Chapter 6
Large and in Charge
Az-Zaidiyah, Kingdom of Libni
21 Lesh BE 001
Az-Zaidiyah was a prosperous port city with a fortified tableland overlooking the bay. This tableland became a residential district for the elite families of the city, and of the seventeen estate houses found there, if the so-called Palace of the Cranes was not the finest of them all, it was certainly a contender. In the center of the courtyard was a large pool in the shape of the Rub el-Hizb. Besides exotic birds like flamingos and the eponymous cranes strutting about, a number of nubile beauties frolicked in the water or sunbathed at the edges of the pool. The women were a varied assortment from every corner of the globe, as much a part of the menagerie as the birds.
Shielded from the sun by the roof of the patio and fanned by a pair of Petroshky twins was the notorious crimelord Mustafa Ghaddafi, the head of the Ghaddafi Syndicate. Ghaddafi was an exceptionally large man, well over two hundred kilos, but despite his great size, he sweated little. It was less to the credit of the shade or the fans than it was his lineage as a descendant of the old desert tribes, or at least that was what he would claim.
Ghaddafi was once a common enforcer whose hunger and ambition led him to consume his original gang and then rival after rival until he built a criminal empire with a presence in nearly every port city along the West Midland Sea from Murabit to Silukiyya in the south and from Alhambra to Melos in the north. He may not have been the undisputed king of the underworld in this corner of the world, but in due course, he would subdue any who would dare to challenge his reign.
He was not an idle man when it came to the running of his domain, so moments like this when he allowed himself the leisure to enjoy his treasures were more precious than gold. Yet as precious as this time was to him, there were occasions when business would intrude.
Although Ghaddafi had thousands of men in his employ, he did not keep many close at hand here in the Palace of the Cranes, so the bodyguard who escorted his guest to him was of course a woman herself, one of the Sheherazade Sisters who were particular gems in his collection. The guest was a stern-looking Ahorazedi priest with a hawklike beak of a nose and a beard that was prematurely streaked with white.
"Sarek Zoltan, Effendi," the bodyguard said curtly.
The priest offered Ghaddafi no greeting besides a slight bow of his head. No common man would dare such a thing, but Ghaddafi would not have granted an audience like this to any common man.
In lieu of a conventional greeting from himself, Ghaddafi motioned to the courtyard and said, "What do you think of the flowers of my garden? There are the lilies, which are fair to look upon in the waters, and then there are the roses, no less fair, but..."
He nodded to his bodyguard, who quickly drew a knife and held it to the priest's neck.
"...they have thorns."
The priest showed no sign of fear. Indeed, a tilt of his head seemed to offer up his neck as a challenge to the threat. Truly no common man, this one.
The priest opened his mouth to speak, saying, "You are a man of taste, Effendi."
Ghaddafi snorted at the half-hearted compliment, asking him in turn, "What would a priest such as yourself know of taste?"
"Enough to pay a compliment."
Ghaddafi nodded again for the bodyguard to return her knife to its sheath. The priest had passed the first test, but how would he fare with the second? While the scene in the courtyard served Ghaddafi's own pleasure, it was also a way to take the measure of his guests. Some were so enraptured that they would openly gawk at his beauties and forget what they had come to say. Others would try to be subtle and steal glances here and there, but for this priest, Ghaddafi's collection may as well have been a child's assortment of pebbles.
"It would seem that you take no delight in my flowers," the crimelord said.
"A man whose eye is apt to wander is a man who will stray from his purpose," the priest replied. "And if my eye were to rest overlong, would I not provoke you to jealousy, Effendi?"
"Jealousy?" Ghaddafi scoffed. "Ha! Jealousy is for small men. I am not so small."
"Indeed there are few of your measure, Effendi."
Ghaddafi snorted at this.
"You speak boldly, priest. A lesser man would take your words for insult."
The priest bowed his head slightly and said, "No offense was intended, Effendi, but if any was taken, allow me to apologize."
Ghaddafi had no patience for empty pleasantries and wanted to move things along.
"Come, state your business."
"You know of the clamor in the west," the priest said. "It is as if a second sun has risen up and now travels eastward."
"The sun rising in the west and setting in the east would indeed be cause for a clamor," Ghaddafi replied. "One might even say the words of the Prophets are being fulfilled in our days."
"And how do you feel about that, Effendi?" the priest asked.
Ghaddafi made a dismissive wave of his hand.
