Louis, Derek Haines [red queen free ebook txt] 📗

be weak as a paid servant of the Sultan. She must be prepared for her next assignment. If, or whenever it arrived. Also readying herself to tell Teremun of the new arrangements the following day.

It was 2nd August. Two weeks.

Hidayah left Teremun with his nanny in the morning. This was not unusual, as Hidayah often went to the bazaar in the morning to buy food. But this morning she was shopping for something special. A gift to give Teremun when she had to tell him of his new travel arrangements. Teremun had been quite excited at the prospect of sailing on a famous P&O liner. They were considered luxurious. What would he now think? Traveling with 600 sailors aboard an active war vessel. Knowing in her heart that it was a wise decision, but still fearing for her young boy on a warship. She had raised a boy who would now have to become a man on his own.

Her gift would take one day to be prepared, so she delayed telling Teremun.

The next morning she collected her gift for Teremun. Hoping he would understand her reasons. It was a leather bound book in jet black. Five inches wide and eight inches tall and containing two hundred and fifty blank pages of creamy white paper that smelled of clay when first opened. On the front cover, in gold lettering it read:

طلب العلم من المهد الى اللح  
(Seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave)

On the first page she wrote in her own hand,

“If a wind blows, ride it! 
My wonderful child.”

There was no more she could say.

After lunch she asked Teremun to join her in the garden. It was a sunny, warm summer’s day in Cairo, but under the shade of the vine trellis it was pleasant and the slight breeze added its cooling effect. Wondering to herself if she could change the situation. Could she ask for her son to stay? For both of them they had, and were leading an idyllic life while amidst others suffering the horrors of a country and world at war. Wanting to wish away the coming weeks and stay with Teremun until he reached manhood.

“What is that Mother?” broke her day dream as Teremun could wait no longer and curiosity was getting the better of his manners.

“Oh Teremun, it is a very special gift. And yes, it is for you,” she said as she handed it to him. “It is for your future.”

Teremun, as he always did with gifts, unwrapped it very carefully as not to tear the silvery paper or break the ribbon. He carefully unknotted the ribbon and laid it on the table in front of him before starting on the paper. He had a good idea it was a book from when his mother had handed it to him but held his reaction until he had fully opened the package.

“Oh, it is so beautiful Mother!” he exclaimed looking at the gold lettering reflecting from the rich blackness of the leather. Understanding the proverb and thinking it was extremely apt for his new adventure. He opened the book’s first page and saw his mother’s handwritten note. Then read it carefully and understood that his mother was wishing him good luck on his voyage and to be optimistic about his new life in England. Turning the next page, and the next. Expecting the book to start. The next page was blank too. He looked towards his mother without asking.

“It is your book Teremun. It is for you to write your history. Day by day, week by week, month by month and year by year. When I see you next, you will be able to show me your history. And your adventures.” 

Teremun continued to turn the creamy blank pages of his book. With each page he turned, the reality of his unknown future started to crystallise in his young mind for the first time. The feelings of uncertainty he had never felt in his life before. The realisation that in a few short days his childhood would abruptly end and he would be alone. Feeling as if he was falling from a cliff and with each page he turned, spiralling further and further into an unending abyss. His fear began to well in the back of his throat, almost choking him. Continuing to turn the pages as he waited for the pain in his throat to subside. Seconds passed like years until he felt that his throat would allow him to speak.

“I will tell you everything in this book Mother. It is beautiful,” was all Teremun could say before his throat started to tighten yet again.

Teremun and Hidayah sat under the vines in silence as they both felt their minds fill with the fear, trepidation, anxiety and uncertainty that was now only days away from reality. The silence between them filled with the silent screams of panic. No words were needed as they both waited for the tightening in their chests and throats to subside. Teremun waiting for courage to replace his fear. Hidayah waiting for time alone to cry.

Charles

Mr. Huntsmith arrived promptly at seven pm with an army driver to collect Teremun. A tall man of slight frame with an awkward posture and looked around sixty years old. He seemed to Hidayah to have been broken and repaired many times. His head was fixed at a slight tilt. He was a gentleman however, and his comportment gave Hidayah a feeling of confidence that he would take his responsibility for Teremun very seriously. It had taken her by surprise though when Mr. Huntsmith had arrived and announced that he was there to collect Master Charles de Villiers.

