2022-09-05 06:05:02
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Duke of Two Cities Chapter 37
“S-sure!” Devon pulled over a table and Ali, burying himself fully in his last taco, helped to pull a chair. Up close, Julio Luis Vasquez looked even more like an author than on the panel. He was neatly, if conservatively, dressed in lecturer’s tweed with small round glasses. His goatee was a cloudy grey, but still holding on to a few patches of the original color, which must have been coal black at one point. His eyes twinkled, alert and bright, but the bags under his eyes suggested many nights without rest. After some polite introductions, Julio took out his own taco and gave it a deep bite. He closed his eyes, sighing with contentment. “Dios mio… that is good.” “Does it… uh… taste like home?” asked Devon. “Oh, not at all,” Julio said. “I am from Spain and tacos are not Spanish food, so I did not grow up with this.” Julio pronounced Spain like “Ehs-pain,” an accent which Devon had never heard before. “But I have been to Mexico, and this is far, far too fancy. Over there, taco
Duke of Two Cities Chapter 38
There sat the three of them; Ali, Devon, and Julio Vasquez. His speech on the sorry state of his city and its people had put him into a dreary mood. Julio wasn’t wrong. This whole day had been living proof, and Julio had stories of his own. A part of him wanted to defend his city—New Hudson wasn’t all bad! Devon had lived here his entire life and had gotten to see it from al sides. There were plenty of reasons why today seemed to go so wrong— it was right smack in the middle of the summer, blazing hot even in the shade. That people were a little big on edge was reasonable. And what invention of people didn’t have the occasional spat here and there? Nevertheless, Devon could not help but feel a bit ashamed of his city. Out of nowhere, a quiet voice began to chant:Poor rocky pebbles built my walls Four handfuls each do I call home Humble as the prophets Who without complaint or soundShield me from wind and sand and rainAnd I, safe and warm and dry Would not trade this place For
Duke of Two Cities Chapter 39
Ali wanted to throw up. He had really done it this time. Coming on this trip was his escape from royal life. He picked a spot nearly across the world from his Father’s City, the Zhabaiye Household, and all that came with it. No sneaking, no humiliation, no family secrets whispered about by maids and waiting staff. New Hudson, the gritty paradise, was free of such things. Here, Ali could be himself—or even find what ‘himself’ meant — with treasured friends who would like him and respect him for who he was. Was royal life so inescapable? He sat ruminating as the writer Julio Vasquez talked easily of his family to a complete stranger. The writer was wrong, of course—or rather incomplete. True, his grandfather had been a television producer and from that humble position made himself a kingdom. He did not know the grip of utter fear that Grandfather held over Ali’s family. This stranger spoke of Ali’s grandfather as though he were some sort of magician—a creator who had come out
Duke of Two Cities Chapter 40
“I am fine,” Ali did his best to force a smile. “Perhaps I eat too much.”Ali quietly sighed in relief. His secret held. The three of them took that as their cue to part ways. Devon thanked Julio Vasquez for sitting down with them. It was just as well; clock already read 5:30, and the stall owners were preparing for the dinner rush. Cooks and chefs streamed in and began unloading boxes of brined meats and jarred sauces. Neither Devon nor Ali were feeling particularly hungry. Before they left, Julio Vasquez reached into a knapsack and pulled out two copies of Six String Elegy. He signed both Devon and Ali signed copies and shook their hands. “It was a pleasure,” said Julio Vasquez. “Hopefully we shall meet again someday.” With that, he hoisted his knapsack with a grunt over her shoulder and walked, grumbling about panels and cyborgs. Devon opened his copy and looked at the inscription beneath:For Devon—Strength and Courage! New Hudson needs more people like you.J.J.S. Vasquez Dev
Duke of Two Cities Chapter 41
Devon’s wallet yawned in hunger, its leather mouth hungering, almost pleading ‘don’t take what I cannot give’. He would need to be careful—it was all the money he would have for a while. Slowly, as though handling a fragile teacup, he put his wallet away lest the money fly out on its own and poof into nothing. As he finished his own money business with care, Ali came back with an enormous grin plastered on his face. In his hands at least half a dozen shopping bags loaded with toys. “Look!” Devon smiled. “Looks like a good haul, man.” Ali blinked. “ ‘Good haul’ means what?” “Oh…when you get a lot of nice things, we call it a ‘good haul’.” Ali, suddenly a patient and eager student, nodded. “Yes. A good haul for me. And a good haul for you.” Devon shook his head. “No, I didn’t get nothing. I…uh…these things are real expensive, you know? I’ll just…I’ll get my haul another time. But Ali was busy searching through one of his bags. Plastic and cardboard clinked as pleasantly as t