"I am, how you say, agnostic about such things. I do not pretend to know, nor do I much care. My paradise is here."
The priest eyed him sharply and asked, "What are you prepared to do to protect this paradise of yours?"
"What am I not prepared to do?"
"Would you make half the world your enemy?"
"Half? Why not all the world?"
"Not all the world is deceived, Effendi. The Lord of Wisdom has set aside a remnant who yet cleaves to the narrow path of Truth."
Intrigued at the priest's words, Ghaddafi tilted his head and said, "Deceived, you say? The one they call the Child of Promise is not truly the Child?"
"The Father of Lies will lead many astray," the priest said. "Having eyes, they do not see and having ears, they do not hear. Wisdom is far from them and Truth a stranger."
"Why do you come to me with this, priest?" Ghaddafi asked. "You would not have come to me if you did not know my business, so what business is this of mine?"
"You called yourself an agnostic, Effendi. You stand between the paths of Truth and of Lies. You may turn to the path of Truth and save your soul, or at least you can profit by those who wander down the path of Lies."
"What do you mean?"
"If this false Child were to fall into your hands, think of what leverage you would have over the ones who take him for true."
Ghaddafi stroked his goatee as his considered the priest's proposition. He had always been the sort who would see possibilities and trace out their paths. He was rarely wrong and it was how he had built his empire. He had never much concerned himself with religion, but to seize hold of the prophetic fervor sweeping the nations, it could put him in a powerful position, but that position had its share of peril. He counted on people behaving predictably to the forces applied to them. In a situation like this, people were apt to behave irrationally and unpredictably. It was not how he liked to operate.
Ghaddafi leaned back in his chair, which groaned from his weight, as he said, "I was told a story once as a boy of a quest for the Elixir of Life. At the end, there wa a poisoned chalice that you had to drink. For the worthy, it was indeed the Elixir of Life, but for the unworthy, it was a cup of death. One man's medicine is another's poison. That was the moral. And here you have come bearing the chalice, be it to my health or to my hurt."
"Were not there many who refused the chalice?" the priest asked. "They gained nothing but lost less."
"You came to me knowing I am not such a man," Ghaddafi replied. "Very well. I will sic my dogs on this Child."
Ghaddafi's decision may have appeared to be a hasty one, but his mind worked quickly tracing out the possibilities and from his experience an excess of time spent in deliberations rarely yielded better results than swift work that trusted his instincts. The risks were great in a situation like this, but the potential rewards far outweighed those risks.
Rather than simply being glad that he had secured Ghaddafi's aid, the priest asked him, "Will dogs suffice for such work?"
"They are capable," Ghaddafi assured him.
"The Child's Protectors are not to be underestimated."
Ghaddafi knew little about the ones known as the Protectors, but he knew his dogs and he knew that they were not the only trick he had up his sleeve.
"If they can overcome my dogs, they will tear themselves in the briars."
The priest glanced at the bodyguard who would be part of those briars and looked unconvinced.
"And if they should cut through the briars?"
Ghaddafi laughed at this. He had not found a man who was a match for his roses yet and did not imagine these Protectors would be any different, but if they would prove to exceed his expectations...
"Then I would be inclined to believe this Child is not so false as you say."
"Every spirit must be tested," the priest replied.
This statement amused Ghaddafi, who slapped his knee and told the priest, "How about we make a wager? Which do you think will catch the Child: my dogs or the briars?"
"Unfortunately, Effendi, I must decline. I do not make wagers."
This was why he did not like dealing with priests and other such men who would deny themselves the pleasures of life. You were more likely to squeeze water from a rock found out in the dunes than to squeeze any fun out of their sort. He did not let that spoil things for him, though.
"Then I will make it for you," Ghaddafi said. "If my dogs succeed, you get the point, and if the task falls to my roses, the point goes to me. If you win, you can name your reward. If I win, I will expect a gift worthy of my victory."
He motioned for a servant who came bearing an electrum coin that was an early prize of his that he kept for occasions such as this. Many people expected him to move slowly in all things due to his size, but when Ghaddafi flipped the coin, he was able to snatch it out of the air effortlessly and slap it down on the back of his free hand before evaluating the results. In truth, the coin flip did not count for anything The outcome was already decided. Head, he won. Tails, he won.
"It would seem the coin favors me."
"And what if neither were to succeed?" the priest asked.
"Then we will both be losers, and what a pity that would be."
"A pity indeed. Then let our prayers go with your dogs."
"And my roses."
"And your roses."
