The scarred crescent, p.23
The Scarred Crescent, page 23
part #1 of The Crescent Series
She shook his hand, ignored the sudden spike in her heartbeat. For a man so publicly spurned at his own wedding, he seemed to have recovered remarkably well. That, or he was a very good actor.
She turned her head around. The wall screen to the right played The Local Miami channel on mute. Omar followed his eyes, grimaced. ‘Gotta keep an eye out on what’s happening.’
‘What about the cities outside of Miami? Aren’t they in much more need for police and political support?’
He shrugged, turned towards Hitesh, his eyes narrowing. ‘And you must be the rookie I’ve heard so much about!’
‘I’m...’ Hitesh shook his head as if in a daze. ‘Thanks for seeing us, Jinab.’
Omar guffawed. ‘Oh, you must be from the Raj. Your sugary sweet language gives you away. So tell me, how’re you finding working with her?’
Hitesh didn’t look towards her, cleared his throat. ‘Wonderful. She’s a great teacher. A very good mentor.’
‘Is that right?’
Irritation bloomed in her. ‘I am right here, you know! And knowing I am not as important as the god-damned situation, could we move forward?’
‘Only once we’ve had something to drink. Tea like last time?’
‘Depends on whether you’re going to scream at me again!’
Omar stared at her, his moustache fluttering, then he grinned. ‘Okay, point taken.’ He motioned them to the sit on the sofa she had sat on last time. He sunk into the single diwan in front, interlaced his fingers and looked at her expectantly.
Her hand terminal chimed and he pointed at her wrist. ‘More news?’
‘Probably more unsubstantiated claims,’ she replied.
He laughed, the thunderous boom causing Hitesh to sit up beside her. Despite herself, the abandon in his voice made her smile. A moment later he replied, ‘You’re definitely something, Zuwena. Don’t think many of your colleagues agree with your approach. What do you call them — bobbing necks?’
‘Talking heads.’
He laughed again. ‘Alright, what brings you here today?’
For a second, she could see right through the colossal man’s defences. Past the proverbial chinks in the armour.
She was a jerk.
For the second time in the same day, she had managed to overlook feelings of people around because they were too inconvenient in her pursuit of cold facts.
She leaned forward. ‘I’m sorry. I… should be watching my tone.’
He blinked at her, a reflexive response so uncannily similar to Aaron’s, it gave her a pause. Memory of him caused another pang in her heart. Hopefully, he was holed up somewhere nice. Far away from all the mess Miami had found itself into.
‘Hmm,’ Omar said, a dark shadow crossing his face. Her breath caught as he clenched his fists, the vein on his forehead pulsing. He shook his head. ‘No, you’re fine. And, by the way, should you want the juicy gossip for the tabloids and the talking heads, I’m not the best person for that job!’
She smiled. ‘That’d be your mother, right?’
‘Aye,’ he said, eyes wide in surprise.
‘My grandmother was from Amritsar so I’ve some idea how these things work in the mainland.’ She raised her finger. ‘Don’t look too surprised. Till her last breath, nanna kept reminding me what I should be doing with my life! “Don’t stay out after nightfall.” “Don’t hang with boys unless you have a chaperon.” “You must marry and have three kids by the age of thirty-five!”’ She smiled, momentarily taken back decades.
‘And have you managed to find a nice boy and sired the said kids by now?’
She squared her eyes. ‘None of your business.’
He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. The tassel of his Fez caught the setting sunlight for a quick second before he flicked it back. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing the way things turn out in the end.’
She felt her cheeks flush. Aware of Hitesh watching her, she forced herself to remain steady. What the heck was she doing anyway flirting with a man at his most vulnerable time? Most importantly, millions of lives had been displaced in the mainland. The situation in the province was getting worse by the second, and here she was acting quite the siren. For a worrying long second, she couldn’t even recall why she was here in the first place.
‘I do like you, you know?’ Omar said, his voice quiet, tender. ‘A lot!’
She stared at him, speechless for the moment. Her throat was dry. She had to get out of there. Quick.
