Ollie's Cloud (57 page)

At dawn the next day, the body is lashed to a ladder by order of the grand vizier and paraded through the streets, then dumped into a moat outside the city gate. Sentinels are ordered to guard it day and night.

At the moat, Jonathon is permitted to photograph the body as evidence for the shah. While Ali watches, Jonathon positions his camera near the body. This is his first close look at the corpse, and he is astonished to find that the body is horribly mangled and yet the Rasul’s face is untouched.

After removing his camera from the moat, Jonathon approaches Ali, who appears extremely agitated.

“Your work is finished,” Jonathon says in English. “If you can find a way to get Ishaq released, I suppose you will go home now. Are you all right? You look terrible.”

“Jonathon, I can’t let the Rasul’s body lie in this moat for the dogs.”

“They’ll shoot anyone who tries to take the body, you know that. Those are the orders of the grand vizier.”

Ali’s eyes glisten with moisture as he says, “If I’m killed, will you try to get Ishaq home safely?”

“I’ll be there with you. If you want to save Ishaq, both of us will have to survive this adventure.”

Ali’s plan is simple. Under the cover of darkness, he and Jonathon will station a cart about fifty yards from the body and then creep silently into the moat, waiting for the guards to pass. When it is safe, they will wrap the body and carry it out of the moat to the cart.

“Not much of a plan,” Jonathon says.

“Maybe this time God will be on our side.”

Jonathon shows up that evening with two Rasuli friends who have volunteered to assist the mission. They station a cart as planned, and then silently enter the shadows of the moat system. The sentinels are positioned near the Rasul‘s body and show no signs of leaving.

“What now?” Jonathon whispers.

“I have another plan,” Ali says. “When the guards are distracted, remove the body quickly.”

Before Jonathon can stop him, Ali stands and briskly walks toward the guards, who immediately raise their weapons and order him to stop.

“I am Ali, representative of the shah!” he calls out. “Lower your weapons and let me approach.”

Confused, the sentinels lower their muskets.

Ali walks up to the captain and says, “The grand vizier has changed your orders. There is no longer any need to guard the body. You may go home.”

“Let me see the authorization,” the captain demands.

Jonathon knows that Ali has no such authorization.

Ali rears up in his most regal posture. “Are you countermanding me, captain?” he roars. “I order you at once to abandon your posts so that the dogs may dine on this infidel’s carcass.”

The captain begins to shrink, but then puffs up his chest and says, “Without a written order, I must stay on guard.”

Ali looks down at his feet, then looks up, glaring at the captain. “Then here is your direct order.” He slams his fist into the captain’s jaw.

Three sentinels pounce on Ali, who fights furiously, kicking two of them away. Another two join the melee. The rest of them stand and watch.

While all eyes are on the noisy fight, Jonathon and the Rasulis slip out of a deep shadow and slide the body away, replacing it with sacks of straw. In the gloom, it is hard to distinguish the sacks from the body.

Finally, one of the soldiers cracks the butt of his musket into Ali’s skull, stunning him. The soldiers begin to argue about what to do next.

“We execute him!” the captain shouts. “Take him up and shoot him.”

Five of the men carry Ali’s limp body out of the moat.

Jonathon and the Rasulis are near the cart when Jonathon faintly hears the shouted order. He stops and looks at his friends.”

“I can’t let them do this,” he whispers.

“He has chosen to sacrifice himself to save the remains of the Promised One,” says one of the Rasulis. “We should complete his mission.”

The Rasulis gently place the body into the cart as Jonathon stares into the blackness.

A shot reverberates in the night.

And then they quietly push the cart away.

Chapter 27

Their slippers make a scuffing sound on the marble floor as they walk to the shah’s chamber. The meeting with the British consul had gone as expected: muted outrage over the execution of the Rasul, and tepid warnings about the Qajar crackdown on the Rasulis. All of it, the grand vizier explains to the young shah, is mere diplomatic rhetoric.

“Gordon, did you detect any hostile inflection that you may not have communicated to us?” the grand vizier asks the interpreter.

Green-robed Gordon Cranston trails by several steps, but now the shah and grand vizier stop and turn, awaiting his reply. “None whatsoever,” Gordon answers. “But I found it interesting that Colonel Sheil specifically asked about Ali. Does he know something?”

“I doubt it,” the grand vizier says. “Both of them are British, that’s all. I think he was just making small talk.”

“At some point Sheil will notice that Ali has disappeared completely from the shah’s court,” Gordon says.

“I suppose. And then we will have to tell him that the Englishman chose to return home with our best wishes after many years of service to the shah. I am glad Sheil did not inquire about Ali’s son, though.”

