Empire of Lies

58

Kamal led Nisreen back to the other end of the carriage, moving at a fast clip.

Shielded from view by the accordion wall, they crossed the interconnecting gangways and stepped onto the dining car. It was empty, and the tables had been cleared after breakfast. Kamal sped up, cutting through its central aisle, Nisreen right behind him. They were almost through when a steward appeared from the far doorway, carrying a tray of cutlery.

He paused when he saw them heading toward him, an uncertain expression on his face. Kamal tried to defuse it with a placid smile.

“The dining car is closed, sir—” Then his eyes noted the suitcase in Kamal’s hand. “Ah, you must be looking for the exit. It’s back there.”

He was holding the tray with one hand and gesturing toward the other end of the carriage, behind them.

Kamal slowed down but didn’t stop moving. “Is it? Well, I’m sure we can get off from here, too. We’ve come all this way.”

The steward hesitated, an unnerved tightness overcoming his face. “I’m afraid you can’t leave this way, khawaja,” he stammered. “It’s only for staff and—”

Kamal hadn’t stopped moving forward, with Nisreen right behind him. The steward inched backward, intimidated by his pushiness. Then something lit up in his eyes. Kamal’s body language, the edge in his tone, the anxiousness across Nisreen’s face.

He understood.

“Khawaja, please,” he said as he faltered back, “I don’t mean any offense.”

Kamal pushed forward. “None taken.”

The waiter edged sideways between the backs of two chairs to let them through.

They burst through the doorway and into the small kitchen, where a chef was busy marshaling a young man bringing in a carton of eggplants.

“Excuse me, ustaz,” he said—but Kamal had no intention of pausing. He ignored him and kept moving, leading Nisreen past the delivery boy, who squeezed aside and almost dropped the carton.

They reached the exit door. Another chef, a large man with meaty arms, was standing at the foot of the steps, supervising two other young men who were offloading more produce from a simple, uncovered horse-drawn cart pulled up alongside the train. Kamal peeked out the doorway. They were at the front of the train, with only one service carriage between them and the locomotive. A bearded gray-haired man, probably the food trader, stood by the front of the cart, paperwork in hand.

“Hey,” the first chef called out from behind. His call alerted his colleague below, who turned and spotted Kamal and Nisreen huddling by the doorway. The beefy chef’s expression skipped from cordial to curious to suspicious, his stance tightening up in anticipation of a confrontation.

Kamal knew he must have seen the Zaptiye officers trotting up and down the tracks. Any chance of slipping away unnoticed was pretty much gone.

“Stay close,” he said as he bolted off the train.

The chef moved to block his path, but Kamal shoved him back before blowing past him. The older bearded man by the cart tensed up to face him, but he was too lethargic and slow for Kamal, who grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and flung him aside before leaping onto the reach plate and clambering up to the wagon’s seat.

“Come on,” he called to Nisreen, extending his hand.

He pulled her up just as a whistle rang out behind them. Kamal didn’t turn. He just released the brake handle, grabbed the reins, and gave the single horse a smack and a loud “Ha” to spur it forward.

The horse flicked its ears back, leaned into its harness, and launched itself. With police shouts and whistles echoing around them, the wagon hurtled down the platform, sending passengers, porters, and traders scurrying out of its path. By the front of the locomotive, Kamal spotted two officers rushing over and pulling their handguns out of their holsters. He steered the horse away, and the wagon cleared the front end of the train just as the first shots rang out.

“Get down,” he shouted to Nisreen as he flicked the reins and yelled out to energize the horse further. The wagon hurtled through the service road, past a number of stalls and into the main concourse, sending people and goods flying out of its path. Policemen were converging from all corners and chasing after the wagon. Kamal kept spurring the horse forward while scanning the large hall frantically, looking for a way out.

The main entrance to the station was up ahead, backlit by the low sun outside. Kamal gave the horse another flick of the reins and steered it there. The entrance consisted of two side passages on either side of a bigger opening that seemed high and wide enough to fit the wagon.

They charged through it at full speed, only to emerge onto a colonnaded portico at the top of a monumental flight of stairs.

“Hang on,” Kamal yelled as the horse burst through two columns and bounded down the stairs, the wagon clattering down behind it, cartons of produce flying off it while a trail of shouts and whistles chased it out.

