Page 13 of Dalla's Royal Guards
He traveled two blocks before he reached the entrance to the market. The crowd was beginning to disperse. He overheard several conversations about the ongoing military coup—none of them good for the current regime.
The noise level increased as he entered the market. He wove his way through the mixture of daring tourists who hadn’t been frightened off by the recent upheaval, locals, merchants, and the occasional mercenary soldier patrolling the area.
He turned and pretended to be interested in some trinkets as two soldiers walked by him. One soldier knocked against him. Nasser slipped his hand under the leather crossbody bag he was wearing, and his fingers tightened on the grip of the 9mm handgun sheathed in the cut along the leather. He relaxed his grip only when the men disappeared in the crowd.
Ten minutes later, he paused outside the spice shop where Nanna and Cianna were supposed to be hiding. A brightly painted sign, edged in gold and decorated with delicate images of different spice flowers, graced the entrance. Two windows, one on each side of the doorway, displayed a variety of hanging herbs left to dry.
Nasser stepped inside the doorway. He paused, giving his vision a chance to acclimatize. The fragrant scent of exotic spices filled his lungs. Bins of colorful spices lined two of the four walls. On the opposite side of the room were shelves filled with a variety of canned, bagged, and glass products. A wooden counter at the end of the rectangular room was cluttered with additional products. Woven baskets for sale hung from the exposed beams overhead.
“May I help you?” a cheerful voice asked.
“Yes. A friend said you may have a special spice not found anywhere else,” he murmured.
“I love referrals. Does your friend have a name?” the man inquired.
“Henri. He suggested your saffron,” he replied.
The smile held, but a new sharpness entered his eyes, and Nasser knew he had the man’s full attention. As the man stepped around the counter, Nasser studied him. Basheer Oman was a rotund man with a thick, salt-and-pepper beard that hung halfway down his chest. He wore the typical lightweight, breathable clothing commonly favored by the locals and a pair of leather sandals. Around his waist, he wore an apron stained with the different spices that he sold.
Nasser waited as Basheer closed the door to the shop, locked it, and turned the Open sign in the window to Closed. Basheer didn’t move in a hurry, and he peered through the window in the door for almost a full minute before he finally turned and studied Nasser. Nasser held his silence until the man gave a small nod.
“I was not expecting Henri to sendyou, sire. This is a very dangerous time for you to be in Kashir,” Basheer cautioned, walking toward him.
“I am aware of that, but the issue at hand is very important,” Nasser replied.
“We agree. You should know that General Hellman has shut down the news and limited outside communication. The only news we’re getting is from a statewide propaganda newscast. It is said that President Mario and the First Lady were assassinated and that is why Prime Minister Crosse has taken over,” Basheer said.
“Both are false. My sister is very much alive and would like to hold her daughter again. Mario is with her. Once Cianna is safe, Mario can focus on Crosse and Hellman,” he replied, refraining from adding that his brother-in-law would not be alone in his fight.
Basheer clasped his hands together and nodded with a relieved smile before his expression suddenly changed. Nasser turned. Through the colorfully painted window, they watched a group of soldiers converge. Three men entered the store across from them while two others searched the merchant carts outside.
“You must get them to safety,” Basheer said, pressing a key into his hand.
“Where are they?”
“Upstairs. There is a door on the left that will take you out to the back alley. The key is in the lock,” Basheer replied.
Nasser nodded and strode around the counter. At the end of the narrow hallway, there was a wooden staircase that led upstairs.He took the stairs two at a time, then unlocked the door and silently entered. The door opened into a small living room. Off to the right, there was a kitchenette. A glance showed it was empty.
To his left, there was another closed door. He strode over to it and pushed it open. It was a bedroom. A swift glance showed it was empty as well. He entered and walked over to another door that was partially open. Pushing it, he saw it was a bathroom barely large enough to turn around in.
He was about to retrace his steps when he noticed the shower curtain was closed. He reached out and pulled the curtain aside.
Nanna sat huddled in the tub, cradling Cianna protectively in her lap. The little girl peeked up at him before releasing a joyful cry.
“Nassie!”
Nasser reached out and pulled Cianna into his arms, hugging his tiny four-year-old niece. Cianna wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him with all the strength her tiny frame could muster. He reached down a hand to help Nanna up.
“Bless the Goddess of the Sands that you are here,” Nanna murmured in an unsteady voice.
“We have to go. There are soldiers searching the building across the street,” he cautioned.
Nanna nodded. Nasser steadied the older woman as she stepped out of the tub and then stepped back into the bedroom. Nanna reached under the bed and pulled out a child-sized pink backpack with ponies on it.
“I fear this is all I could bring for Cianna,” Nanna said.
“That is enough. We need to go. Be quiet and stay behind me,” he instructed.
