SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

“Miss Onofrio is a researcher,” Van Haarlem said. “Miss Collins will show you to a place where we might work at our leisure. I will gather the books and bring them to you, yes?”

He agreed, although it was discomforting that he should now rely so completely on Dame van Haarlem’s support. He wished to thank the Collins woman before dismissing her, but the Grantville women made him uncomfortable with the quickness of their speech.

To misspeak would be an embarrassment and so he took a seat. In a moment, Collins was gone.

It was cool despite the summer heat, and the table where he waited was sturdy and smooth to the touch. The chairs, while precariously lightweight, supported him quite comfortably. He could hear the two women talking softly beyond his sight. He’d never had much need for books, and they stood on shelves with their backs to him.

Radi shifted in his chair, wondering if Janszoon’s son Cornelius might have waited in the very same room. With luck and the blessing of Allah, the boy had not survived his journey to Grantville. His father had been kind enough to disappear at sea; perhaps the boy would follow suit.

The moments stretched long and he wondered what kept the women so deeply engaged in conversation. He was gathering himself to fetch Van Haarlem when she approached and joined him at the table. She was alone and carried several red-bound tomes under a stack of loose papers.

“That woman is a treasure of information.” Her eyes were once again wide with wonder, and they sparkled with something else—anticipation, perhaps, or excitement.

Radi remembered where his hand had rested and the feel of her hip under her kaftan. Perhaps his quest to learn the future of Sallee was infectious, or maybe Dame van Haarlem believed that he might one day soon rule the republic as Qaid.

“This is an encyclopedia.” She set the books on the table, and he rose while she seated herself. The books were embossed in gold with familiar letters in undecipherable arrangements. “They’re actually part of a larger set, and the pages are copies from other books. Where should we begin?”

It was now her excitement that infected him. Radi felt his face stretch in a grin, and together they dove into the story of the Republic of Sallee. Van Haarlem would read silently for long stretches before sharing bits of information with him. He watched over her shoulder, looking at drawings of unknown men and, curiously, maps of Malta and Algiers.

Most Barbary sailors spoke several languages, but it was a curiosity that Van Haarlem, a Dutchwoman so recently arrived to Sallee, could also read in English. He took notes when she spoke and questioned her about her skill with language when she grew too quiet while reading.

“I have a wealthy brother in New Amsterdam,” she said. “I lived with him for a time before coming to Sallee.”

“Why did you not return home?” he asked. “Or stay with your family in the Americas?” Why Sallee, Radi wondered. And would she wish to stay should he rise to rule the republic?

Van Haarlem turned from her reading to consider him. He didn’t know why she hesitated to answer, but she gave the matter a long moment of thought before responding.

“I was in the Americas much longer than I intended to stay,” she said, her eyes returning to the tiny letters in the encyclopedia. “I was there to meet my brother Anthony, but I was looking for my father.”

“To ‘meet’ your brother?” It was curious that she should have a sibling and yet not know him. Perhaps there was a significant age difference between them.

“I was there to see him,” she said quickly. “I am sorry, it is difficult to translate English to Dutch in my head while speaking to you in Arabic.”

Radi imagined that must be true. He quieted himself, allowing her to read. The room smelled dry; he’d have thought that a room full of books should smell thick and musty. Perhaps it was because they were so far from the coast. He poked at one of the red-covered volumes with his finger.

“Did you find him?”

Van Haarlem started, sitting up and away from the book. She looked concerned or even guilty.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I was asking about your father. Did you find him?”

“Oh.” She turned to the book once again. “Not yet. I will, though. I am a patient woman.”

“Did he leave you?”

She answered the question with a wry grin. “Constantly. He is a sailing man.”

Then her grin faded.

“What is it?” He leaned forward to peer at her book, the words as unintelligible as ever. “What have you found?”

“The Republic.” She paused. “I have to consider how best to tell you this. Sallee may outlive you, Vizier, but it will not survive the century.”

Radi’s stomach tightened and he swallowed hard before speaking. “What happens? Do the Moriscos rebel against the Diwan? Does Janszoon return?”

“Janszoon is dead. He was taken near Tunisia and tortured to death by the Knights of Malta at Fort Saint Angelo.”

“What then?”

“I can’t make sense of it,” she said, “Some names and factions sound familiar but—”

It vexed him to need her assistance deciphering the language. However, a woman’s interpretation of the political forces at work in the Republic was both unnecessary and unwelcome.

“Just read it to me,” he snapped.

“The ‘Alawites who rule Morocco came to power with the help of Arab tribes during the Almohad period. The founder of the dynasty, Mawlay ar-Rashid, mobilized these tribes against the powerful Dila’iyya that had dominated northern Morocco since the 1640s.

“Mawlay succeeded in reunifying Morocco with the help of a professional army recruited from the descendants of the many slaves.”

She was quiet for a moment. He felt her eyes on him as what she’d said sank in. He regretted his abrupt and judgmental dismissal. The passage was indeed confusing.

“The Dila’iyya,” he mused aloud. “I wonder. Could it refer to Dila?”

“Neither mean anything to me,” she said. “Do you think they pose a threat to Sallee?”

“Dila is not a who,” he explained, “but a where. It lies south of Fez and through Khenifra. Perhaps my concerns regarding Janszoon’s return are misplaced. Should this Mawlay raise an army capable of subduing the Atlas and north to the sea…”

Internal politicking he could handle. Even the dreaded return of Janszoon might be managed, but the Americans’ books spoke of powers that dominated the whole of North Africa. How would Sallee stand against such forces?

Anger flared, a spike of heat that seared his throat. Radi shoved with both hands, sweeping his notes from the table in front of him. Unsated, he grabbed at the books with clawed fingers ready to tear Sallee’s doom from the pages.

His fingers didn’t reach their mark. Van Haarlem’s hand shot out to stop him. Her fingers were hard on his wrist. He jerked, pulling his hand away from her, and she held him there for a moment before releasing her grip.

Her voice was quiet, pitched low and soft. “I think we should leave this place, Vizier.”

He rubbed at his wrist where she had held him. He swallowed again and then looked around him to see if Christine Onofrio or another resident from this strange city had seen him. Thankfully, they were still alone.

“Wait here a moment while I return the books.” She said it like a question, and he nodded, not meeting her gaze.

He heard her moving around the library and wondered what he would do. Could he rally the Moriscos to support him? Even if all of Sallee and their corsairs along the Barbary Coast rallied against a common enemy, could they fend off an army fated to dominate all of Morocco?

Perhaps better to join the winning side now.