The Dark Muse

[aldriq]

Maybe it is filler, maybe it isn’t. We won’t really know until “The End” is written.

And that's your prerogative as writAAR!

I didn't feel the chapter was a filler, the relationship between Nijma and János has to build up to be meaningful later on. On the other hand, the editing was very rushed, but that shouldn't matter to your hardened readers - didn't Faulkner leave all punctuation to his editor?

 

[Qorten]

It was without any doubt filler, but it was well written filler. As long as there isn't too much of that, it's fine.

 

[Brandenburg III]

aldriq: Faulkner? I’m not sure of his writing habits but I rank him as one of the most over-hyped writers of at least the last three centuries. I could never get into any of his books and gave up on him years ago - even though I had finished As I Lay Dying but only because it was the only book I brought on a drive to South Carolina.

What I should’ve did was edit the chapter even though I already posted the pdf. That might’ve taken away some of the filler - if there was any, as we can see there’s a differing viewpoint among the readers - and made the chapter a little sharper. With that said, I still have another edit to go through tonight on the latest chapter so I’m hoping to get it released within the next few hours.

Qorten: The haste was no doubt noted. I should’ve edited it at least once more but felt a little rushed due to just discovering half of the story in the dump. What I should’ve done was wait until Sunday as that would’ve been within my release days and spent some time fine tuning what I wrote.

With all this said, I don’t think anyone will say the next chapter is filler but we’ll see. As noted, everyone has an opinion.

 

[Brandenburg III]

​

Nijma got her way much to the chagrin of Hamad whose scowl sat upon his face as she entered the open-roofed carriage. The wind sifted through the open windows, allowing cool air to travel through as the roof remained open. It would only be covered to block out the sun and rain.

János, already in the carriage, removed the turban from his head, feeling the wind wave through his matted hair. Before he departed his decorative home, Janos formally named Hamad as Regency for János’ retinue was coming with him.

Fouad would be used for diplomatic interactions between János and Chief ‘Uthman and Farid would be utilized for leading the troops.

As the gates opened János peered through his carriage window, watching over the thousand man army Farid had lined up. While they weren’t the most disciplined of troops nor were they in the straightest of lines, they were standing and seemingly listening attentively to Farid who rode back and forth on a horse. He was saying things János couldn’t hear.

The carriage continued to wobble on the unsteady terrain as he listened to the wheels grinding against the ground. He could see nothing ahead of him for the carriage, camels and driver all blocked his view. But he knew he was headed east and he knew, in case of emergencies, his horse was tied off to the rear of the carriage.

When János reached a certain point he heard an excited call behind him. The gates to the city began closing and the regiment in front of him walked forward, maintaining their messy formation. János smirked, unable to help his personal comparisons to the goose-step or modern military marches.

The moving was slow and each evening at dusk tents were set up as far as János could see. He’d spend the evenings talking with the abusive Farid and the gentle Fouad. Afterwards János was expected to return to his shared tent with Nijma but János had his barriers. It seemed wrong. Not because he barely knew her, that wasn’t the problem. The problem stemming with János was that he felt as though she didn’t want to be with him. It felt as though she were sent as a gift and was required to do what Chief ‘Uthman had intended.

In return, Nijma displayed her frustrations. She struggled in finding her value and felt as though she had none. He seemed to pay her no attention which she saw as a detriment if she wanted to stay in the court. For if a woman were rejected from a harem and thrown into the streets, what occupation was there for her? No self-respecting man would take her and she’d be forced to accept whatever came her way. These were her nightmares and they consumed her like cities under assault by black blizzards. She did whatever she could to be noticed and still, she was ignored. Perhaps, she thought, the rumors were true.

The following night, just before János was to return to his tent, János, Fouad and Farid congregated near the center of the train where their fire had been built prior to their arrival. They each sat separately from one another but each man faced the others through the fire. Chairs were brought from the capital and used, again, provided by servants.

After seven days of traveling through the Street of Camels Farid broke the silence, “It’s a good thing you listened to me. Imagine Saïd trying to protect you from the dangers out here.”

“You mean the ships,” János contemplated out loud.

“Yes, the ships,” Farid repeated. “I hear the man is no longer reporting to our ports to pay his fees. It is a good thing you didn’t trust him. If he isn’t with us then he’s with someone else.”

János looked to Fouad, “Is this true? And you wanted me to take the ships just one week ago?”

Fouad breathed, looking at the fire dancing in János’ eyes, “I wanted you to, I won’t deny that. But we didn’t find out about this missed payment until the evening before we left. Maybe Saïd became entangled with the Europeans or maybe he’s a few days late himself. If he’s captured enough treasure then the wait will be well worth it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” János spoke directly. On the other side of the fire, in the darkness, Farid grinned.

“It wasn’t important to you at that time. Now that you have this information, is it going to change your night? Is it going to change tomorrow? If there is only bad news to report and there’s nothing you can do about it, wouldn’t you want to wait to hear it?”

János made a face of mock confusion and shook his head before he answered, “No. It isn’t your job to think for me, haven’t we covered this?”

“But I am your advisor.”

“Yes, you are, aren’t you,” János put the emphasis on ‘are.’

“If I may step in,” Farid reentered the conversation. “An advisor is meant to provide information to his leader and then guide him to a decision that’s best for the region. If an advisor can’t do those two simple things, then what is his use? A messenger boy would be more beneficial.”

In the fire’s light János looked back toward Fouad, “What say you?”

“Its an honest mistake that won’t happen again,” Fouad answered. “You will know the news, good and bad no matter how insignificant it may seem.”

“Don’t be a child,” Farid talked down to Fouad. “Saïd not returning is important information. It tells him that the right decision was made in creating a stronger army and that Saïd was not to be trusted. Now we must talk about what can be done to seek retribution.”

“Retribution?” János asked.

“Against Saïd,” Farid returned his attention to János. “If we allow our former Chief of Navy to take these ships and our soldiers who have become nothing more than bandits carrying my flag, then what will our people think? They’ll believe you have gone soft. We can’t let them think that way. Swift action must be brought against Saïd and his men for disobeying our agreement.”

“But they could be delayed or captured!” Fouad excitedly spoke. “It may not be their fault.”

“The agreement has been broken,” Farid continued. “That cannot stand.”

Entertaining the idea, if even for a moment, János asked, “If they have ships and we lack a real navy, how can we catch them?”

“We won’t,” Fouad sighed.

János faced Fouad, surprised he’d answer the question.

Fouad went on, “We’ll go to Chief ‘Uthman and ask to rent his navy. The navy will seek out Saïd and his men and bring them to our ports. Chief ‘Uthman will receive a percentage of the stock the ships are carrying and if they carry none, then they will receive a third of the ships that are sea worthy.”

János looked to Fouad, dumbfounded; Farid didn’t say a word. Fouad stood and left briefly, returning with a piece of parchment in his hand. When Fouad approached the fire he handed the notice to János who couldn’t read the scribbles at first. Then, after a moment’s deciphering, was able to read the letters without problem. With a quick skim by firelight János deducted that an agreement between Algiers and Tunisia had already been made.

Before János’ eyes turned up to him, Fouad explained, “Hamad and I devised this plan before we left. He wanted to tell you but I convinced him to delay and together we came up with this treaty. I was going to offer it to you a few days before we arrived in Tunisia to think it over, when it would be worth worrying about. But now there’s no need to wait.”

Quickly Farid reached up and over the fire and snatched the parchment away from János’ hand. Without reading it, Farid crumbled it up and tossed it into the fire where it burned quickly. He followed by rustling a small twig against the burning parchment to destroy any lingering evidence.

János watched Farid and asked, “Why did you do that?”

“His name was on it,” Fouad spoke morosely.

Farid growled, “Prove it. You’re only trying to take me down with you. You’re a desperate man, Fouad. I’m tasked with protecting and serving our leader. I don’t play political games or go behind anyone’s back. If I have something to say, then I say it. And if I must do something, I do not wait.”

“Was your name on there?” János asked Farid.

“What would my name be doing on a diplomatic note?” Farid asked, still annoyed that Fouad tried calling him out. “I handle the army’s affairs. I don’t deal with the navy, whether we have one or not, as your advisor Fouad does. He stands more to gain from this deal than I do. I gain nothing. If we buy a navy to reclaim the one we don’t need then my power diminishes. I have no need to bring a navy to port.”

“‘What about ‘Marching on Rome?’” Fouad seemed to be quoting.

Farid laughed, “With these men?”

“What you said, what you intend to do and what you’re able are three different things. Just because you laugh now does not mean you didn’t say it.”

“Fouad,” János turned, “I’m very disappointed in you. I-“

“-I do not deceive!” Fouad cried.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re on my side,” János spoke in tepid tones. “Not telling me what needs to be said, secret messages, trying to implicate your peer?”

“You must listen to me,” Fouad went on but János cut him short.

“I’ll think about this and make a decision after we’ve returned home.”

“But you must make a decision here,” Farid spoke quickly. “He’s proven that he can’t be trusted.”

“I’ll think about this and make a decision after we’ve returned home,” János repeated, speaking sternly. “I’ll see both of you tomorrow morning.” And with that János left the fire pit and returned to his tent.

