Masque

Chapter 8/Part 1

The sun was brighter, the air warmer, the waterfront less fishy. Prospero took in a deep sniff of chestnuts roasting nearby and squeezed Fasili's hand. With the ambassador confined, they were free to walk without their masks. And the Valide had allowed him the whole day and night at the waterfront should they wish it. The divan had to be postponed after a good portion of the cabinet were detained for questioning.

But as a concession, he had dressed cosily. But he had not sacrificed style entirely. Fasili had approved of his navy and gold over turquoise. The only opinion that mattered, but he hadn't overheard any dissenters.

Gulls squawked over a scrap on their path ahead until Nuru careened through them. Dripping wet, she had adult-sized undergarments held over her head and a young boy at her heels. The morning had been a peaceful one until then. During their bath, Prospero and Fasili had barely done anything more mischievous than tie their tongues in knots and throw fruit at Mustafa and Ulaf, and they were sparkling-clean afterwards.

"Fasili Pasha, I got them!" The girl howled. She ran into him and hid herself in the fold of his kaftan.

"Nuru! Give those to me," Fasili scolded her. He snatched the knickerbockers away and pulled her from between his legs.

The boy that had been chasing her stuck his tongue out and reached out to claim the small clothes, but Fasili passed them to Prospero instead. He didn't much like having the garment up his sleeve, but that's where it went. There were a number of passionate Merosan phrases thrown at him. Fasili returned some, then calmed the boy with a conversation. From the little Prospero could understand, it seemed to be about the child's mother.

They veered off together towards a halva cart. As soon as the boy was given a piece he tore off towards the docks. Nuru sped after him, wailing bloody murder. He stopped, shared the sweet, then fled before she got her head around what had happened. Prospero marched over to reclaim Fasili, but got a rosy mouthful instead.

Fasili bit off a piece while it was still in his mouth. After almost choking on it, he retreated again with a beetroot-purple face and pulled his collar up to hide behind.

"I can't quite go that far with everyone staring at us," he whispered.

"The markets should be too crowded for a good view," Prospero suggested.

Fasili's thumb brushed over his fingers. "We'll see them tonight."

As they continued their stroll, the Vizier's eyes kept drifting ahead to the swaying masts in the port. Prospero curled his arm around Fasili's and kept walking until they were too far down the path to avoid the rowdy docks. The Vizier hesitated at the last city street, then his face lit up.

"Could you point out which one is Merosa's?" Prospero asked. The citizens lingered behind, but they were still subjected to the stares from labourers and busy merchants. Fasili seemed even more uncomfortable under their scrutiny, but he held his head up.

"That's what you want to see?"

"It's a start. We have all day."

He stifled a gasp. The glee on his face, eyes wide and grin wider, made him seem years younger than his usual scowl. "Take a guess which it is."

Prospero considered his options. It would be a big one. Two stood out with wide hulls and florid decoration. One painted in many colours, and the other in gold.

"That one?" he asked, pointing to the gold-frilled ship.

"That's it," Fasili replied, then prattled off the countries of every great ship and some of the smaller ones. Prospero wouldn't remember a word of it, but he would never forget Fasili's enthusiasm. He seemed lost to everything around them, in his own world of ship-parts and rigging.