The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
Dawn broke over the city and leaving little to chance, we confronted the two brothers. Hakim was mortally wounded in the fray and no sooner had he fallen, the man-mountain Ramzi yielded. No more blood needed to be spilled and we would not gain answers from the dead.
It quickly became apparent that Ramzi was no mastermind, but a pawn. We all were. He and Hakim were just bodyguards to the Sheik, hired by the Sheik’s own brother. A man they knew only by the name “H”. The puppeteer had been revealed and we had been dancing to his tune all along.
We did not have long to digest this though as heavy, almost regimental footfalls could be heard further up the streets. Had we waited any later and the White Palace guard would have burned us alive in that building. We took refuge in the city sewers, and planned our next move. Raouf had taken to the rooftops while we made way to the mosque via the Gilded Quarter. I had to make sure my family was safe. If the guards were looking for me, the estate would be the first place they’d look.
We ran for what felt like a lifetime. Those patrols unlucky enough to stop us were torn to shreds. I could not stop, I could not be diverted. It was not the time for thought or planning. I made a pact with the beast within and let it free. “Get me home” I told it. And it did.
Up ahead I could see our courtyard, filled with palace guards. Behind them, flames engulfed the building and began to spill over to houses nearby. The street was strewn with debris, some familiar, much too charred to even recognise. I felt a hand press down upon my shoulder and a voice telling me that we must press on, the Mosque would protect us.
It is still hard to recall the events that transpired after that. My world was a maelstrom of motion and noise. By the time I regained some focus, we were sitting on the floor of the Mosque. Ramzi was nowhere to be seen and from the look on Maissa’s face, won’t be joining us later. Outside, the Muftis were shouting at the palace guards who by now would have us surrounded. As Majlis began to assault the Mosque walls, I came to realise that this would be our final stand.
Kismet, it seems, would have other plans. I looked up into the face of another, much younger Mufti. An initiate maybe, too weak to be any good outside. He ushered us along the corridors to a huge domed room and indicated to the floor where a carpet of the finest craftsmanship lay.
Even in my haze, I could feel the power emanating from this wondrous artefact.
Moments later, we were soaring over the city. Below us, the fires raged as Wassim’s grip tightened. The Pearl was now blackened with soot and treachery. We kept the carpet aloft for as long as we could before landing on an abandoned dhow ship where we made ready to set sail for the City of Sapphire.
It quickly became apparent that Ramzi was no mastermind, but a pawn. We all were. He and Hakim were just bodyguards to the Sheik, hired by the Sheik’s own brother. A man they knew only by the name “H”. The puppeteer had been revealed and we had been dancing to his tune all along.
We did not have long to digest this though as heavy, almost regimental footfalls could be heard further up the streets. Had we waited any later and the White Palace guard would have burned us alive in that building. We took refuge in the city sewers, and planned our next move. Raouf had taken to the rooftops while we made way to the mosque via the Gilded Quarter. I had to make sure my family was safe. If the guards were looking for me, the estate would be the first place they’d look.
We ran for what felt like a lifetime. Those patrols unlucky enough to stop us were torn to shreds. I could not stop, I could not be diverted. It was not the time for thought or planning. I made a pact with the beast within and let it free. “Get me home” I told it. And it did.
Up ahead I could see our courtyard, filled with palace guards. Behind them, flames engulfed the building and began to spill over to houses nearby. The street was strewn with debris, some familiar, much too charred to even recognise. I felt a hand press down upon my shoulder and a voice telling me that we must press on, the Mosque would protect us.
It is still hard to recall the events that transpired after that. My world was a maelstrom of motion and noise. By the time I regained some focus, we were sitting on the floor of the Mosque. Ramzi was nowhere to be seen and from the look on Maissa’s face, won’t be joining us later. Outside, the Muftis were shouting at the palace guards who by now would have us surrounded. As Majlis began to assault the Mosque walls, I came to realise that this would be our final stand.
Kismet, it seems, would have other plans. I looked up into the face of another, much younger Mufti. An initiate maybe, too weak to be any good outside. He ushered us along the corridors to a huge domed room and indicated to the floor where a carpet of the finest craftsmanship lay.
Even in my haze, I could feel the power emanating from this wondrous artefact.
Moments later, we were soaring over the city. Below us, the fires raged as Wassim’s grip tightened. The Pearl was now blackened with soot and treachery. We kept the carpet aloft for as long as we could before landing on an abandoned dhow ship where we made ready to set sail for the City of Sapphire.
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