It happened one chilly evening in November. No warning, no time to prepare.
One moment I was in my room and the next I was sprawled on the sticky floor in a squalid parlour. There was a roaring fire and a ring of chairs. A man sat in front of me, cradling a woman on his lap. The room was poorly lit and the smell of ale hit the back of my throat. The man was squat with beady little eyes and a wide nose. He had dusky skin and his breeches were green. Made from coarse, woven cloth. A cream turban perched on his head. It covered his ears and a fake jewel nestled in the middle of the folds.
'W-where am I?'
I stuttered the words, disorientated. The room swam and I put a steadying hand on the wall. The man coughed and pinched the woman. She giggled and gave me a snaggle-toothed smile. The man thumped his chest.
'You're in heaven, Jalu. This is the Great Mother.' He patted the woman, almost affectionately. She wore a green corset and her dark wiry hair was pinned atop her head. She looked to be middle aged and her companion was a few years older. He chewed tobacco and spat a gob of it on the floor. The woman sauntered towards me and adjusted her stained gown.
'Raj's right. I am divine. The name's Manjit. I'll give you a sweet time. For five hundred Pinar.'
'U-h', I mumbled incoherently. 'N-no th-thank you.'
I clutched the wall and the room pitched and rolled. I was in a brothel. Or was I? Maybe this was all a strange dream. My vision blurred and their faces melted and merged. I felt seasick and my legs wobbled. Manjit cocked her head to one side and looked me up and down.
'Say, you talk awful nice. Where are you from? And why did you appear like that?'
Raj jumped off his chair and hollered behind him. The door to the room was open and it looked like some sort of parlour. There was a fire in the far corner but it was dim and I couldn't feel it's warm. A chill seeped into my bones and I flinched.
'Pardat! We've got an intruder! Get in here!'
The sound of footsteps followed and another man poked his head in. He had square shoulders and a mullish expression on his face. His smock was dirty and he held a stained cloth in his left hand. He reminded me of a butcher and I could picture him with a meat cleaver. I swallowed and he advanced. Slow and menacing. He flicked the cloth in my face. A warning shot.
'What's all this?' He sized me up. 'You're Gambian. Any fool can see it. You ain't no Jhartan. You're too dark! Dark as pitch!'
'I beg your pardon?'
I ignored his rude comments. Excited and thrilled.
'I said-,'
'No, no. I heard you. I just can't believe it! I'm in Jharta! At last!' I knew all about the country. Thanks to my history tutor at the palace. I'd studied old Jhartan and I was well-versed in their culture. I'd been so shocked and dumbfounded that I hadn't made the connection. The academic in me was fascinated and intrigued. What a marvelous opportunity! 'W-wow. This is... interesting.'
'Aint it just?' Pardat chucked the cloth away and shoved me against the wall. Raj and Manjit looked on. Suspicion and hatred in their eyes. My optimism started to fade. 'You one of 'em spies? Part of the palace network?'
'I'm not a spy,' I replied earnestly. 'I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'm as confused as you are. I have no idea how I got here. Believe me!'
'Lies!' The Pardat roared. 'I wasn't born yesterday!'
'Silence.' The voice was razor sharp and crystal clear. 'I'll wrestle the truth out of him.'
The newcomer was a tall woman with high cheekbones and a burgundy dress. Faded and patched, it had seen better days. Her garters were worn and her appearance was shabby. Yet her beauty was undeniable.
Like all Jhartans, her eyes were dark brown with ruby irises. However, hers shone with wrath. She was a burning spark. A force of nature. Barely contained by skin and bone. Her ebony hair was held in place by a simple silver clasp and her elegant neck arched as she raised her eyes to me. She was an inch shorter than me. Maybe slightly less.
Her skin was a shade darker than the rest and there was a regal air about her. A string of red beads hung across her forehead, adorning her brow. They swung like a pendulum as she walked forward.
The scent of her perfume wafted over me. A rich, complex fragrance. With a fresh, floral undertone. A hint of glamour amongst the dingy surroundings. I felt my cheeks warm. She was awe-inspiring.