The caravan picked up as it had in the preceding days. The repetition was beginning to gnaw on János as he watched the passing scenes. He was only able to capture them with his mind and not his brush for the men had to keep moving and János’ internal artist had to continue starving. He was going to unwind after reaching Tunisia.

With the carriage’s cover closed the sun was blocked and János was freely able to dream about a time less constricting. In his mind’s eye he was young again and on the Port of Constanta in Romania just after his father secured a pass. Vacations there were always nice before -

Nijma was shaking him awake. She hung on his arm like a leper resisting her last ride and whispered in his ear, “Wake up, wake up! We’ve stopped.”

János looked around unsure why she bothered waking him. He wasn’t the leader of this march and there was little he could do, except to say, ‘Go ahead.’ However there was no one around for him to say ‘Go ahead’ to. All he saw was an entire line at a standstill.

Then, ahead, János saw Farid galloping his way on a horse as it kicked up sand. They were such inefficient creatures, always sinking in places where roads had yet to be built.

When Farid came close enough he spoke without dismounting, “Dey. Grab your horse, there’s some business we must attend to.”

“Now?” János asked, clearly confused.

“Why is your army holding us up?” János heard the words coming from behind him. It was Fouad who looked as though he had just finished running a marathon.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Farid spoke dismissively. “Boy! Untie this horse!” Toward the rear of the car a child disappeared to where János’ horse was tied. Within seconds the beast shoved by Fouad while the boy held onto the length of rope.

“What is this about?” János tried clarifying before volunteering himself to Farid’s whims.

“It is nothing,” Farid spoke. “Our scouts have spotted a group of nomads ahead. You and I, leading a few men, should be able to remove the threat.”

“Couldn’t you have gotten rid of them yourself with the men you have? There was no need to slow this train,” Fouad spoke on János’ behalf.

“And steal the glory?” Farid questioned. “Some of us think beyond what our duties entail. Imagine if upon our return the people speak of our Dey’s daring victory against our nomadic enemies. Or they could imagine our Dey hiding in his car while his troops marched and fought.”

“This is foolishness!” Fouad answered. “The people will not know what they’re not told.”

Farid chuckled. “Again with the not telling. How can such a man be trusted?” And he added. “How can such a man be called a man?”

When Fouad offered no rebuttal, Farid returned to János. “You will come? I’ll hand you a number of men and tell you of my plan on our way to the front.”

János fought with the sides in his mind. Khayr ad-Din told him he had to make Algiers great. The man also told János that he wouldn’t be able to die in the book even though this felt like no book he had ever read. There seemed to be nothing to lose.

In spite of Nijma’s fleeting words of ‘Don’t go’ János opened the door and stepped out. “Let’s go.”

The strangeness of riding on a horse was quickly gotten used to as János and Farid walked their horses toward the front of the line. The plot, as Farid told it to him, would be that János would take to the right of the road and Farid to the left. János’ thoughts drifted toward missiles flying at him but didn’t bother to ask Farid what the nomads were armed with; without the fear of death there was no reason to ask.

The men were lined up on either side of the road and upon Farid’s order, began marching forward. Even though he knew this wasn’t real, János stayed behind his line while Farid took to the front of his. When the two split, taking their separate ways like lovers in the night, János didn’t look back. These men were under his command now. They may not be real at the moment but they would be if he managed to finish the book. His heart thumped in his chest as the realization hit him; if he lived, these people would be real. These people who were marching in front of him, they would be real. If János did his job, history would be written about them.

At once János was broken out of his philosophical thoughts by a shriek. Immediately he looked left. János could barely make out a scuffle in the sands. Farid’s forces were attacking. Before he could turn his head to see his own men racing toward a group of armed nomads, János felt a pain in his shoulder and was thrown from his horse.

Clutching at his shoulder he turned his eyes. An arrow? An arrow? It hurt like an arrow! The sounds of his men grunting and fighting, of slicing sabers and death matches eluded János while he laid on the ground. Pulling his right hand away he saw it in a shade of red he had rarely seen. He was horrified as he laid there. And his horse seemed to not care as it turned and ran toward the train.

János could see none of the action as he forced himself to stand, refusing to pull the arrow from his shoulder as he began to stand. He should’ve asked Farid about missiles! And his thoughts returned to Khayr as János drew his saber, unsure how to use it. If the book wasn’t real then why did it feel real?

His men seemed to be doing well, holding the line as János took a second look across the distant road. Farid seemed to be in no danger as his fighting subsided. But János’ men were still swinging their weapons. Were there more men? Did the men need guidance? János had none to give. He was hardly a military man and felt inept. Anything he could say would be laughed at and it’d be worse than if he hadn’t shown up at all.

The sand seemed to move all at once but János felt no wind as he stood stationary, still behind the lines. But he heard howling. Then he went blind. He couldn’t see. His worry hardly had time to rise as he blacked out and crumbled to the sand.

When János was capable of opening his eyes he saw the images of two figures. Blond and wearing white, János briefly thought they were angels but that changed when one gasped and the other jumped to her feet, running out of the room. Angels. There was no such thing. But why the yellow hair?

He found the job of sitting up painful. The jolts shooting through his shoulder caused him to rely solely on his right arm so he could sit upright. Taking a swift glance around the room he noticed its expensive decoration. This one room looked more elaborate than his own when he first set eyes upon it. It didn’t make sense why the man would have such a great place when his country was both smaller and poorer. He would have to be a tyrant.

With János finishing his thoughts, the woman who left him returned with a man János hadn’t yet seen. It was a doctor, or at least what amounted to one during these century-long diatribes. János was offered to drink something that the doctor concocted but János hurriedly declined, fearing, in his ignorant mind, that the medicine would be arsenic, mercury or led. He decided he’d rather face the pain than the unknown drink.

After an arbitrary discussion, the doctor left with the yellow-haired woman and a few moments later, Fouad entered. As he stepped forward the single blond woman remaining continued to dab an expensive rag into a basin of water, wetting János’ forehead. He felt no fever but was getting used to the pampering.

“It is good to see you’re awake,” Fouad spoke, stopping a few feet from János.

János, still lying on the ground and with the note burned into his memory, answered curtly, “What do you want?”

“You have been unconscious for a long time and I-“

“-and you wanted to see how I was?”

“On the contrary,” Fouad countered with political skill, “I have come to give you news. I wanted to inform you that you’ve been unconscious for a few days. By morning we’re meant to head back.”

“Head back?” János’ ears perked. “But I haven’t had a chance to do anything yet! I haven’t even seen Chief ‘Uthman.”

“You’re the one who wanted to bring the army,” Fouad boldly answered.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means,” Fouad breathed, “that a stationary army causes problems. Men with weapons need something to keep them occupied, especially while we’re trying to keep relations positive in a foreign city. The men can’t keep themselves busy, not with Farid’s disappearance.”

As the blonde woman tried patting his head again, János held her arm and led it to the basin. Trying to register what his diplomatic and naval advisor just said, János spoke slow, “Farid’s gone?”

Fouad waived it off, “Everything was left to his subordinates while he’s having his secret nights on the town. I hear he does this every time his army camps in a city.”

“Who was supposed to be watching him? I want to know where he is. I need another day or two to catch up on what I lost!”

“Sit down,” Fouad warned, “or you’ll dizzy yourself and fall to the floor. Now. As the chain of command goes, he falls under the Dey. Therefore, you were supposed to be watching him but you were unconscious.”

The yellow-haired woman moved to her knees, picked up the basin and walked toward the window. She tossed out the water and the sound of it splashing tickled János’ ears. Briefly bowing, she left the room and closed the door.

“Isn’t someone supposed to watch over you in case something happens?” János asked.

“We watch over one another,” Fouad admitted.

“So why don’t you know where he is?”

János thought he saw Fouad smile as he reported, “I was tasked with the personal oversight of making your paint. Its right there.” Fouad pointed toward the corner of the room where a canvas sat in front of a stool and next to a table with a palette sitting upon it.

“You’re being funny.”

“Quite not. And where do you think you’re going?” Fouad added when he noticed János trying to stand.

His legs were still unsure of his weight but they held as János spoke, “Time matters. I must meet with the Chief before the day ends.”

“Sit down,” Fouad answered. “The sun isn’t going anywhere and neither are you. There is plenty of time left for the day. Chief ‘Uthman has already agreed to meet you in this room so you don’t have to wander all over the grounds. It’ll be best if you can conserve your strength before we depart in the morning.”

“I feel like a fool,” János spoke, sitting back down.

“If its any consolation,” Fouad said, “you look like a warrior.”

János couldn’t tell if the man was being sardonic but he couldn’t stop feeling as he felt. Since when did warriors lie on expensive rugs, being attended to by a foreign ruler’s personal servants? He had to push it to the rear of his mind as the new situation presented itself; Chief ‘Uthman, along with beautified women and armed men, entered the room.

János opened his mouth but nothing came out. Fortunately, Chief ‘Uthman’s servant answered the silent call. “Dey,” he bowed toward the sitting János, “I present to you Chief ‘Uthman of Tunsia.” The announcer backed into a place behind his leader while Chief ‘Uthman seemed to be waiting. A few silent minutes passed as János slipped frequent glances toward Fouad. The confusion was cleared when the doors to the room were reopened and four men appeared, each holding a corner of a large, and heavy, throne-like chair. Setting it down with relief, the four movers were dismissed and left the room.