Duke of Two Cities Chapter 42
After what seemed like two hours, Ali found what he was looking for. Buried beneath the knickknacks and memorabilia were two small printed cardboard boxes, each the size of a football. With an enormous grin, Ali took out the two boxes. Devon’s eyes widened. His hand went to his mouth. “Dude…”In Ali’s hands were two figures from Warriors of The Endless Road (WotER), an anime series of some popularity. Devon had watched a few seasons—it was a good show by any measure, but not one of his favorites. Still the show commanded a large fan base, with some bordering on zealous fanaticism. Fans of the show were famous for their heated arguments around small details in the show, and amongst the anime-crowd they had become something of a meme. Much of the show followed a typical format—struggling warriors forge difficult friendships under the specter of war, and through their growing bond become stronger. Devon was absolutely not surprised to discover that’s Ali’s was a fan. He was surprised
Duke of Two Cities Chapter 43
“Are you serious?” Devon put a hand to his mouth. “You don’t like?” Ali’s face suddenly became crestfallen. “No! I mean yes! I mean—“ Devon had become flustered. This was not something that he had expected, and certainly not in front of a crowd of salivating nerds. Here was Ali, a stranger that he had met only today, offering him his pick of a nearly $1800 limited edition collectible action figure. People in New Hudson killed for that kind of money. They killed for far less money, in fact. A good pair of sneakers worth $300 could make an innocent jogger into a juicy target. Life was cheap in Devon’s part of New Hudson—a steady influx of the desperate poor from other parts of the country, and from other countries were things were even worse, kept a steady glut of bodies for the city’s industries. Fast food, low income retail, cheap electronics filled with intrusive advertisements and sneaky fees to leech off the destitute and the outcast. Those $300 sneakers could be resold at a f
Duke of Two Cities Chapter 44
“Of course it would be you,” Tamyra snarled. “Who else would be so entitled? All I needed to finish my was going to finish my Warriors of the Endless Road collection was that Dashu. And you took it.”Tamyra’s face had flushed past crimson and was on its way to purpose. Her princess wand was quavering in her hand. At the slightest provocation, Devon feared she might actually use it. He held up his hands as though the wand were about to shoot lightning from its glittery points. “Look,” Devon began, “I’m sorry about your collection, but like—how are any of us supposed to know that? We can’t read minds or anything.”“You took it,” Tamyra intoned. Devon’s logic had no place amidst her anger. And there was much to be angry about—between the incident at the entrance, the horrible mess in the Fantasy writer’s panel, and now this. Just over the past two days, Ali and Devon had been a thorn in her slippers. and she had just about enough. “And it’s not enough that you have the nerve to troll in
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Chapter 52
His room had been cancelled. Just like that. No warning, no notice. At the snap of Marc’s fingers, Devon had been unceremoniously tossed out of a Convention that he literally gave up his family to attend. Devon stared at Marc for a while. Then, he laughed. He laughed quietly, then he laughed loudly, cackling, until he had no more breath in him. And still he laughed. This had been, by far, the most ridiculous weekend in Devon’s entire life. He had given up his family in a moment of anger, suffered assault and insult nearly daily, only to befriend some kind of foreign royalty who, while defending his newfound friend, had sacrificed the only housing he would have for the foreseeable future. Ridiculous! His life had become a joke, some absurd and wild story written by a mad idiot. This was a weekend that would define the rest of his life, and it all had just been so unbelievably stupid. Meanwhile, Marc looked as though he were about to leap out of the Executive Lounge window from shee
Chapter 51
Things were getting out of hand. Zayin needed to think quickly; his Prince was going to start digging himself into a deep and terribly expensive hole. Yes, Ali had certain entitlements to his family’s wealth…in theory. But Ali had never tapped into his family’s wealth before—Zayin wasn’t even sure that he could. It was a poorly kept secret that more than one relative had access to Ali’s accounts…including Cousin Sayid. To his shame, Zayin was quietly praying that there was not enough left to embarrass the Prince. He never thought that he would ever wish for relatives to embezzle the Prince’s funds. Even with his Aunts and Cousin Sayid dipping into his funds, Ali’s personal wealth was enough that he could make serious trouble for himself, as well as the Kingdom. And with the stone-set fury on Ali’s face, trouble would come. Perhaps the key to solving the trouble lay in Ali’s ‘brother’. “You.” He pointed at Devon and spoke in English. “Come with me, please.”Quietly, Devon complied.