The street outside the station was chaotic and crowded with cars, taxis, and horse-drawn carts ferrying all kinds of goods. The wagon hit the ground unscathed and charged toward them. Kamal spotted an opening between two cars that looked wide enough. He guided the horse toward it, but, just as it was cutting through, another car came up on the inside lane behind them. Kamal pulled back hard on the reins just as the car’s driver slammed on the brakes, but neither of them was fast enough to avoid the collision. The wagon almost cleared the car, but the hub of its rear left wheel slammed heavily into the car’s front fender, tearing through it with a loud metal crunch. A loud snap followed a second later as the axle broke, and the wagon immediately began to wobble wildly.

Kamal spurred the horse forward, but it was a losing proposition. With people converging and shouting angrily from all corners and police whistles now coming from outside the station, it only managed to charge ahead a few more car lengths before the rear axle gave up completely and snapped in two. The rear left wheel went berserk for a few seconds before shearing off, and the wagon listed precariously before the right rear wheel snapped off, too. With both rear wheels gone, its tail end hit the ground, scraping along the asphalted road.

Kamal and Nisreen hung on to the back of the seat as the horse strained to pull it forward, but Kamal knew it was time to bail. He pulled hard on the reins, and as soon as the horse stopped moving, he jumped off.

“Come on,” he urged Nisreen.

They ran down the street, chased by several policemen. Cars and onlookers, alerted by the shouts and the whistles, stopped to see what was happening, some of them blocking their way. They crossed a side street and carried on down a row of old buildings that housed several shops, Kamal steamrolling ahead relentlessly, Nisreen in his wake. They needed a solution and they needed it fast. It became all the more urgent when Kamal saw an armed officer down the sidewalk coming at them. He had his gun out and screamed at them to halt as he ground to a stop and crouched into a firing stance.

Kamal pulled Nisreen to one side and ducked into the door closest to them. It was the entrance to a bakery. Women were standing at a wide counter waiting to be served while stacks of breads and pastries lined the shelves and display cases. Kamal charged through, past a cacophony of screams and protests, and barged into the kitchen, thinking there had to be a rear service entrance through which they could slip out.

There was—but it gave onto a narrow alleyway that was walled in on one end and led back to the main road by the station on the other.

A couple of old doors, other rear entrances, faced them on the opposite side of the alleyway. Kamal rushed across and tried to open the first one, but it was locked. The second was also. He pounded on it and yelled for help, but to no avail.

Kamal knew they were trapped. Reinforcing this was the policeman who appeared at the mouth of the alley and spotted them.

“Don’t move,” he hollered before blowing his whistle repeatedly and pulling out his gun.

Kamal turned to Nisreen and grabbed her by the shoulders. “We have to jump. Now.”

Her eyes were wide as saucers, and she was nodding frantically. “Okay, but… how far back? Ten days?”

She pulled up her sleeves and stared at the markings, her eyes doing a jumbled dance across them.

Kamal could see the confusion whirling around her. “Whatever. Yes. Do it.”

Nisreen looked frazzled. “Wait. I have to put in the word for ‘ten’ instead of—”

Kamal snapped his gaze back at the cop, who was walked toward them cautiously, his gun leveled at them. “There’s no time. We have to go.”

“But I’m not yet—give me a sec to—”

“Use what we know,” he yelled out as he rolled up his own sleeve and pointed at the whole incantation. The one that had the full number of moons in it.

The one that would take them back to the siege.

“We have to do it,” he said. “Now.”

She looked at him with wild eyes and nodded.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, powerfully, on the mouth, his lips fusing onto hers and never wanting to pull back. But he had to, and he did, and he held her face there, his eyes burning into hers, and nodded. “I’ll see you there.”

The shock lit up her face for no more than a heartbeat before they started mouthing the incantation again, only faster this time, even more urgently.

Nisreen first, Kamal repeating her words without taking his eyes off her.

Police officers creeping toward them, arms drawn, mystified by what they were seeing.

A man and a woman, facing each other, locked into each other, oblivious to the warnings and orders being shouted at them, lost in some kind of silent, mesmeric ritual.

And then they were gone.