A rap on the door startled her. ‘Jinab, the president has asked for you,’ said a police jawan.
She heaved a sigh of relief. Gathering her stylus, she motioned Hitesh to get to his feet. She paused.
‘Hold up a second. Did he just say the President?’
Omar shuffled on the diwan. ‘Looks like you’ve got the scoop before anyone else.’ He sighed as another rap came on the door. He stood up, Hitesh and herself following suit.
‘The Raj is dead. The Raj lives. Two hours ago, in front of justices of the Supreme Court of Florida, Samira Etimarpu took the oath of office. She is the new president of the Raj.’
26
Alliances
Samira paced the sun-drenched office of the former governor general promoted recently to the office of the Raj’s President. Her proclamation assuming the office had gone pretty much as she had expected. Forces married to the idea of a Raj were happy to see a continuation of authority, no matter how tenuous her claim might appear. And for those opposed to the idea of a continued Raj existence in Florida, there was a tonne of other shit to occupy them.
Unfortunately for her, she too had some of that shit to worry about.
She paused at the window, eyes scanning the manicured gardens.
‘Mirza,’ she said without looking back. ‘He’s waited long enough. Let the mountain in.’
Mirza coughed, shuffled out of the room. She took a long breath, forcing her frayed nerves to calm. It had been days since they watched the mainland capitulate like a horny teenager to a whore, yet she still found it hard to breathe thinking of the pace with which events had unfolded.
She had lost the first round. No doubt about that. No good gloating about the fact she could sense something coming on when she hadn’t been able to avert it. Yet, she still had a chance to put up a fight. They didn’t know her old bones still held the power to shatter her enemies.
The door opened again. Despite the carpet, the wooden planks underneath creaked under the strain of the new comer.
‘Madam President,’ rumbled Omar, ‘a pleasure to see you again.’
Sighing, she put the frown back on her face. Her mask. Men always responded better when dealing with an alpha bitch. ‘Cut out the bullshit,’ she said, turning back to face him. The giant still wore that silly hat, its tassel hanging like a limp dick to a side. A colossus in every way standing next to the frail looking Mirza. She raised a hand at his crisply starched white cotton shalwar qameez, not a wrinkle in sight. ‘Do you ever get out of this costume?’
He blinked, shuffled on his feet. ‘I… I don’t—’
She barked a quick laugh, enjoying the sight of the large man squirming. So unlike his mother, yet so alike. If Taraneh ever appeared cowed, the woman did so out of deference, hoping it helped her curry favour. What went on in her son’s mind though?
‘Omar, I know what you really do when you’re not the deputy chief of police.’
Omar blinked, twirled his moustache. ‘I don’t know—’
‘Head Inquisitor of the Raj, isn’t that right? Now that the canary is out of the cage, let’s stop beating about the bush and just tell me all I need to know.’
‘Very well, Jinaba.’
‘Sit,’ she gestured and watched Omar settle down heavily in the black chair. When she didn’t speak for long seconds, the man scratched his nose. ‘When I ask you questions, remember I’ve been cooped up indoors for too long, listening to excuses from boring as sin people, and not in the mood for diversions. Got it?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She licked her lips, fighting back the apprehension growing in her gut. ‘What… what do you do exactly?’
Omar looked up at her, his large brown eyes boring into her. The hairs on her arms and back of her neck rose but she maintained her scowl. ‘We keep mankind protected from the abomination that’s magic.’ She nodded, gestured him to continue. ‘For the past hundred years, my brethren and I have had two duties, ma’am. Bond any rogue magi we find so we’re aware whenever they use their evil powers. Our second duty is to hunt any magi that harm humanity and sever their powers.’
‘How noble!’ she cried, shaking her head even as a shudder went through her spine. ‘And what can… these magi do?’
‘Destroy the world if left unchecked,’ Omar replied, his voice quivering with emotion. ‘There are two types of magi. Most follow various schools of the Tilsimi discipline, which allows them to drain energy from natural resources around them and then manipulate it elsewhere.’ He pointed at the pitcher of glass on her desk. ‘Like drain this water and all the pitchers in the building, then make it rain later.’
