The Race against Time by Chris James

Author:Chris James [James, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chris James
Published: 2022-04-30T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

22.34 Sunday 24 December 2062

SERENA RIZZI LIFTED ANOTHER ivory pawn from the ornamental chessboard, collected a sheet of paper by the side, wrapped the pawn up, and placed it with care in the shallow box on the floor. The chess set was only one of at least a hundred ornaments scattered around Father’s house that she was responsible for packing. While Serena worked in the library, downstairs on the ground floor, Liliana packed the ornaments in the main living area, including gilded plates, figurines and placemats. Tiphanie should have been finishing cleaning the kitchen.

Serena lifted up a knight and admired the artwork in the carving; the outsized horse’s head sat atop a Persian tower that reminded her of Pisa in her distant home. From all of the furnishings and decorations in the house, only this chess set offered her any comfort of the familiar. But even that was limited, for the sixty-four black and white squares were set in an octagonal board and surrounded with Middle-Eastern artistic flourishes of horsemen waving sabres above their heads.

She wrapped the knight and placed it inside the box on the floor. One of the pair of doors creaked. She looked up and caught her breath.

Father stood there, silhouetted by the light from the hall behind him. He swept in, holding the folds of his cream kandora. The wooden floorboards creaked under his heavy steps. He said, “You are working very late, child. Is this necessary?”

Serena pointed her head at the floor in supplication and fought to compose herself. Not only had Badr Shakir al-Sayyab surprised her, she’d been lost in thought. She replied: “Yes, Father. We must pack all of these things in boxes by tomorrow night.”

“Look at me,” he instructed.

She raised her head.

His kind face offered a calming half-smile. “Ahmed speaks well of you when I question him. But I think that, perhaps, you are afraid to ask for help when there is much to do, yes?”

As the translation of Father’s words finished resolving in her vision, Serena bit down on a flash of anger. She wanted to scream that she feared no man, not after all that had happened to her. But she knew she had to bide her time. She wanted very much to kill Ahmed, and hoped she would one glorious day. But for now, she had to continue the pretence. She whined: “I think Ahmed would like me to execute my duties with the minimum of trouble, Father.”

“But look,” Father said, waving his arms around the library, “there are hundreds of books in addition to the decorations.”

Serena said nothing.

“I will speak with Ahmed—”

“No, please. He will be angry at me—”

Father raised his hand to stop her. “Fear not, child. Ahmed answers to me and will do as he is told. Today there is far too much to do for him to play silly games with you servants.”

“Yes, Father,” Serena intoned, bristling at her designation.

“Child,” he said, “much will change in the next few days. The Third Caliph himself has blessed this house.

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