Long goodbyes are extremely painful. With Mr. Huntsmith’s business like approach to the matter at hand, some of the pain would be neutralised with efficiency. Teremun’s belongings were packed in the Peerless truck which would transport him to Port Said. Neither Teremun or Hidayah had seen such a machine. With its large canvas roof covering a long wooden carriage and the driver sitting in a cabin at the front. Teremun marvelled at the two large lights at the front and the strange noise and smell that was coming from under a metal covered front nose. 

“Are you ready young Charles?” Mr Huntsmith asked in a manner that was more an order than a question.
“Yes Sir,” he replied with all the courage he could muster.

Teremun and Hidayah hugged and she kissed him on both cheeks. Before they had time to think, Teremun was helped up into the back of the truck by Mr. Huntsmith who followed immediately. Within a few seconds the Peerless truck was moving away from Hidayah. She waved towards the truck, but could not see Teremun. She waited until the vehicle was lost to her sight. Then started to weep uncontrollably.

Teremun was too excited and bewildered to cry. Enveloped by smells he had never experienced. Mechanical, military, masculine. Sitting quietly as his body filled with the vibration from the truck and the road. Feeling his insides wobbling like jelly and swallowing hard to quell a sudden feeling of nausea. He swallowed hard again, and again. When he tasted the bile in the back his throat, he swallowed even harder. He grit his teeth, turned his toes inside his shoes and clenched his fists in his efforts to quell his nausea. Then looking at Mr. Huntsmith and trying to copy his calm pose, rocking gently with and not against the motion of the vehicle and the wooden plank on which they sat. With each minute that passed, so did his nausea. He started to notice the lights of Cairo being eaten by the darkness that they were entering. When the last light of Cairo disappeared, his stomach started to slowly return to normal. Except for the remaining butterflies.

“Have you been to England before, Sir?” Teremun nervously stumbled in an attempt to quell his apprehension.
“Well, it’s been a long time young Charles. I left nearly ten years ago and I’m returning for my retirement.”
“What did you do Sir?
“Oh I’ve been working for the government. Not very interesting I’m afraid.”
“Will you live in London?”
“Not far from London. In Surrey. My family live there. Do you know Surrey at all?”
“No Sir. I’ve never been anywhere except Cairo Sir.”
“Well, I’m sure you will like London. Your school is not far from Surrey, so I’m sure you will get there and discover what a wonderful place it is.”
“How long does it take to get to London Sir?”
“Well, let me see,” Mr. Huntsmith started while holding a finger to his chin, lifting his eyes and adjusting his expression to thoughtful state. “We will arrive in Port Said later tonight and tomorrow we may discover when our ship is leaving. It should be in the next few days I believe. When we leave port it takes about twelve days or so to reach Plymouth. From there we’ll take the train to London. So, let’s see. Probably about three weeks from today.”
“Thank you Sir,” was all Teremun could manage to say in response.
A silence fell as it does with strangers as they both wondered what was to be said next. For Teremun, he was unsure how he should act in the company of an elderly gentleman. Alan Huntsmith wondered what he should say to the young boy he was charged with. His last official assignment. To deliver his charge to the care of the Master of Dulwich College safely. His assignment notes were brief, however there was enough information to know that Charles Albert de Villiers was a diplomatic package and as such his retirement would not begin until he had successfully completed his last official task.

Alan Huntsmith placed a blanket over Charles as he fell asleep against the corner of the truck. His head leaning on his luggage. It would take four hours to arrive in Port Said. Time to contemplate his time in Egypt and Sudan. Time to try and clear his mind of the horrors he had witnessed, the enemies he had made, the friends he had lost, and plan for his lonely retirement. Wherever it would be. He would have to wait until after his de-briefing to find out where he would be sent. And who he would be. There had been many identities to match his many assignments. An attaché, a civil servant, an intelligence officer among other titles. He knew his real profession was that of a spy. But that word was never ever used by his employers, colleagues, nor himself. Only his enemies.

Charles woke as the truck pulled to a halt in front of a row of Army barracks. It was a little after one am, and the evening was moonless and dark. He could smell salt in the air. As he cleared his head, he heard Mr. Huntsmith jump down from the truck and start talking to someone. He couldn’t see them as they were standing alongside the truck hidden by the canvas top of the truck. The men were discussing which barracks they would use. Huntsmith returned to the rear of the truck.

“Right-O Charles. We have a place to sleep. Are you ready?
“Yes Sir,” Charles wearily replied.
With that, Huntsmith helped Charles with his bags and then helped him down from the truck. The door to their barracks was immediately alongside the truck. There were six bunk beds. Three on each side of the small room. A candle burned in one corner and flickered as they entered the room. The room smelt of stale male sweat. An odour that would become normal to both in the coming weeks.