Chief ‘Uthman fixed his robes as he sat down in his chair, a woman on either side of him as he spoke, “I’ve been briefed about what you need and I’ll get to the point. The Tunisian fleet is not for rent.” ‘Uthman nodded to one of the girls who soon left the room. “Now that this meeting has concluded, let’s continue the festivities.”

János felt himself lose any words that may have been dancing on the tip of his tongue. More threatening were the four movers who were coming into the room to remove the elaborate furniture the Chief was sitting on. At once, before the chair left the floor, János blurted, “This can’t be over. This is important!” János’ desperation seemed to seep through ‘Uthman’s calloused skin.

“There’s nothing else to add,” ‘Uthman spoke. “Unless you have an alternative.”

“Well...” János paused, trying to think of something. Anything! “Why is your fleet busy?”

‘Uthman grinned like a Cheshire cat, “Algiers isn’t the only territory to delve into pirating. Tunisia must also make a living and having a large coast has helped us maintain that effort.”

“Let us rent a part of the fleet,” János exclaimed. “We need to find these men.” János realized pretty quickly that he was taking Fouad’s side in the matter of renting out the Tunisian fleet although it seemed a worthless effort. And Chief ‘Uthman seemed unwilling to release a single ship.

“The talk about the fleet is over,” ‘Uthman pronounced but he still seemed in good spirits. “Would you like something to drink to celebrate?”

János’ face contorted as though he were in pain, “Celebrate? Celebrate what?”

“The end of the meeting,” ‘Uthman grinned as a servant walked into the room, handing the Chief a sheepskin. As the Chief opened it up he sniffed the alcohol inside. Just hearing the stories Nijma told him made him realize that it was beer. And it was probably made of grain. János had no interest.

“Don’t disappoint me,” ‘Uthman spoke. “Drink.” The servant who handed ‘Uthman his skin then moved toward János to offer the second. János looked pleadingly toward Fouad. As a Muslim he wasn’t supposed to be near the stuff but here he was being propositioned. Was he to go against the faith of the region or ought he placate the Chief?

Fouad was useless. He did nothing and offered no instruction. Perhaps even he was lost in his thoughts about what to do. Or was he still annoyed over the letter?

János turned his attention toward the servant and he vaguely heard ‘Uthman make another pronouncement but the Hungarian was lost in his own world. He was shaken out of it by a woman’s wails, “He’s well? He’s well? Get that away from him!”

Nijma had her robe in her hands as she walked briskly, brushing the servant holding the sheepskin out of the way. “Why didn’t you come and get me if he was well?”

‘Uthman sat on his throne, laughing as he watched his daughter. “She always was a vibrant one.”

“Why must you try to have everyone betray their beliefs?” Nijma directed her fire toward her father. “Not everyone wants to go tumbling down the stairs and speak like a fool!”

János watched her shoot her mouth as though she were from another time. Maybe she had certain rights being the daughter of a leader; maybe she didn’t care. During the family revolt, János felt it was best to remain sitting and let the tide carry the conversation where it may.

‘Uthman was no longer laughing but he held a tense smile as he listened to her speak. Then he broke into laughter again as though he were a maniac meant to be locked in an asylum, “Look at her! She’s as smart as she is illiterate.” His servants forced themselves into practiced laughter.

‘Uthman bawled into mirth as Nijma’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. She had never gotten used to back handed comments no matter how often she received them. Her hijab fell to her shoulders and her dark hair draped across her face as she looked down to János, “I’ve had enough of this place. Let’s go.”

“He must rest,” Fouad hurried himself into conversation.

And ‘Uthman followed with a straight face, “His man friend is right. This man cannot leave so soon. Give him another evening and leave in the morning.” As he stood, the movers finally stooped down, picking up the chair. “The wound’s nothing that a night of tender love can’t fix.”

Nijma whipped her head around with her hair flying and a low growl escaping her throat. But she said nothing. She had already said enough. Turning her attention back to János she softly broke, “You couldn’t secure the ships.”

“How did you know?” János asked.

“He offered you something,” Nijma admitted. “Whenever someone of power doesn’t get what they want, he offers them something else.”

“You think he feels sorry?”

“I think he feels like getting drunk with someone. He’s a bad man.”

“And you wanted to return...”

“This is always home. And the good parts of home are never as we remember it,” she spoke sadly.

His eyes winced into a smile as he half-laughed, “It never is.” A few seconds ticked by as the room sunk into silence and János thought, then spoke, “On the Street of Camels... What happened?”

Nijma smiled a little, “Fouad stole command away from a Captain and took some soldiers to help you out. He saw the nomad reinforcement from the rear before you spotted them.”

János tossed his attention to Fouad, “Why did you do that?”

“Farid’s men weren’t doing anything,” Fouad explained. “If they continued to do nothing it was obvious you and the men were going to be destroyed.”

“They did nothing?”

“They were probably told to do nothing. There’s more glory for the leaders of the battle that way,” Fouad nodded his head. “And removing a leader who has yet to bear an heir makes it easier to assume power. I hope you can forgive my traitorous actions of taking that command but I couldn’t stand to see you cut down.”

János held up a hand, repeating, “Its fine, its fine. Is there anything else I should know? Anything else that’s going to happen today?”

“Aside from you resting, there’s nothing.”

All the traveling and all the money wasted on an effort a messenger could’ve accomplished. Then János remembered, “Chief ‘Uthman should return. We haven’t presented him with the gifts! And I haven’t had the chance to thank him for Nijma.”

“Chief ‘Uthman has already accepted the gifts. As for thanking him,” Fouad added, “he’ll be making a trip to Algiers in time. He was sure to mention that he wasn’t going to lead anyone into battle and that he’d arrive in health.”

“Provided he doesn’t drink himself to death,” Nijma murmured.

​

 

[Enewald]

Shouldn't thry have been talking about the Algerian instead of the Hungarian?

I like the update.
Although I can't understand Janos' foolish behaviour...
Incompetent monarch tend to bring havoc upon their realms...

 

[aldriq]

Well this update is definitely no fluff

Quickly Farid reached up and over the fire and snatched the parchment away from János’ hand. Without reading it, Farid crumbled it up and tossed it into the fire where it burned quickly.

What sort of manners are those? If I was an absolute monarch and one of my advisors did that I'd have him lashed for good measure. Not that any of the ministers seems trustworthy after all these revelations, maybe János should start getting busy producing an heir rather than pretending he's a warrior

Faulkner? I’m not sure of his writing habits but I rank him as one of the most over-hyped writers of at least the last three centuries. I could never get into any of his books and gave up on him years ago - even though I had finished As I Lay Dying but only because it was the only book I brought on a drive to South Carolina.

Maybe he's over-hyped in America, but he is good. I've only read him in Spanish translations at the time (not that this would detract, Spanish probably suits his dense prose even better than English) and thoroughly enjoyed it. He wrote some good Hollywood scripts as well.

 

[Brandenburg III]

Enewald: I think we must ask ourselves, how many leaders do we personally know? Of those people, who can lead well and of those few, if there are any, who would be capable of running a fledgling nation/territory they know little to nothing about? Its true that if Janos wants to build a strong nation he must take the reigns and really clamp down. But we know from AARs past that not all my AARs are successes and on that note, we still don’t know how many chapters are left.

aldriq: How would Janos enforce such a ruling while in the field? And if he decided to oust those advisors, who would he replace them with? If he snagged people off the street they’d have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Does that mean Janos would be better off? Or would he simply be hiring more yes men or men who may turn on him? And that’s if they can do the jobs just as adequately as those already in power.

As far as Faulkner goes, I’d say he’s over-hyped even if nobody ever said anything about him. Just the fact that he was somehow published leaves me awestruck. I can read a lot of classic works and older novels but I keep wondering why people think he’s such a great writer. He is the only classic writer I have completely written off.

Concerning his movie scripts, well, that may be because writing scripts is easier than writing books. However the only decent scripts he wrote, as far as I’m concerned, were based off of novels written by other writers. I’ll admit to not seeing every movie he wrote for but there’s a reason why.

It must be a style preference.

To all: Maybe I should lose my files more often. This story has received almost as many hits within the last two (three?) weeks than the first four. Then again, I don’t think I could keep rewriting the same story. Look for an update on Sunday.

 

[Brandenburg III]

​

His eyes were closed tight, trying to hide from the pain. His brain was throbbing, thumping against his skull as if it were keeping time to unheard music. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know where he was; the hard concrete, as cold as it was, told him all he needed to know. He opened his eyes and looked up. He was lying on the floor staring at a wall matted with mattresses from one end to the other. But he noticed the strangeness right away. He wasn’t in his chair.

“You’ve had quite the adventure,” Khayr ad-Din’s voice broke through the traveler’s pounding skull. “And you certainly seemed very active.” Khayr stood by the table, turning the book so it was directly facing him as he looked down, rereading what had already been read. Information about the nomadic battle, Farid, and all the people Khayr only knew as characters were undoubtedly written in beloved Arabic.