I did a double take. What was I thinking?! Nanko's face filled my mind and I twisted the ring on my index finger. I'd made promises. Ones which I intended to keep. I thought of her every day and prayed for her health. She was my starlight. How could I have forgotten her? I faced the newcomer and straightened up.
'Good evening-'
'There's nothing good about it,' she snapped. 'Come with me!' She clapped her hands and Pardat pinned my arms from behind. 'Let's take him to the examination chamber. Quick sharp.' She led the way out of the room and Pardat thrust me forwards. Raj and Manjit brought up the rear. We went out into a drafty hall and I started to struggle.
'H-hold on! We can work this out! I mean you no harm. I swear!'
'Ha!' She snorted. 'Like I believe that.'
'I-,'
'Shut up, Gambian Jalu!' Pardat shook me roughly and I winced. Jalu means bastard in old Jhartan. My pride stung and I gnashed my teeth.
I was an illegitimate child, adopted by the king of Gambi. I had come to the palace when I was seven years old. I had just lost my mother and I'd resorted to begging outside the palace walls. The king took me in and raised me as his own but my place at the palace was still the subject of heated debate. I'd lived there twenty years and some of the servants still whispered about me behind my back.
I saw nothing wrong with my origins. My mother had had a romance with a Gambian nobleman and he had died before he could make her his wife. I felt sorry for my parents and I was proud to be their son. Nonetheless, people talked. The king said that my parents sins had been forgiven long ago. God had sent me to the palace to give me a second chance. I didn't agree with this interpretation but the king loved me. That much was clear.
I swallowed a bitter retort and the woman in the burgundy dress eyed Pardat.
'Blindfold him. He's enough already. The last thing we want is for him to escape.' She went back into the room and retrieved Pardat's cloth. She came back and lobbed it at him. 'Use this.'
I protested but it was all in vain. Fear had me in a vice grip and I couldn't break free. The smelly cloth scratched my eyes and darkness smothered me. I was well and truly blind and I started to panic.
'No, no! Please! Stop!'
I was petrified of what was to come. My imagination ran wild and my feet were heavy and useless. I could've tried to shift but it was too risky. Fear makes shifting difficult. Nine times out of ten the person ends up Snagged. Caught half way between the beast and man. My preferred form was a black stallion, graceful and free. But the last thing I wanted was to be stuck with a horse head and a human body. Often the shifter couldn't change back and they had to be moved to the Infirmary. A special building just outside Warkulu. The Gambian capital. There, the Snagged were housed and looked after. They couldn't speak and they communicated with their carers via telepathy.
My oldest brother, Prince Ogadu, was there. I visited him every week but the rest of the family couldn't bare to go.
I tried to breathe. In, out, in out. I had to survive this. Or Ogadu would have nobody. He enjoyed my visits. They were one of the few things that kept him sane. He had a wolf's head and tale and a human torso. His betrothed had abandoned him and his loved ones were wary. All except me. I gulped and bowed my head. Maybe they would let me go if I played along.
We walked on forever. Me, blind and aimless. I strained my ears and all I could hear was the thump of footsteps and the huff of air as we passed through corridor after corridor. Eventually the air pressure altered and we went down some rickety wooden stairs. The stench of mould rose to greet us and I turned my head. Aghast. I heard the flare of a flame being struck. Maybe our leader was lightning a candle?
I felt Pardat's breath on my neck and shivered. We continued our descent and a minute later we were on striding through a wide space. A cellar, perhaps? Something small and furry scurried over my foot and Pardat swore in old Jhartan.
'Modi! Modi! Shif!'
Modi meant rat and shif translated as orange devil. In Jharta, orange was seen as an evil colour. The colour of demons. I swallowed thickly. We rounded a corner and a key turned in a lock. I was pushed inside another room and the blindfold was torn from my eyes.
The view was grim, to say the least. A stained bed equipped with iron hand and foot manacles. The air stank of despair and there was a rustic chamber pot pushed up against the far wall. Above which were another set of manacles. Disgusting didn't begin to cover it. And I'd begged on the streets of Warkulu.
I was down and secured to the wall before I knew it. The woman in the burgundy dress forced my head back and narrowed her eyes.
'I'll force you to confess. One way or another.'