling the scents of amber, myrrh, and musk. An iron-framed
canopy bed sits atop a large geometric rug. The bed overflows with
deep satins, velvets, and gauzy drapes. The room opens onto a small
balcony, overlooking the courtyard garden, and is alight with
ornate hanging lanterns and waxy candles. Speechless, Nazirah
enters the bathroom. It’s covered in mosaic tiles, replete with a
sunken tub and open shower.

Nazirah returns to the bedroom, dives onto
the bed and rolls around on the silky sheets. She reads the scroll.
It’s from Solomon, inviting her to tea tomorrow afternoon. Solomon
also tells her that he’s taken the liberty of buying her some
clothes as a welcoming gift. Nazirah hops off the bed, walks past
her ratty luggage, and opens the armoire. She pulls out designer
dress after designer dress. Awestruck, she prances over to the
full-length mirror leaning against the wall. One garment is
probably worth several months’ work, in Rafu.

Nazirah stops suddenly. Only a few hours
ago, she watched the Medis destroy nearly everything the slum
dwellers had, including their lives. She thinks of them now, asleep
in their huts, every last one of their meager possessions literally
inches from their fingertips. She thinks of Cayu, the crashing surf
and crying seagulls his lullabies. Nazirah may not have grown up in
the slum, but those are her people. That is where she belongs. Not
here, with these fancy dresses and quixotic dreams. This is
Solomon’s reality, Adamek’s reality, but not Nazirah’s.

Never Nazirah’s.

Nazirah stuffs the dresses back into the
armoire and slams the doors shut, ashamed at getting so carried
away. She pulls off her clothes, kicks them onto the floor, and
scrambles under the covers – ash and all.

Nazirah dreams of monkeys along the coast,
beating their chests, screeching as they burn. Sticking her hand in
the flaming sand, Nazirah reaches for beach shells, finds only
bullet shells.

#

The next morning, Nazirah wears a light,
mint green dress. It’s delicate, feminine, and accentuates her
slender waist. The dress is one of Solomon’s gifts, because Nazirah
doesn’t want to be rude. But it’s the simplest one. It’s also the
most beautiful thing she’s ever worn.

She takes her time, walking slowly back
towards the entryway. Everything about the riad is more
breathtaking in daylight. The colors, muted at night, are suddenly
hyper-intense. The smells are richer, the sounds lovelier. Olag
meets her near the entrance and they walk together to the dining
room. Adamek and Aldrik are unsurprisingly already present, sitting
at a long gilt table and talking strategy with Solomon.

“Yes, I have already spoken with them,”
Solomon says as Nazirah walks into the room. “The enforcers
throughout the prisons are with us. Besides their own personal
incentives, they are extremely loyal to me. It is not an issue.”
Solomon sees Nazirah and lights up. “Oh, Miss Nation! You are
absolutely radiant!” He sighs. “You would make such a lovely Red
bride.”

“Good morning, Solomon.” Nazirah greets him
awkwardly, sitting across from Adamek. She isn’t usually one to
turn down a compliment, but Solomon is downright embarrassing
sometimes. She looks up to find Adamek’s eyes lingering on her. She
blushes, wondering if it’s still for show.

“You were saying, Salaahi?” Aldrik asks,
annoyed. He reaches for some bread and drenches it with honey and
oil. True to Solomon’s word, the table is completely loaded with
Deathlandic delicacies. There are warm breads, yogurts, sausages,
juices, and omelets with spices. Nazirah steers clear of what looks
to be a stuffed goat’s head, the centerpiece of their meal. Nazirah
hasn’t seen this much food in her life, and for only the four of
them! She guiltily fills up her plate, thinking of how many slum
dwellers this could feed.

Solomon shovels jasmine rice onto his
already heaping plate. “Yes, right,” he continues. “Like I said,
Red law enforcers are with us, no questions asked. I have left them
in charge of the prison during your stay, so I can focus solely on
this. Jasmine is right from the garden,” he says proudly, tucking
into his meal.

Aldrik bangs on the table with his fork,
trying to hold Solomon’s attention. “And what of the Red
Lords?”

Solomon’s face turns serious. “Therein lies
the rub,” he says somberly. “Our numbers as enforcers are limited.
We need the Lords’ support because they control the vast
mercenaries. We have an informal gathering with them here in a few
hours. I must confess, though, that I am extremely worried about
the outcome.”

Nazirah doesn’t see an insurmountable
problem. “So?” she asks. “Why can’t we win them over like we did in
Eridies? Bribe them, or show them the Iluxor like we planned?
Promise them better access to food and water after we win? Piece of
cake.”

“It’s not quite that simple, Nation,” Aldrik
snaps. “This isn’t Eridies, where everyone holds hands and skips in
the sand.”

Nazirah looks at the three of them. She gets
the distinct feeling the joke is on her and no one is letting her
in on it. “I don’t understand.” She hesitates. “What am I
missing?”

Solomon’s eyes dart around nervously. “It is
unfortunately a complicated situation,” he says. “Unlike in
Eridies, we are traditional here. The Red Lords do not make their
own decisions or accept their own bribes. They only prescribe to
the ruling of their overlord, their Khan, Lord Khanto. And he is
not exactly pleased with the rebels.”

“Why not?”

She looks at Adamek, who meets her gaze
steadily. Nazirah notices for the first time that his plate is
empty, utensils untouched. “Lord Bantu was Khanto’s father,” he
says expressionlessly. “Up until a few months ago, Bantu was the
overlord and one of my father’s harshest critics.”

“Was?” she asks slowly. No one responds.
Nazirah stares hard into her plate, realizing. She isn’t hungry
anymore. “Oh.”

“So we are in quite a bind, you see,”
Solomon says, trying to defuse the tension. “But never fear! We
will meet with Lord Khanto soon enough, and convince him to see
reason for the sake of his people.”

They finish eating in
silence. Nazirah doesn’t look up from her plate again. She can’t
blame this overlord if he doesn’t agree to join them. Will Adamek’s
wake of destruction never end? There is so much pain, so much
devastation tied up in his life. Nazirah wonders how he deals with
it all … how he deals with it
at
all.