It took János some time to gather his bearings as he sat on the floor with his legs in front of him. He ran his hands over his wrists and looked to the chair where he saw his binds cut. The cut was too precise for János to have broken out himself. “You cut me free from that chair?” János asked, now looking toward Khayr. Out of the corner of his eye János could just see another man in the shadows. He assumed it was the driver.

“I did,” Khayr admitted.

“Why?”

“So you could move,” he continued with his short replies.

Confusion whirled about János’ head as he tried making sense. Daring, he spoke, “So I do have to move here so I can move there.” János then looked down and noticed a trickling of blood trailing from his shoulder. It was bandaged but wasn’t applied very well. “What’s this? What did you do to me?”

“Relax,” Khayr calmly spoke. “You should know you hurt yourself in the book. You’re just lucky Abdul-Rashid here is a doctor. More importantly, my doctor. When you suffered the wound he ran to his van and retrieved a few medicines. He gave you a shot to numb the pain, put something on the wound and wrapped you up.”

János looked at his shoulder with an open mouth before turning on Khayr, “What’s wrong with you?! You said my wounds wouldn’t transfer!”

Khayr ad-Din shrugged as he began a smile, “Be careful here. You’re treading in dangerous territory.”

“You speak of integrity,” János ignored the warning, “but you have none. You’re a liar! That’s all you are is a liar!”

Khayr’s eyes drifted toward Abdul-Rashid and like a wind-up toy he began walking toward János. Abdul moved behind the Hungarian and in grabbing him from underneath the arms spoke harshly in his ear, “If you fight me I’ll rip out one of your eyes. You only need one eye to read, right?”

János resigned himself to being moved into the chair but couldn’t resist spitting, “What do you know about reading?”

Abdul tightened his face with agitation as he put János in the chair. With cat-like speed, Abdul wrapped wires around János’ wrists and biceps, trapping him against the chair. Khayr only looked on, retrieving the book and placing it under his arm as Abdul continued his precision work.

“What are you doing?” a pleading sound escaped János as he watched Abdul unwrap the bandage around his shoulder.

A cold chuckle emanated from Abdul as he let the bandage fall from his fingers and onto the floor. “If I were permitted to remove your tongue, I would,” Abdul grinned.

“What are you doing?” János spoke worriedly as he watched the man put on a black glove. “No, no, no, no, no, no,” János repeated, dread dripping in every word.

Abdul pointed a finger at János’ shoulder where the indent of the arrow wound was proudly displayed. Slowly, as though terrorizing the artist, Abdul played with the passing seconds. His finger moved nearer and nearer to the wound. When he was close enough Abdul didn’t hold back. He inserted his finger into the hole of János’ shoulder, wiggling his finger sharply in every direction.

János’ screams filled the room as his arms tensed and his legs kicked at the floor. The world must’ve been startled to hear such a scream. The people of Annaba must’ve been looking for the shrieking sound.

Abdul happily continued his demented objective but it was short lived. One of János’ kicks propelled him, falling backward with the chair. János’ head and back helped the chair absorb most of the impact but at least this new pain wasn’t like the old pain. He laid there, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat as he heard Abdul speak, “It seems the pain killers are wearing off.”

Laughing, the driver leaned over János, grabbed hold the back of the chair and propped the chair and János back into the sitting position. There were a few squeaks from the chair but it held. Abdul bandaged János’ shoulder in the wrap as Abdul commented while retiring to his corner of the basement, “That arm’s starting to look real bad. We might have to amputate it soon.”

János was too tired, too exhausted to respond. His head hung forward as he tried recovering from the pain. János couldn’t help be relive the brief moment and wince as he remembered the pain, the pain that still saturated his shoulder.

He wanted to pass out. The pain repetitiously rang in his shoulder like a clapper clanging against the lip of a bell. Why couldn’t he be in Hungary? Why couldn’t he be in 1453?

Khayr spoke from the shadows, “My doctor knows what needs to be done. Just look at my nose you busted earlier.”

János raised his head and looked through strands of dark hair that had fallen over his face. Through the silhouette of shoddy lighting, János could see that Khayr’s nose was perfectly straight, as though nothing had happened to it. But János knew he broke it. How could it mend? How could it be so straight?

“And if amputation is needed,” Khayr went on, “then amputation must be had.”

János betrayed his desire to verbally lash out. He was learning to hold his tongue.

“Now that you know,” Khayr initiated, “there’s no sense in hiding it. What happens to you here will happen there, and what happens to you there will happen here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” János gasped.

“How many timid leaders became great? I doubt you can name a single one. Judging by your knowledge on the whole, I doubt you could name any major historical leader prior to the twentieth century. I hope the irony isn’t lost on you because it surely isn’t lost on me.

“I can’t help that you have this knowledge now but I can keep you brave by offering my threats here. Just remember the penalty for desertion and cowardice.”

János hung his head again, still weak from reentry, “It would take you too long to find another Reader.”

“What do you know about it?” Khayr’s voice flashed like lightning. “Before I told you, you had no idea even you were a Reader. You have no idea how many of your type are out there. You speak of nothing but your ignorance. You’re such a fool.”

“If there are so many, why would you take someone like me? Someone high profile? Someone the communists, Hungarian and Russian alike, love for my early work? They’re not going to let me disappear. They’ll search all over Algeria.”

Khayr ad-Din laughed. “We needed someone impressionable. After your family started vacationing in northern Italy you were opened to a whole new world of ideas. You’re willing to consider nearly anything you come across. Because of this new idea of freedom and your strict upbringing, you’re willing to accept anything that can get you out. And this is your way out. It may not be modern but it is something different, something you can call your own. That’s something you wanted all along anyway, wasn’t it.”

“Italy...”

“Don’t be a fool. I know about you and your history. And I know of your father and the pain you put him and your family through. You’ve been followed for quite a while and its been easier because you grew to prominence and because your father was something grand in Hungary. At least he used to be,” Khayr ad-Din grinned at János.

A heart-wrenching pain shot through János’ chest. “How many of us are there?”

“Enough,” Khayr spoke. “I’ve put up with your insolence so far only because I didn’t want to go through the troubles of luring another plane to land. You look surprised. Do you think this happened by accident? That my men were at an airport you coincidentally landed at after a near miss? Perhaps its something you didn’t want to admit to yourself. It was a coincidental accident? No. You were destined to read this book ever since I heard of your plight in the Port of Constanta.”

“How do you-?”

“I’ll tell the story,” Khayr ad-Din spoke as he edged closer to the table. “When your sister drowned-“

“- I was ten,” János interrupted, thinking aloud.

“You were nine,” Khayr corrected. “When your sister drowned it was a traumatic time for you. Your innocense was lost. At the same time the Soviets were spearheading a new form of Brainwashing called Operation: Reader. The KGB ran with it and by the spring of 1964 they had already trained at least fifty Readers.

“Naturally your father was worried for you and pulled strings to sit you in an expensive psychiatrist’s office in Moscow. It was a quiet adventure. Having a child talking to a psychiatrist could’ve killed his career but it didn’t. The KGB heard about the transfer and intercepted you en route to the office. For the next two months you were in intensive training.

“The Soviets weren’t experts on training Readers as it was still a new idea. And they only knew of one book which they recovered in northern Mongolia in 1948. At first it was thrown into a furnace but it wouldn’t burn. Psychics were brought to inspect the work but they couldn’t break the code. It wasn’t until the mid 1950's when they discovered its secret. When they discovered they needed fragile children.

“At first they couldn’t get it right. Adults were too set in their ways and tough times, especially in the Soviet Union, jarred no one. Children were easier. Through trial and error they discovered how to correctly brainwash the children. After the two months they often released the children back to their families. The KGB had plans to kidnap them at a later time should another book ever be discovered but to their knowledge, no other book exists.”

“How would the children not know they’ve been trained? And why are you telling me this?” János asked.

Khayr smirked as he set the book on the table. “Its brainwashing. If they can train someone to become a Reader, I have no doubt they can train someone to think they were somewhere else. It isn’t that hard. They’ve been doing it for the last seventy years.” Khayr ad-Din cleared his throat as he went on, “And I’m telling you to kill any loyalties you may have had toward the Communists. They’re the reason you’re in this situation. They’re the reason you’re reading this book and they’re the reason why you’re in this basement, talking to me. If you don’t remove the Communists when they try to rise for power later in time, how many more people will I have to meet in this basement? You could save me a lot of time and many people a lot of pain if you get this right.”

János’ head was up now. He had listened intently to everything Khayr ad-Din had to say but it seemed unbelievable. Not nearly as unbelievable as when he was first told about the book, but unbelievable still.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” asked János.

“Because I told you I am. And because there’s nothing to state otherwise.” Khayr turned the book, thumbing through its pages, “I think I’ll let you rest a while. No use in sending you into the book with your mind stretching in all directions.”

“Wait,” János lurched. “You said the Soviets found another book. If they know how to use it, why don’t they? To make the bloc better?”

Khayr laughed, picking up the book and placing it under his care once more. “They did. The book had been written in up to the late 1930's when they found it. It was unfinished and because of that, it didn’t change history. The book only changes history when its finished.