She rapped her fingers on the wooden desk, coming to a stop in front of the Inquisitor. Mirza coughed discreetly in his arm. ‘And the second discipline?’
‘The Baatini do not need resources or wells around them,’ he shuddered. ‘They can enter the abyss itself, impose their will on the world, twisting the very fabric of reality to shape things.’
‘Hmm,’ she began pacing again. As a matter of principle, she had always shied away from ever dealing with the Inquisitors and whatever they got up to. Yet, she no longer had the luxury of blissful ignorance. ‘How do you hunt magi?’
‘Whenever a magi uses his power, he leaves a residue that we can use to detect them. Some… are chameleons who can hide themselves, but they are rare luckily, and eventually we catch on.’
She licked her lips, turned back to face the Inquisitor. ‘And do you… see any residue with what’s been happening around the world?’
Omar laughed. ‘Negative, ma’am. If that were the case, the Inquisitors in the mainland or even the ones in Russia and Sino Empire would have been hunting them.’
‘Their Inquisitors do not answer to their governments?’
Omar scratched his nose, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘No one controls the Inquisitors, ma’am. Beyond nationality or religion we are all united by one purpose, and that is to ensure no magi harms humanity.’
‘Very noble, indeed.’ Something he had said snagged at her. ‘Tell me again what you do with magi you end up hunting?’
‘Depends, ma’am. If their infractions are minor, we bond them so we’re aware of them. They become members of cabals that we the Inquisitors manage. If what they did is deemed serious, we sever their connection from the source.’
‘And there is no chance the Russians, or Sino government might force their Inquisitors to… unleash their magi on the enemy?’
Omar shook his head, his nostrils flared rapidly as he fixed his eyes on her. ‘Jinaba President,’ he rumbled, ‘there are many things that divide us. But keeping the public safe from the knowledge that these abominations exist is something no one disagrees with!’
She didn’t argue the point. Omar was right enough. It didn’t matter who let the cat out of the bag. Once it happened, all hell would break loose everywhere.
‘You may leave, young man and give my regards to your mother. She’s a good woman and she worries about you.’ With a smile on his face, Omar began rising. She cleared her throat. ‘And oh, I also need you to keep more than an eye out on the goings on in Florida. If we are to show that the Raj still lives, is going to strike back, rise even stronger, I can’t have fucking mobs making off with shopkeepers’ goods.’
‘Aye, ma’am.’
‘Effective immediately, you are promoted to the position of Third Minister of the Raj, which gives you sweeping powers to order arrests and issue warrants. It’s a new position, but I am sure you and your cohorts will quickly figure out how to use it to get the lawless bastards behind bars.’
He stared at her for a long moment. Then a wide grin spread on his face. ‘Thanks, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.’
She watched him for a second. ‘Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?’ He stumbled to his feet, hastily righted his Fez and made for the door.
The door shut behind the newly minted Third Minister. One more piece she had set in motion. But hopefully, one she’d never need to move. Mirza coughed again and she wheeled at him. ‘You really need to get this looked into. Either you’ll die or take me with you.’ Mirza looked down. ‘What’s next?’
He consulted his hand terminal. ‘The Mexican ambassador is late. I’ll check on his progress.’
‘No. Can’t have us look desperate,’ she croaked, feeling the weight of the situation on her shoulders. ‘Just a month ago, the bastard would have been on his knees begging for an audition with the Raj President. Another reminder of how far our star has fallen! Have we heard from General Brad?’
A pause. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘You never did approve of him. Why?’
Mirza coughed. ‘Brad has always been a known Apostler sympathiser. Many suggest the weapons we’ve been shifting through him to separatist movements in Mexico and other states of America have been funnelling back through to the Apostlers.’
‘Mirza, oh Mirza, whatever shall I do with you? If I start jailing everyone for a little of this and that, I’ll have no one left.’
Leaning on the wooden desk, she got to her feet and started pacing the room again, her red sari trailing behind like an agitated serpent. She paused before the shiny new brass coat of arms of the President of the Raj they had had commissioned. A crescent moon flanked by two Saracen swords, their reflection twisted in a pool of water below.