“What will you do with Ishaq now that his father is…”

The grand vizier turns to face the shah. “That matter I leave to the Pivot of the Universe,” he says.

The boy-king stares at the grand vizier for a moment, then looks at Gordon and says, “Ishaq betrayed me when he chose to follow the Rasul. He will be killed, as we have killed the other Rasulis.”

Yes, thousands of them,
Gordon thinks. “But Ishaq was your friend, your teacher. His father helped you win the throne. You would execute him as if he were just a common criminal?”

“His father also became my enemy,” the shah replies.

“Still, Ishaq never took up arms against you. He did not fight with the Rasulis at Hujjat. He never preached rebellion.”

“Only because he was in custody.”

“So his offense is that he was imprisoned?”

“Enough! His heart betrayed our friendship.” The boy-king looks genuinely hurt.

“I believe he is still your friend,” Gordon says.

The shah glares at Gordon, and then spins with a flurry of robes and begins to walk away. After a few steps, though, he turns again and says, “I am a merciful shah. I will spare him a painful hanging. An assassin will silently kill him while he sleeps. He will not suffer.”

The shah storms down the long corridor followed by the grand vizier.

Persian mercy
, Gordon says to himself.

In the harem—his prison—Ishaq sleeps deeply, dreaming of the meadows of Chillington-hall. For weeks he has mourned the loss of Zarrin, and now, having had no news of his father for many days, he allows himself a short night-time visit to Ali’s bucolic estate. It is a way of connecting with a man that he despises yet also loves intensely.

The moon is full, and its blue light streams across Ishaq’s slumbering body. As he dreams, a dark figure creeps into his sleeping chamber and hovers over him, watching Ishaq’s chest slowly rise and fall in shallow breaths. The man sits there for a moment as if considering his next move. And then the man reaches out his right hand and covers Ishaq’s mouth.

Ishaq awakes suddenly, but the hand prevents him from crying out. Ishaq reaches for the man’s arm and struggles, but the man is strong. Looking up at the man, Ishaq can see his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. They are familiar eyes—creased and squinting.

“Isaac!” the man whispers loudly. “Stop fighting me.”

“Gordon?” Isaac says.

“Keep your voice down,” Gordon says. “We are leaving.”

“Leaving—why? What’s going on?”

Isaac discovers that he is speaking in English. It has been a long time since he spoke his native tongue.

“Don’t ask questions. It’s urgent that we leave immediately.”

Isaac sits up and stares at Gordon. His mind is still at Chillington-hall, but his eyes are seeing his moonlit sleeping quarters in Tehran.

“The guard will never let me leave.”

“Let me worry about the guard.”

“I’m not going anywhere unless you explain what’s going on!” Isaac says firmly.

“The shah has ordered an assassin to kill you—perhaps this very evening.”

“What? The shah would never do that.”

“Believe me—he wants to exterminate every Rasuli in Persia.”

Isaac considers this for a moment. “What about my father? Will he be leaving, too? Or is he behind this scheme.”

Gordon realizes Isaac is unaware of his father’s fate. He knows there is no time to explain. “Your father has switched sides,” Gordon says. “I can’t explain now, but he became a follower of the Rasul.”

Isaac sighs. Tears fill his eyes. “I prayed every night that he would come to understand the truth,” he says. “God has answered my prayers. Will my father be joining us?”

“You will see him again, I promise,” Gordon says, though he adds in thought,
but not in this life
.

“Where is he?” Isaac asks.

Gordon feels time running out. “Isaac, I want you to listen very carefully. We are escaping an assassin. God willing, this is your own
Midnight March to Freedom
. If we do not leave right now, I may not be able to help you. Now do as I say!”

He hands Isaac a chador.

“This is a woman’s!” Isaac protests.

“Put it on,” Gordon insists. “And hurry. We must be leaving.”

Isaac, embarrassed, pulls on the chador and follows Gordon out of the room and down the corridor. As they approach the night-guard, Gordon whispers to Isaac, “You must walk like a girl now. And keep silent, no matter what. I will do the talking.”

“I don’t know how a girl walks,” Isaac says.

“Then just walk on your toes. Now follow me, and make sure the veil covers your whole face.”

Gordon and Isaac walk toward the night-guard, a large dark-skinned man with fists like clubs and a curved scimitar hanging from his waistband. Isaac is now fully awake and beginning to appreciate the seriousness of this situation. His heart thumps wildly in his chest.

“Asghar, let us pass,” Gordon says in Persian to the night-guard.

“It’s very unusual that the shah wants one of the women to be brought to him,” Asghar replies. He has been thinking about this since Gordon entered. “The shah usually comes
here
… when he comes at all.”