“In the original reality the Germans destroyed France much quicker but Hitler was assassinated in mid 1940 and Himmler became Chancellor after a few mysterious deaths. Alone and with Operation: Sealion a very real possibility, Chamberlain and Himmler met and signed a treaty. The Balkans and Poland would be absorbed or fall under German and Italian influences, France would be granted its freedom and the world would be allowed it’s peace. As a result, the Soviets fought a long and bloody war along the Pacific against the Japanese while Germany’s former ally tried battling the Chinese and British. The war ended in 1943 with the Soviet Union taking the Korean Peninsula, annexing Mongolia and creating a Chinese puppet.

“The Soviets couldn’t stand for German supremacy which would require the Soviets to lean upon the United Kingdom and French nations for permanent assistance. The Treaty of Brest-Litovsk also set heavily on the minds of the Soviets and they wanted the land returned. The Soviets put one of their first accomplished Readers in the book which created the history you now know.”

János sat dumbstruck but he managed to ask, “How do you know this? If nobody else does? How do you know the reality changed?”

“That isn’t something you need to know,” Khayr commented. “Although you now know the book’s power and what its capable of. I confirmed to you there are other Readers and you’re not as important as you think you are. So think while you’re down here about whether you want more Readers to suffer your fate. And remember. This is something that will be done whether you decide to participate in it or if you decide to join your friend buried in the sand.”

János watched Khayr ad-Din and Abdul-Rashid leave. The bindings weren’t biting into his skin but he couldn’t move if he tried. As the two men climbed the stairs and closed the basement door, János heard the sound of the switch from the factory being turned and the lights in the basement went out.

János assumed days went by while he languished in the dark basement. Only the occasional arrival from Abdul-Rashid broke the monotony of János’ internal thoughts and the outward darkness. During these visits Abdul-Rashid didn’t say a word, only expanding János’ torment while he drank little and was fed less.

He assumed Abdul-Rashid came on a daily basis but all János could think about was food and water. Since he couldn’t have it, he wanted it and the time between visits was so excruciating that it was hard to tell the days apart. Were they torturing him by a skipping a day? Or were they keeping him properly filled? János couldn’t tell. Six times Abdul-Rashid appeared and only once in that time was János’ bandage changed. At the very least he wasn’t physically abused.

On the seventh visit János lifted his head as he had the previous six. His eyes squinted as the dim lights beamed and even with their weak energy it was hard for János to see. He body was adjusting to the darkness.

In spite of this adaptation, János could see a figure he hadn’t seen in a while. It was Khayr ad-Din. János wasn’t sure whether to be happy for a change in the scenery or if he should feel fear. He tried detaching himself but it was impossible. He understood how people could feel so many things at one time.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Khayr beamed as he walked toward the table with the book tucked under his arm. The thing never seemed to be more than a few feet from him. When János didn’t say anything, Khayr continued, “Abdul says you’re healing nicely and that you’re ready to head into the book. Before you begin reading we must discuss something.”

“What’s that?” János spoke with a dry mouth.

“Your lack of an heir,” Khayr began. “Without an heir you can’t maintain the monarchy. Also it’ll be very difficult to know who you’ll reenter as once your 1453 figure dies of old age.”

“You think he’ll die of old age?”

Khayr grinned, “He better. For your sake.”

“I thought you said what happens in the book happens here? If he dies of old age, won’t I?”

“That’s a different beast,” Khayr admitted. “Due to the calculations, its very unlikely the character will die while you’re in the book.”

“Calculations?”

“Yes. Unimportant things to you.”

“I’d say they’re very important for me! Are you telling me that I can die if the character dies of old age?”

Khayr ad-Din sighed, setting the book upon the table. “Very well, I’ll tell you. Each book, when its made, begins upon a certain date. There are also only so many pages. Whenever you slip into the book, writing begins to show upon the pages which limits the number of blank pages that are left. When you go back in, the book judges between the amount of pages remaining and the modern date, this is how it judges the Reader’s arrival date. Since no one can tell exactly what day you’ll show up, its imperative you marry this haram girl and create a son.”

The rules began clicking inside János’ head. As wicked as the adventure seemed from the start, it was beginning to make sense. Maybe János was too hard on Tividar when he was alive; maybe such fairy tales were true. But a house with chicken legs?

“I don’t think she’ll let me marry her.”

Abdul-Rashid laughed as Khayr ad-Din smiled. “You don’t think she’ll let you? Because she refused to let you paint her portrait? You’re the ruler. It doesn’t matter what she wants. Besides,” Khayr continued thoughtfully, “its your life on the line. The book won’t miss you and neither will I.”

Thinking aloud, János spoke, “You said the Soviets discovered one of these books in Mongolia. You told me it was filled to where it was nearly complete. I’ve been thinking and it doesn’t make sense. Unless the book doesn’t wipe itself clean after every Reader. These words. They’re forever, aren’t they. Just like these pages and that book which doesn’t burn.”

“If you’re trying to cross me I would suggest you try a different avenue of thinking,” Khayr warned. “Is losing your life worth it?”

János remained silent.

“Maybe it is,” Khayr spoke with thought. “But answer me this. When the book has caught up to the 1960's and I have a new Reader, how would you feel if you lost more than your sister at that port? How would you feel about losing your father, mother and your other sibling? How would you feel if I kidnaped you at the age of ten and brought you back to Algiers for humiliation and torture for the rest of your natural life?”

János didn’t respond for what seemed the length of a minute. “You wouldn’t be able to recreate that history.”

“When I looked into you as a candidate to bring you here, I went through your files. Through your history, likes, dislikes, I read those magazines lauding your talent and even stared at those awful Socialist Realist paintings you used to do. But most importantly, I know your family’s history. Should I abduct them, one by one through the centuries so I am sure to recreate you? This may surprise you János, but I am not a nice man when you make me angry. I tend to become bitter, even at the expense of my personal goals.”

“But there’s no guarantee,” János said softly.

“Is that something you’re willing to try?” Khayr growled. “Don’t tell me you’re going to try to tempt this fate. Its best if you accept my deal and cooperate. Hungary becomes a free state, a state worth living in, and you do my bidding without complaint.”

The two stared at one another. Now wasn’t the time for János to decide. There wasn’t enough time. However, once inside the book he could do as he pleased and think as he liked. The only worry crossing his mind was if his thoughts would be written alongside his actions. Ironically unable to read the book as Khayr ad-Din could, János was ignorant of the book’s substance. Other than Khayr ad-Din, who could know what was written?

​

 

[Enewald]

A lovely chapter.

Although, how could Khayr know of this alternative history were Germans didn't make peace with western allies? Mystery?

 

[Qorten]

Mysterious. What will happen with the now while Janos changes history in 1453? Do small things change, like people who's ancestors were never born disappearing? Or how do you imagine these changes? Will people become aware of it?

 

[Brandenburg III]

Enewald: TBA

Qorten: If the world changes, then so would some ancestors primarily if Algiers becomes a success. Imagine how different the New World or Asia would appear with a victorious Algiers. And this would have ramifications on bloodlines, who would survive and who wouldn’t. As Enewald mentioned, its odd that Khayr would know of these changes while no one else does. Its something that's meant to be explained fully later on.

 

[aldriq]

Interesting. Good to have some more personal background on János as well. Regarding how Khayr knows about the previous reality, I think I know how you'll resolve it, but I'll shut up in case I'm wrong (or in case I'm right ).

 

[Brandenburg III]

aldriq: There were a few outlines written and in my final product I had a few different ideas for major plot points. Before releasing my first chapter I had up to four possible endings until I decided on the one I have now so in that end, you may be right as you mentioned, or wrong. Update should be out as soon as I get the pics up and all that other fun stuff.

 

[Brandenburg III]

​

János was sitting in a chair with a brush in his hand and the sound of a woman’s voice yammering in the background. It was a seamstress speaking to another, training a girl to become another one of János’ seamstress girls. But János didn’t mind the talk. He found it pleasant. Not only because its been so long since he’d seen a woman, or heard one, but because he was able to sit and think about what was going on in the real world. Patting the paint with the brush he was content.

With his back to the door, János couldn’t see or hear that the door to his room had opened, but he knew it was wide with the sudden gush of air spilling through the open balcony. It was only when the seamstress stopped speaking that János turned to see who it was. Nijma was standing in the doorway. Both women swiftly left the room through another door after receiving a quick glance from Nijma. Only after the women left did Nijma enter the room, closing the door behind her.

“Feel free to come in,” János spoke annoyed. There’d be no time to think about what he wanted to think about. She was going to bother him with book-worldly ideas and complaints.

János returned to his canvas and continued painting. His brush stopped mid-stroke when he felt Nijma pressing against his back, an arm draped over his shoulder and her lips against his ear. “How is my Sultan this morning?”

He set the brush on the palate. She seemed to be changing. “What do you mean by Sultan?”

Nijma smiled and stood upright as János turned on his chair, facing her, “Hamad says we’re capable of splitting with Sultan Mehmet. All you have to do is tell Hamad to send the message and you can remove the Dey title.”

“I didn’t know we had anything to do with them.”

She only laughed at him as she walked to the spot where the seamstresses were working, looking over the half-finished fabric they left behind. “And Farid is still missing.”

