Daniel Abraham - Inside Straight

This was a side of Lili that Klaus had not seen in America. There it had been all wine and kisses and laughter, and secrets whispered in the dark. Now she was confusing him. He was good at fighting with a sword, but not so good with words. “They are jokers, ja , I know, but the Muslims mean to kill them all—”

“Abdul-Alim means to kill them all, yes. He is desperate to prove himself a strong man and end the whispers that say he is a weakling and a fool. Do not paint all Muslims with the bloody brush. The situation is more complex than that. The Nur was the most charismatic leader Islam has produced since Baybars, yet it took him twenty years to unite all of Arabia and restore the caliphate. Abdul the Idiot will destroy it all in twenty months. When he falls, the rule will pass to Siraj of Transjordan, who is a moderate, a secularist, and a pragmatist. Prince Siraj is a good man. Under him, the Arabs will have peace and prosperity, the West will get its oil, and the Living Gods and their poor deluded worshippers will be left to live in peace.”

“Those that are not dead,” said Klaus.

“Those that are not dead,” she agreed. “First Abdul-Alim must fall, however. And your presence here has only served to prop him up. Nothing unites a quarrelsome people faster than a threat from outside. Do you know what they are calling you on Al Jazeera? The Crusader. ”

“The crusaders were brave men,” Klaus said stoutly.

“I do not have time to argue Bohemond of Antioch with you, my sweet. Just take my word, ‘crusader’ is not a term of endearment in this part of the world. All you are doing is giving Abdul the visible enemy that he needs to stay in power. And now that Bahir has failed him, he means to send the Righteous Djinn against you.”

Klaus crossed his arms against his chest. “I defeated Bahir. I can defeat this djinn as well. I do not fear any foe.”

“Fear this one. Eighteen months ago, the Israeli ace Sharon Cream went missing. The strongest woman in the world, they say, yet when the Mossad found her body, it was gray and shriveled, like a fly after the spider has sucked the juice out of it. Her flesh turned to dust when they opened her for an autopsy.

“The Djinn’s first public appearance came a few weeks later. He lifted up an armored car and threw it forty feet. That was enough to earn him a place in the Caliph’s guard, but not enough to excite much interest in the West. Strongmen are a dinar a dozen, and the Nur had other aces in his service.

“He also had General Sayyid, the crippled giant, his right hand and closest friend. Even in his youth Sayyid had struggled to support his own weight, and twenty years ago an American ace shattered both his legs to pieces. He never walked again. No one was surprised when Sayyid finally passed away. The Nur gave him a lavish state funeral in Damascus, but his casket was kept sealed and he never lay in state. Among the mourners was the Righteous Djinn, grown to gigantic size. He stood thirty feet tall…and he had the strength to support that weight.

“Since then, several of the Port Said aces have vanished under mysterious circumstances, the heroes who turned back the Israeli armies during the wars of 1948. Old now, and sickly, but still… Kopf is one who is missing. In 1948 an entire Israeli army broke and ran from him, seized by a terror no one could explain. And now we hear reports that two of the Caliph’s brothers died of fear after a visit from the Djinn.

“You are seeing the pattern here, I hope. Your power is formidable, but you would do well to stay away from the Righteous Djinn, unless you mean to armor him in ghost steel.”

Klaus stared at her. “How could you know all this?”

“I had my own encounter with the Righteous Djinn. After that…let us say I took an interest in him. Never go to battle blind, mein Ritter. It pays to do your homework.” She slipped her arms through his and laid her head against his chest. “Come away with me, Klaus. I know a lovely castle on the Rhine. A roaring fire, a canopy bed, and me. What more could you desire?”

“Nothing,” said Klaus. “When this is done.”

“Now. This moment. Kiss me, and I’ll take you there.”

He wanted her as badly as he had ever wanted a woman. Yet, instead of taking her in his arms, Klaus stepped away from her and said, “Take me…how could you take me there?”

The half-smile returned, teasing. “I have my ways.”

Suddenly he understood. “You are an ace.”

“I abhor that word. So crass, so common, so American. I prefer to call myself a woman of mystery , thank you very much.”

The world shifted under his feet. Lili of the lamplight , he thought, our beautiful chance meeting, the night we spent making love and talking. All of it suddenly seemed unreal. He could feel it dissolving, melting away like his ghost steel after a battle. An ace, and here in Egypt. “What powers?”

“That would be telling. A gentleman never asks a lady her age, her weight, or whether she can fly. There are some who call me the Queen of the Night. Do you know your Mozart, love? The Magic Flute? No, you are more of a Wagner man, I think. The Ride of the Valkyries, ja? Let me be your valkyrie. I can promise you a ride that you will never forget.”

Klaus had wanted more than a ride. Klaus had wanted all of it, all of her. Now he was not sure. “When this is done—that will be the time for us. Not now. It is like our song, like Lili Marlene. He wants to be with her, the soldier, she is all he thinks about, but he must go to war, he must do his duty. His honor demands it. It is the same for me.”

“You’re wrong. This is not your country. This is not your fight. Go home, Lohengrin. You won’t find your grail in Egypt. Only your grave.” Lili stepped away from him. “I see I am wasting my breath. It is written on that stubborn German face of yours. Auf Wiedersehen , Klaus. I wish you well, truly…though, if I were you, I would start sleeping in my ghost steel. The next time Bahir comes for you, he may be in earnest.”

“Wait,” Klaus called out. “How can I reach you? Where do you live? Your name—is your name even Lili?”

“Close enough, darling. Try Lilith .” And she slipped into the shadows and was gone.

The noisy, crowded, festering camp that had sprung up around the Colossi of Memnon had blown away in less than three days. Only trash and night soil remained to show where thousands had lived, loved, and starved for weeks on end. Klaus would not have been surprised to see the colossi themselves rise from their ruined thrones and stride off toward the south.

“‘Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair,’” said Jonathan, as the two of them paused for a last look. “Lord Byron, man. I think he wrote it about these two guys. Bad boy Byron. He was like the Drummer Boy of the romantic poets.”

The Pharaoh had departed two days ago, carrying Taweret, most of the other gods, and almost all the priests. She was a large and luxurious boat, rated at five stars by the ministry of tourism, so the Living Gods had found room on her to take abroad five hundred of their followers. They would have taken Jonathan as well, but he did not turn up to board. “I overslept,” Hive kept insisting. “What, am I the first guy who ever missed a boat?” He blamed his cell phone. “Fucking alarm never went off. If I get killed, someone needs to sue Sprint.”