Chapter 50
It was not the strangest occurrence to ever happen, but it was one of the strangest that had ever happen to Zayin.He stood nearly speechless as Marc, a hotel functionary, sputtered and nearly fell down on his knees trying to explain to Ali how all of this had been an enormous mistake. There had been in Marc’s words, ‘a deep and serious cultural miscommunication that New Hudson Convention Center will work tirelessly to reconcile’. It was ten minutes of this kind of diplomatic nonsense, and Zayin had to admit that he was doing quite well with it. In another life, and with another passport, Marc would have made a great presenter for one of the old State Television channels. More amusing still was, for the first time since knowing him, Ali acted like a prince. This was the greatest shock. Zayin was confident in this assessment—that Ali would be easily brushed aside by his more competent cousins and tossed out of Zhabaiye public life. Cousin Sayid would place him on a farm in the middle
Chapter 49
Since the construction of the New Hudson Convention Center, there had never been a moment quite what Marc Abramov experienced in that Executive Lounge. Since its actual opening some twenty years prior, there had never been so many people silenced all at once with just a few short words. Time seemed to freeze and Marc’s armhairs stood straight on their ends. The VIP…more like the VVIP in fact…was expecting an answer. Why did Marc make the VIP’s brother cry?He clasped his hands and began, “Well—“ Well what? Nothing. The words caught in his throat. Something about the young man’s look—and he barely registered as a man at all—struck him with a sense of absolute terror. The VIP’s gaze encompassed his entire being, utterly and completely, as though he were no more than a fixture of the room. Marc had a sudden, curious idea that there was a sword hanging over his neck. And if he did not speak very, very carefully, that sword would drop and lop his head clean off from his body. There
Chapter 48
Devon sat crosslegged on the floor, squishing his hunter’s hat for comfort. He stared at a spot of carpet, trying to drown out the sounds of the frightening-looking man screaming at Ali. Devon could piece together that the goons all worked for him—some of them were half in costume, others dressed like regular folk. A few wore golden watches. Were they thugs? If so, they weren’t like any gang members that Devon had ever seen, and New Hudson was unfortunately filled with those. These men looked too clean-cut. They didn’t have the casual swagger of the gangs he knew, and other than a little bit of rough-handling on the way to the top-floor lounge, they hadn’t been beaten. Furthermore, gang attacks usually don’t take this long, and by this point they had been sitting in the lounge for twenty minutes. Meanwhile, Ali had begun to shout at the man who kidnapped him. That was the strangest part of all of this--when Ali shouted, the man who kidnapped them listened. And so did his goons. At
Chapter 47
Zayin’s head throbbed. He wished, more than he’d ever wished for anything in his life, that he could wake up back home, in Al-Zhabaiye. He missed his coffee, he missed his 17th story view of the desert, he missed the smell of the cedar paneling of his building’s elevator. All these little things he missed, many of which he had not appreciated before. His head ached until the pain seeped down into his shoulders. So tense were all his muscles that even the slightest movement ached. And it was well to be tense, because his ward, the PRINCE OF AL-ZHABAIYE HIMSELF, chose to behave like a childish idiot. Now Zayin and his security team occupied the hotel’s Executive Lounge, where they had extradited the Prince from a possible attempt on his life. The Prince sat on the couch with his head in his hands, refusing to look at or speak to anyone. One of his security team had thoughtfully prepared a plate of dried fruit and cheese. The plate sat in front of the Prince, untouched. Good. Maybe the
Chapter 46
Far away from the chaos of New Hudson, in the Golden City of Al-Zhabai, King Ibrahim al-Zhabai stood on his private balcony, thinking of a joke. Once, the land that his Kingdom sat upon was a flat cropping of rock surrounded by a lake of sand. No trees, no oil or minerals, or any of the other resources that make a city worth building existed there. A hundred years before King Ibrahim’s time, this useless plot of land was gifted to his great-grandfather, Usman al-Zhabai, Founder of the Kingdom, as the world’s most expensive prank. It was a little known truth. Very few people beyond the deepest circle of the royal family knew this story. Not even foreign websites could publish it, for the instant they did al-Zhabai’s Ministry of Communications used every means at their disposal to take it down. Family lore said that when Founder Usman, talented and overlooked, was finally gifted the land he had worked for all his life. When the empty plot of land was finally revealed, his “benefac
Chapter 45
It began with a push. Once again, Ali was surrounded by an angry crowd, with someone screaming at him in a language that was not his mother tongue. In Al-Zhabai, nobody would dare speak to him in such a way—even the cousins who looked upon him with contempt would never stoop to such behavior. In the moment, Ali felt the most curious sensation—that his soul was leaving his body, watching it from above. Perhaps the shock of the push had killed him, he thought. Curiously, in this dissociated state, he didn’t seem to have any feelings at all, though his body was nearly convulsing in terror. Time seemed to lose its smooth passing. Suddenly everything became terribly slow, as if the convention and everything in it was moving through thick honey. Down from above his own body, Ali gazed as Tamyra, whose face had become a terrible mask of vindictive rage. She lunged at Ali— to snatch Devon’s gift, he thought. But Tamyra’s dexterity had vanished before the heat of her own anger, and whom m
Chapter 44
“Of course it would be you,” Tamyra snarled. “Who else would be so entitled? All I needed to finish my was going to finish my Warriors of the Endless Road collection was that Dashu. And you took it.”Tamyra’s face had flushed past crimson and was on its way to purpose. Her princess wand was quavering in her hand. At the slightest provocation, Devon feared she might actually use it. He held up his hands as though the wand were about to shoot lightning from its glittery points. “Look,” Devon began, “I’m sorry about your collection, but like—how are any of us supposed to know that? We can’t read minds or anything.”“You took it,” Tamyra intoned. Devon’s logic had no place amidst her anger. And there was much to be angry about—between the incident at the entrance, the horrible mess in the Fantasy writer’s panel, and now this. Just over the past two days, Ali and Devon had been a thorn in her slippers. and she had just about enough. “And it’s not enough that you have the nerve to troll in