“Why are you telling me all this? Shouldn’t Fouad or Hamad be up here?”

Nijma shook her head and he noticed it for the first time. She wasn’t wearing her hajib or anything to cover her face. Had she entered the room like this? “Fouad is busy making your paints. He’s so foolish, spending so much time with them. He’s afraid you’ll run out. And Hamad busies himself with the economics of things, he has no time for anything else. You ought to know that.”

“Don’t I have others?”

“Others?”

“Other people I can rely on. Other people that’ll do things.”

“Your paranoia doesn’t allow for a large council. But don’t worry, I’m here for you even if you don’t want to marry me. I’ll do all I can for you.”

János didn’t like the path this was going down. The last thing in the world he needed was to get involved in was a relationship argument. A relationship that wasn’t even his! Deciding to go back to a previous point, he asked, “Farid is missing?”

“Ever since Tunisia. After a meeting with Fouad you convinced everyone that it was best if we moved on and let my father look for him. But I doubt he bothered. He isn’t the kind to worry over people. This isn’t at all important now. My father should be here soon.” She saw the look on János’ face and she smiled, “Either later today or tomorrow. You can ask him your Farid questions.”

Nijma left the room a few minutes later allowing János the rest of the day to think while the seamstresses returned. After being filled in on the next day’s activities, it was obvious they were making his clothes for the following day. He hated the ugly extravagance.

The following day János discovered he’d be alone with Chief ‘Uthman where he often conducted meetings with his advisors. Gone was the dilapidated table and thrown out were the well-worn chairs. As replacements, a lavished table with its legs etched in difficult designs from Italian sculptors sat in the middle of the room. And surrounding the table were chairs of the same decoration, using deep shaded, sound wood. There were few pieces of collected art and notes of interest which were no doubt stripped from Habsburg hands at the last minute.

It seemed that his court, or at least his room, was beginning appear more European than African. Not that János was complaining, not in the slightest! These changes were welcoming signs and made this alternate world more comforting than it was than when he left it. Assumptions ran through his mind that the Sultan character was taking on a few of János’ personal attributes. Perhaps, as time moved on, János’ characteristics would further influence the Sultan when János wasn’t personally present.

The sound of song filled the halls as Chief ‘Uthman had finally managed to make it to the place. His own men were stationed outside the door, rubbing elbows with János’ guards which willed the slim corridor practically impassible.

“Chief ‘Uthman,” János began beleaguered when he noticed the disheveled appearance of the man. “Are you well?” There was little concern in János’ voice.

‘Uthman moved inward, trying to steer himself away from stumbling over his own feet. Clutching onto the back of a chair he gave János a goofy grin as he spoke, “Its been a long trip.”

“I see you’re keeping yourself fluid friendly,” János slighted as the two men sat across from one another at the table.

“I do what needs to be done,” ‘Uthman responded. “Maybe you should’ve done the same. It would’ve saved my trip if you hadn’t battered yourself blind when you came to see me.”

As with ‘Uthman’s daughter, János was becoming annoyed with her father, “What is the point of this? You’ve come here for a reason and I doubt its to tell me your fleet is available.”

‘Uthman smiled as he relaxed against the back of his chair, “I have something that will change your attitude. Go, and open the door. Call for one of my men.”

“I am not your boy,” János replied, “Get them yourself.”

‘Uthman appeared annoyed but he removed himself from his spot, selecting his steps carefully as he made it to the door. Opening the door but a crack he whispered into the hall and shut the door as the man with the message ran off. And with the same careful moves, ‘Uthman returned to his chair and sat down, “Do I dare speak again?”

“That depends. What do you want to say?”

“My daughter. Has she treated you well? No more tricks and games? She liked being a child too often.”

János generically answered, “She is well.”

“She has brought you no sons?” ‘Uthman inquired. “She is one of the worthless. Should I send another? I only have one more available daughter and she is of lesser stock, but if she gives you sons then her value would be worth more than the one you have now.”

“No,” János rejected,

“Nonsense!” ‘Uthman declared, no doubt going over his superior’s head as a result of his slight drunkenness. “I’ll send for another as soon as I return. You shall have two of mine!”

Without another word Jnáos was to have two women thrown into his court. And sisters. Surely this would be a bad thing, for two women in one house was never a quiet home. Before János could rescind the man’s reckless request, a knock on the door came, calling for Chief ‘Uthman. János remained, allowing the Chief to call out rather classless, “Enter!”

The door opened and in walked two men, binding Farid’s arms behind his back, “Here he is.”

“Good, good,” Chief ‘Uthman answered, dismissing one of the two men from the room. As one man restrained Farid, whose hands were bound behind his back, the other was dismissed. As Farid was held, János noticed he was silent; no doubt due the wrappings stuffed in his mouth. When János returned his attention to ‘Uthman, the Chief added, “I found this man trying to gather recruits for a rebellious stage near the port in Tunis. We haven’t figured out whether or not he was trying to overthrow me, or you.”

“You,” János spoke to the man restraining Farid, “Release the bind around his mouth and let him speak.”

The guard did as was instructed, pulling the cloth away which was now covered in a watery mess. Again János spoke, “What were you plotting?”

Farid flicked his tongue a few times, wetting his lips, “You humiliated me.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I have no intention to answer any of your questions!”

“Stuff his mouth again,” János spoke to the guard. “And take him underground.”

As Farid was led out of the room, ‘Uthman chimed, “Are you going to have him killed?”

While Farid wasted away in the dungeon below, János’ morality weighed heavily upon him. Could he condemn a man to death who had yet to raise a hand against him? For all János knew, ‘Uthman was in the mood for a slaying. And for all the aggression János was feeling toward Farid and his real world captor, it’d be easy to fall from civilized thinking. One moment the man’s death seemed like a good idea while another it was the most reprehensible thing he could conjure. Striking the final blow on Farid, the more he thought on the subject, seemed barbaric.

János sent word for Nijma to come during the night lest the others begin talking. He sought the shining blue tint of the sky, staring at the same moon he once stared at when he was a child. Somehow it looked different.

János was stirred from his thoughts after hearing the door creak and Nijma stepping into the room. He’d gotten used to the pace of events and thought nothing of her casual attire, something he was sure he influenced days or months before.

There was no ceremony when she began speaking, “You’re not treating my father right.”

“Excuse me?” János spoke.

“To get things done he must be intoxicated. If you let him think with a clear mind he’s a dangerous man.”

“I thought you said a Muslim who went around alcohol was a bad Muslim.”

“If the bad ones are allowed to rule then they will always exist. You have proven to me that you’re good and it would be better if you could take the answers from him. He always brings alcohol on his travels but never enough. He is a glutton and takes all he can when he can and there is no resupply on the Street of Camels. At least, not without upsetting you. But you must beware for he is strong. Not his strength of body, but his strength of mind. He is a drunk man but he knows how to get what he wants. He wants your Army Chief to die and he has incited you to do the act for him.”

At this Jnáos cursed the moon, looking at Nijma, “Do you know why?”

“No,” Nijma spoke softly. “But there can be no other explanation.”

János reasoned Chief ‘Uthman could’ve killed Farid where he stood but instead, the Chief brought the man into Algiers. There had to be more. Due to this, it didn’t take János long before he admitted that he wouldn’t send Farid to his death. At least not before everything had been sorted.

Pushing himself from his spot, János headed toward the door which caused Nijma to ask, “Where are you going, so late in the night?”

“If I’m to make a decision by morning, I want it to be the right one. One without pressure from your father and one that will clear my conscience.”

“You’re afraid.”

An old memory slammed into his head, the words she spoke reminding him of those things he’d rather forget. “A man shouldn’t be killed needlessly.”

“You’ve never troubled over executing others before. And he is a political rival. That should be enough.”

“It isn’t!” János felt his temper rising. What was it with that family? Being so close to the brink earlier scared him into doubt, followed by an unwillingness to carry out a death plot. While he had killed animals in his youth, a man’s blood was somehow different. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what Farid was.

“He wasn’t your friend. I don’t know why you bother keeping him alive, he is nothing but trouble. You act as though this was the first time you were to kill a man.”

She said it in such a nonchalant way he had to question her own sanity. To kill a man, to end his life and his existence was put in such terms as though it meant nothing. And perhaps they meant nothing.

“It is my choice and of no concern to you. Leave me now, so I can handle this.”

* * *

The two men stood on either side of the dungeon door with only a slight grate granting safe conversation. One side one was free and the other was condemned. The sky was still dark and the night late but there was much to do before the rising of the sun.

János was alone excepting patrolling guards while Farid was stuck in his tiny cell. All that was provided was a bed held to the wall by three bars and two lines of chain and a gutter along the wall where the prisoners would relieve themselves. The fetid smell of waste and nausea filled the entire dungeon from previous prisoners who had already met their fate.

“What do you want?” Farid asked once he saw János’ familiar face. Farid was sitting on what was left of a bed with his head in his hands, his eyes staring through the gaps of his fingers. There was little to do other than to count the seconds.

“I want the truth,” János started, stopping just a few feet away from the barred door. “I want to know what you were doing in Tunis. And why Chief ‘Uthman brought you all the way with him, to this prison.”