Her mood grew dark. Dreadful news kept pouring in. Sporadic fighting still flared up throughout the vast swathes of the Raj. Local militias, isolated regiments, raising arms, getting squashed mercilessly.
Reports of divisions between the Sino Empire and the Russian Republic on how to divide the Raj territories between them particularly incensed her.
Where was Rusolov? Tikka? The men had been stubborn mules, but they had had their uses. Where in the world was Ellison? Unless she could beam a picture of his corpse, people would not stop questioning her bonafide as a legitimate president — a distraction she could ill afford.
‘Ma’am?’
‘What?’
‘Admiral Peters and General Taqi are here for their 1 pm meeting.’
‘Already? Bring ’em in.’
She settled in her oversized chair, closing her eyes to savour the sweet relief spreading through her backside. If the rumours were true, this was the very chair used by the last US president a hundred years. She chuckled at the thought of the number of asses this thing had seen in its lifetime. Farts it had smelled.
Another soft knock made her look up. Mirza led in the two commanders of the Raj’s last remaining military forces. Her forces. Both men snapped into attention, offered proper salutes: General Mohammad Taqi with the palm facing her, Admiral Gary Peters with his palm facing down.
‘Sit,’ she said. When they had sat down, keeping distance between them, she cleared her throat. ‘How are my forces doing?’
‘The army stands ready to face down any enemy,’ General Taqi replied, twirling his moustache.
‘As does the navy, ma’am,’ said Admiral Peters smoothly. ‘We still retain significant naval capability to deter an enemy force. We’re closely monitoring the Mexican fleet on move and can shred them to ribbons.’
She leaned forward. ‘What about facing down an alliance?’ The two men looked at each other. Must I force feed them everything? ‘Could we face down an alliance of Mexico and the Northern States of America?’
‘I’m sure we can—‘ began General Taqi, second in command to the missing General Brad Coetzee, but Admiral Peters cut him off.
‘No, we can’t. We don’t have the strategic depth, nor would we be able to sustain a prolonged escalation for long, cut off from the mainland as we are.’
A soft rap on the door rang out. Mirza walked over, whispered with the aide, then turned towards them. She nodded.
Mirza cleared his throat. ‘His Excellency, Ambassador Pena Hernandez would like to pay his respects to you, ma’am.’
‘I am sure he does,’ Samira replied sarcastically, then putting up a hand in the air, turned to the two men. ‘Are you telling me you can’t beat him?’
‘I never…’ began General Taqi again but grew quiet when she raised her hand. ‘Boys, keep your imaginary toys away for now, yeah? When the time comes to play with your dicks, I’ll pass the lube and tissue myself. Until then, I can do with honesty.’
‘I... we apologise, Madam President,’ the general replied, lumping the admiral with him.
She snapped her fingers, watched the two men stare at her in an uncomfortable silence. Taqi wouldn’t even have been here had Brad not decided to do a runner to whatever blasted place he’d gotten off to. Would it be more advantageous to play the two men against each other, a test of loyalty to see who wagged his tail more, or force them to work together?
‘Get him in,’ she told Mirza.
Ambassador Hernandez was a short, plump man in his late forties. The wide grin on his face made his jowls move with each step. He smiled at Samira, who scowled back, and offered a limp hand to the two military men.
Samira pointed at the chair to her right. ‘I see your sense of fashion has evolved from the last time we met in New Karachi,’ she said, pointing at the Ambassador’s balding hair as he placed his cowboy hat on her desk.
Pena Hernandez bared his teeth, spread his hands. ‘You may say that.’ He leaned in, his voice dropping an octave, ‘For some reason, the Jinnah cap has fallen out of fashion.’ He chuckled softly at his joke.
‘Culture’s a funny thing, Your Excellency,’ said Samira evenly as every pore of her body called out to punch him on the nose. ‘It changes so often. Yet, it is impossible to ever shake off the debt one owes to the civilisations who helped in shaping it.’