Farid forced a laugh as his hands collapsed, his head raising as he returned, “You expect me to tell you everything without receiving anything in return? You put me in this decrepit place made for lesser men, for men of no honor and traitors, and you expect me to comply? Already I hear your passing guards speaking of an execution. Am I supposed to die as someone I’m not?”

“You want to die as a soldier?

“I want to live as a man!” Enraged, Farid stood and charged the door. He spoke quickly through the tiny barred slot, wishing the door wasn’t reinforced with wood and metal. “You live and everything is given to you! What have you done but take? Take what has been earned on the backs of those you call ungrateful. The Sultan may not like the way things are done but the Sultan certainly doesn’t complain about those results. And you have the audacity to charge me of nothing other than your own suspicions! Your own paranoia! Perhaps if you left the castle more than you do, then maybe some of your paranoia would fade. Maybe you would realize that not everyone is coming to get you.”

“Were you not planning something in Tunis?”

Farid sighed. János could taste the man’s breath, a horrible stench. Farid turned away from the door, continuing, “You’ll listen to nothing I say. Whatever answers you want you can ask ‘Uthman yourself. If your doubts will allow you to believe him.”

János turned sharper than a flash of lightning as he headed out of the corridor where he discovered a patrolling guard. “I want you to find Chief ‘Uthman and I want you to escort him here.”

“It wouldn’t be proper to-“

“Now!” János bellowed with enough air to send the man scurrying toward the stairs. Too many questions had to be answered in short time. He could’ve pushed Farid’s execution, expulsion, or whatever he’d decide for days and days but he didn’t want to look weak. More importantly, János knew how well Farid fared with his men and the longer Farid was to stay in a cell, the more sympathy he would garner.

After the guard left his sight János returned to Farid’s room, “He’ll be here in time. Soon everything will be solved so you should tell me what you know, unless I apply further consequences to your sentencing.”

Farid smirked, showing his worn, wretched teeth, “You’re going to implicate a foreign ruler? At least you’re allowing me to witness it.”

“Not implicate,” János corrected. “Finding the answers.”

“And how are you going to get those answers without antagonizing him? Without pressing him for information? Without -“

“Quiet!”

“No. You’ve still given me the freedom to speak. You haven’t bound my mouth yet.”

“Don’t give me any ideas.”

“Not that you would,” Farid sat upon his bed again. “You barely had the strength to throw me in here. Anything else would go against your morality. I will say this, you’ve changed. You were more appreciative of my efforts five and a half years ago.”

“Things changed.”

“You changed.”

“Everything changes over time. Nothing stays the same.”

“Nothing changes,” Farid pressed, “not in this nation. Our leader chooses to go back and forth, always unsure of his next action. Be a man! Make a choice! You can’t even declare a man to die when you believe he’s conspiring against you!”

“How do you know?”

“Because. Because you’ve lost your will. You can only do it when in the moment but if you must think, then you become a coward. The same coward you are inside. The same coward you always were. I feel ashamed that I once admired you because your cowardice has always been inside you. How I blame myself that I couldn’t see. But don’t worry... I’ll force change.”

János cracked a smile at the man’s ability to heave his hopes while in his predicament, “How do you expect to do that inside a cell?”

The door at the end of the corridor creaked, and calling from it was the guard János had sent for ‘Uthman, “My Sultan! Chief ‘Uthman isn’t in his room. His entire party is missing!”

János turned on his heel, “What do you say!?!”

“Chief ‘Uthman is gone! But that isn’t important. You must be protected for there has been a break in our capital’s defenses! There are other men here to protect you until you reach your room. Beware my Sultan, there are raiders in the streets!”

And as János hurried down the corridor to reach his new contingent of guards, he heard Farid laugh loudly only to choke on the putrid smell of his cell.

As János left the dungeon the dust spat in his face like an angered woman. “Here! Here, my Sultan!” János heard one man call for him. Around he saw five faces he recognized, all with weapons drawn.

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” János repeated, trying to get a hold of the situation.

“A raid from the sea,” one answered.

“Why? Who leads them?”

“Does it matter?” the same man asked. “We have to take you to safety until the situation is resolved.”

It didn’t dawn on him that this could be a set-up. That somehow he could be tricked by his own men. His guards began heading in one direction, dutifully following, János kept in step.

“Sultan!” he heard an annoyed voice. “In here. Move your feet!”

János was unaccustomed to the way he was being talked to but he didn’t dare challenge the man since he seemed like he knew what he was doing.

Then he heard it. It came whooshing like a dust storm with speed of Mercury and the ferocity of Pheme. About ten unkempt men with weapons drawn and venom dripping with imagined fangs was nothing compared with the five men surrounding János. One of his guards rushed past him toward their goal, toward their door. He pulled on it. Locked! He pulled harder. The men rushed closer. Locked! Selfish guards barricaded themselves inside.

“Its not opening!” János heard the man say as he bashed his shoulder against the reinforced door. Bash! Bash! It wasn’t opening. There was no amount of strength to pry it open. One of the men grabbed János’ shoulders, pinning him against the corner near the door and a decorative outcropping. From here he could see everything. His own men formed a human wall, protecting not only the door but their Sultan.

Through the cracks of their bodies Jnáos could see the charging men. He blinked. And blinked again as he saw three rushing men fall to the ground, arrows sticking out of their chests. Were there shooters from the balconies? It didn’t matter. The men kept coming, seven in ragged formation. Pump. Pump. Pump. His pulse pounded in his ears. He was thinking of nothing. Heard nothing. Everything moved in slow motion. He saw dirt kicking out from under each raider’s foot as his guards planted theirs, preparing for collision.

No other men fell as the lump in his throat grew. And he absently wondered, ‘What am I doing with a saber?’ Could he bring it up against another man? He’d have to test himself should his own men break and fall.

The clash came at once and the scene developed without the slow motion tint. His eyes went back and forth, eyeing the weakest point in the line. It was animal’s instinct.

A raider was soon on the ground, followed by another. Their speed siphoned any ability they had with a weapon and János’ men were able to cut them down as easily as swatting paralyzed flies. Five were left. One raider was thrown behind the line, a guard using the man’s inertia against him. The raider had such speed that, with the guard’s aid, he slammed himself into the wall near János. The guard followed, planting his body hard against the raider. Without a thought the guard slit the raider’s throat. A sticky substance sprayed János’ face.

He put his hand there. Pulling it away he saw the shaded burgundy blood, glistening in the moon’s beams. The same guard he watched kill the raider shoved János to the dirt as the men began losing ground. János, from the street's view noticed two guards were lying face down along with a total of six raiders. It was three on four. Unfavorable odds.

Someone was calling from a door across the small street. János could only hear as he laid on his saber’s wide, blunt side. “Keep him safe,” János heard nearby. Forcefully picked up, János looked and saw it was the guard he’d been watching, the same guard who slain the raider in front of his eyes. “This way!” the guard was terse with his words, guiding János to the opened door where two servant men beckoned.

Being a reactionary, he looked behind him as he ran with his guard noticing that it was now two on four. He saw arrows again, this time coming from another rooftop or balcony. Two more raiders fell. But a wayward arrow struck a guard in the throat as he clutched his wound, gasping for breath. Jnáos wanted to kill and cry in the same instant but his legs wouldn’t crumble or run. The only strength he could muster was the edging provided from his temporary protector.

He couldn’t watch anymore and turned his attention toward the door. There had to be more men coming. The raiding party had to be larger than ten. The guard shoved János inside as the servants clasped the door shut, sealing and bolting it from those who may try to force their way.

Regaining his footing and his legs, János turned and heard, “Those pirates killed the last one. They’re coming this way!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he heard his guard calming the servant. “Bows and arrows will cut them down before they find a way in here.”

After the passing of a few hours since Janos’ narrow escape the entire capital was locked down and he was surrounded by Moussa, his protector, Hamad and Fouad. Men were stationed outside of his door and at the foot of the building; men who would die protecting their Sultan as they would their messiah.

“Any idea who it was?” János asked.

“Our information isn’t complete but we do have a little. The raiders were Saïd’s,” Fouad said. “Apparently they go by the name, ‘Phorcydes.’”

“What?”

“Monsters from the sea,” Fouad paraphrased. “But it doesn’t matter what they’re called.”

Hamad spoke up, “The imprisonment of Farid, the arrival of Saïd and the disappearance of Chief ‘Uthman all seems too much of a coincidence. We’re trying to find out more.”

“And according to a few of Saïd’s men we captured,” Fouad continued, “there is. While we don’t know the motives Chief ‘Uthman had for Farid, we’ve been informed that ‘Uthman sought Saïd. It was Saïd’s job to break Farid free.”

“That’s it?” asked János.

“That’s it.”

“What about the raiders in other quarters of the city?”

“Opportunists? These aren’t honorable men. If they’re instructed to kill a family, then they’re going to steal the jewels while they’re there. We can’t defend everything.”

János was silent for a moment. “But Farid. How did ‘Uthman know I’d imprison Farid?”

“What else could you do?”

János was disgusted. “And there’s no other news on why Farid was wanted?”

“None. Not unless you want to ask him yourself,” Fouad offered.

“They were unsuccessful?”

Fouad smiled, “They were. But I’m not sure how much information you’ll get out of him.”

The high spirits János bore had deflated, “He’ll tell. We’ll make him tell. He won’t be the reason I fail.”

“Fail what, Sultan?”

“Nothing,” János waived. “Never mind. Just send him here.”

As Fouad went to inform a group of guards standing outside the door, János turned toward the one that saved him in the streets. “Do you have a name?”

“Moussa, my Sultan,” he spoke.

János still felt unease with the title and the addresses, “Would you accept to become Hamad’s second? If you do well, one day you’ll replace him as the Chief of Army.”

“Sultan?”

“The position is yours if you want it.”

“But my family isn’t-“

“- it doesn’t matter what your family is,” János cut him off. “Do you want it?”

Hamad spoke, “Sultan, are you sure this is a good idea? There’s a system in place. And there are many wealthy families backing that system, the system which runs this country.”

“I don’t care.”

“They will,” Hamad answered. “We’ve suffered enough troubles the past few years, adding more isn’t wise.”

János looked at him, “The troubles we’ve incurred have strengthened this country. Tripoli is on our side, Morocco covers our Western flank and Tunisia, will be dealt with.” And so János turned his attention back onto Moussa, “Do you want it?”

The silence stilled the scene as the commoner thought, debating whether to accept. On one side he was being proposed a position by his Sultan and on the other, he’d be breaking the common culture he knew since he was a child. He made his choice, “I cannot deny my Sultan.”

János let the comment pass but took the man’s acceptance. There’d be plenty of time to argue the merits of his agreement later. And so the room remained quiet until Farid entered with two men on either side of him. Farid reeked, a testament of spending hours in the dungeon.

After the door closed, and the accompanying guards remained, János said, “Disappointed?”

“In what.” Farid spoke as less of a question and more a comment.

“That you weren’t rescued. And now you’re stuck here.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Neither of you were willing to grant me the death I wanted so why should it matter?”

“What agreement had you worked out with Chief ‘Uthman?”

“Why should I tell you? I’d only dishonor myself.”

János looked around, addressing all those who weren’t Farid, “Leave us.”

“Sultan!” Fouad spoke but János shook his head, motioning toward the door. If he was going to get anything out of Farid, it had to be done delicately. How could a self-proclaimed honorable man tell on his co-conspirators with so many watching? It may have been a risk but without the information, János would never find ‘Uthman and his men. And so all men left the room until the small space contained only Farid and János.

After the door closed János moved to stand but Farid was on him like pestilence in a poor province. With one hand on János’ collar, Farid shoved forward until János’ back was to the wall. All the while János’ eyes caught sight of a blade in Farid’s hand, its handle carved into a lion and its paws forming around the hilt as if it were holding the blade. The air escaped János’ lungs.

Farid spoke with the blade nearing János’ throat, “Who are you to say I deserve to die when you don’t know the whole thing? Who are you to rule a nation when you can’t even defend it? Why, you’re not even armed.”

And it was true. János was without a weapon. He’d forgotten it during the skirmish in the streets. Even if he hadn’t disarmed himself, he was too close to the wall and Farid’s body too near for a saber to be of any use. All the while János couldn’t help but stare at the tip of the blade threatening his face. Swallowing the lump in his throat, János spoke, “What do you want?”

Farid’s hold was strong, “‘Uthman gave me this dagger if the invasion failed. Said I’d be rewarded a great deal if I plunged it into your heart and let it stand. But why should I reward Tunisia by burying their symbol in your chest? And where would my place in memory lie if I killed an unarmed man?”

His hands were numb. Nothing came to János’ mind, what to do or say. Everything was in Farid’s court as he tried wrestling with his thoughts. “If you drop this, I’ll give you the death you want.”

“Are you trying to negotiate? I have the knife,” Farid spoke, moving and pressing it’s tip against János’ neck. But Farid refused to puncture the skin.

“I can give you life.”

“What kind of life could I lead?”

“You could rule over Tunisia!” the words came out before he had a chance to think them through. “Provided upon your death the nation passes into Algier’s hands. Do you want to matter? Want to live and be remembered as honorable? You could do all of these things by cleansing the region of bandits and protecting the coast from Tunisia to Gibraltar from rampaging pirates.”

“Your words have merit,” Farid spoke. “But I stand to gain more from your death and Chief ‘Uthman’s occupation.”

János shook his head, the point of the blade burying itself a little deeper. “If you kill me, how can you escape? The entire city is on watch. You won’t collect what’s been promised and you’ll be remembered as a traitor to Algiers. A murderer of an unarmed man. You’ll be no different than a midnight bandit killing for profit.”

Farid let the words settle. “And I receive this by letting you go?”

“I want to know where Chief ‘Uthman is and how he planned to take over.”

“You know all there is to know,” Farid relaxed the blade so it was no longer a danger.

“I don’t know where ‘Uthman is now. He must be found.”

Farid began, “I won’t tell you. Provide me with a regiment and I’ll track him down. In this way I’ll not be risking my word.” As the words left him so had his will to kill. Farid placed the knife on a table and let the distance between them grow. János remained against the wall.

“You’ll have your men, if you can tell me why you joined him.”

“When I left by myself, he captured me. He provided me with a number of choices, all ending in my own forgotten death. This was the only option I had. I reasoned I was sure to die in the breakout but at least I could’ve died fighting.”

“What do you know about ‘Uthman’s agreement with Saïd?”

“Nothing. All I know is that Saïd was to break me out, I was to kill you if the coup failed and then I’d be paid.”

After a brief period of silence, János spoke, “I’ll arrange for you to take a regiment. Once you find him, you’ll be provided an escort to Tunisia. But I must remind you, Algiers bears a larger and more disciplined army. If you ever try anything then you will be deposed and you’ll rot in an underground cell so commoners can kick dirt in your face as they pass.”

“I’ve never betrayed you before.”

János stared at the blade that was meant to kill him. It looked sterile and innocent like something locked in a museum. He doubted he’d ever be able to look at such things in the same way.

​

 

[Enewald]

Janos should be a man.
Control the situation, control Algiers and control the court.
Including getting an heir. How foolish can he be?

 

[Qorten]

Enewald is right. He should be more decisive. It's not wrong to doubt, as long as you come to decision before it is too late. He should also realise he's not in the 1980's anymore. The late middle ages are a rough time. He'd better take that into account.

 

[Brandenburg III]

Enewald & Qorten: I think Janos is fine considering everything going on and who he is.

As far as the heir goes, I’m alluding to it. Between him asking her to stay the night in Chapter 7 - how he casually asked in my descriptive post ought to highlight that point - or before they left for the Street of Camels could also be considered another attempt-at-an-heir. I’d be clearer in my writing on this but Paradox rules are too easy to break.

 

[Enewald]

What does getting an heir have to do with pdox rules?
You are the author, you want anything you want, as long as it is polite towards others and does not break any of the important rules.
I'm now confused.

 

[aldriq]

János has been acting a lot more decisively lately, he managed to gain Farid back at the last second. But I agree that you've been much too subtle regarding Nijma and János, until this chapter you gave the impression that János had no interest whatsoever in her.

 

[Brandenburg III]

Enewald:

16. You will not post pornographic, sexually offensive material or images of a type unsuitable for a family/office environment or post links to such material or images.

The rule is ambiguous therefore it depends on whoever reads the subject matter on whether or not something is considered offensive. So why tempt myself to break it? And why allow this story to devolve into trash? The main reason why I maintain what I wrote is because I thought this last paragraph was blatantly obvious since she was on the trip to Tunisia after this scene.

“Take me,” she purred, throwing off her long tunic. As it hit the floor he looked at her, realizing she bore one less mystery. Nijma held her words for a brief moment before she continued, “To Tunisia.”

Even if that didn’t spell it out there’s still the closeness, the touching, the casualness of the clothes they wear compared to when they first met.

I felt as though I were being very repetitive, stating over and over again that the story more or less goes on auto-pilot when he isn’t in there. Obviously something has to happen during the dates Janos isn’t actively working inside the book so there’d be something going on based upon the above paragraph.

I suppose I don’t understand the confusion.

And on your earlier remark, about how Janos ought to be a man. Is a man one who makes rash decisions? If so, Farid would be dead even though he may be innocent. Just because Janos isn’t another bloodthirsty ruler in another EU3 AAR...

These critiques on Janos’ character aren’t so much based around the writing, rather they’re based on who the character is. The writing can be changed, the base of the character can’t, and won’t.

Lastly, to call him indecisive is unfair. I know since this goes week to week that it can be hard to remember chapter by chapter, but was Janos’ attempt to escape the basement indecisive? How about standing up against those who wanted to kill Farid? Or ordering against his advisors, at times not taking their advice? Is that indecisive too?

The critique about the base character and the rules aren’t critiques at all. They’re opinions. I’m only bothering to respond in depth to the indecisiveness and to the rules questions so nobody else is confused about what’s going on or questions “Why” something may or may not happen later on.

aldriq: Believe me, if this were one of my stories the connection would be more obvious without being gratuitous.

To all: I’ve been thinking over the past week and have decided to put this AAR on hold for a while. I wouldn’t expect to see a return.