“I gave you the signed authorization with his seal,” Gordon says. “We must not keep him waiting.”

Asghar studies the letter that Gordon had previously given him. “Why did he send
you
?” Asghar asks suspiciously.

“Because I was there. Because the shah can ask anyone he pleases to do anything he wishes,” Gordon says angrily. “Now let us pass.”

“Which girl are you taking?” Asghar begins to reach for Isaac’s veil.

Gordon grabs the guard’s arm and pulls it away. “Do not insult the wife of the shah!”

Asghar looks at Gordon and nods. “But I should ask the shah about this. It’s a very unusual request.”

“Don’t be a fool! Do you want to keep your head? Look what happened to me the last time I questioned the shah.” Gordon holds up the stump of his left arm. “Now let us pass!” he bellows.

Staring at the stump, Asghar finally backs away.

Gordon guides Isaac out of the palace and down a narrow street.

At last Isaac speaks. “How did you get that letter with the shah’s seal?”

“Forged. I’m often in his chamber, where he keeps his seal.”

The two of them walk for half-an-hour until they arrive at the caravanserai. Inside the courtyard, in one of the dusty rooms, Isaac is finally allowed to remove his veil. Out of the blue shadows another man emerges—Jonathon Fury.

“Hello, Isaac,” Jonathon says.

Isaac rushes to his old friend and embraces him heartily. “It’s so good to see you,” he says. “Do you have any news of my father?”

Jonathon looks at Gordon, who shrugs. “I didn’t have time to tell him,” Gordon explains.

“Tell me what?” Isaac asks.

“Isaac, your father was a true hero. He helped us save the body of the Rasul after the execution, but he was killed by the sentinels. I’m very sorry.”

Isaac pulls away from Jonathon. “So he’s dead?”

Jonathon nods.

Isaac thinks about this for a moment.

“But he helped us,” Jonathon says at last. “As much as he could.”

Isaac sighs. This is a lot to digest. “I think they will be looking for us once they find we’re missing,” he says.

“You and I will be leaving in the caravan tomorrow,” Jonathon explains. “But Gordon has decided to stay here.”

Looking at Gordon, Isaac says, “That’s ridiculous. When they learn that you helped me escape with a forged letter, they’ll kill you.”

“There’s nothing left for me in England or America,” Gordon says. “My greatest loves and my greatest sins have been here in Persia. Besides, when they torture me, I will be able to tell them that you fled on horseback through the mountains of Azerbaijan.”

“But why? You could escape with us.”

Jonathon grasps Isaac’s shoulder and says, “He’s made his decision, Isaac. You and I are headed south for the port of Bushire. Of course, you will need to wear the chador as a disguise until we arrive there.”

“No, I can’t!” Isaac complains.

“You can,” Jonathon replies. “Your father did.”

At dawn, the small caravan leaves the caravanserai and heads for the south gate of Tehran. Gordon watches it disappear in the dust, and then walks toward the palace.

He has been despondent and guilt-ridden for many years.

But this morning he smiles.

EPILOGUE

Chillington-hall

A sparkling glaze of ice coats the rolling landscape near Chillington. The carriage clatters over the snow-rutted road that passes through the tiny hamlet, which is surrounded by a majestic forest. The residents—woodsmen and fishermen, wives and children, dogs and chickens—all stop and wave. They recognize this carriage. It belongs to the owner of Chillington-hall. In the heart of the village, the carriage horses find the gateway to the Hall and become more animated, knowing that food and water will soon be provided.

The carriage finally pulls up a few yards from the entrance to the enormous manor-house. Outside the imposing door an elderly woman and gentleman are stomping their feet and clapping their hands to stay warm. When the carriage has stopped, they hobble over to it and open the carriage doors.

“Oh my goodness, my goodness, look who’s here!” Phebe says. “It’s been so long! Come now and get into the warm house. We have tea brewing.”

The old gentleman begins to unstrap a large trunk from the back of the carriage. “Yes now, come along, we’ll get your things.”

And then Isaac Chadwick steps out of the carriage and gives Phebe a warm hug. “It’s been a long time, Grandma,” he says.

The old woman coos and steers the young man into the house. The smell of fresh-baked bread reminds Isaac of his days in Mrs. Rogers’ Nassau-Street kitchen. He feels like a child again.

Supper is wonderful, obviously made by Phebe herself. In the morning, Phebe and Isaac put on warm jackets, gather bouquets of flowers, and walk to the small cemetery to fulfill the main purpose of this trip to Chillington-hall.

Many of Ollie’s ancestors are buried here.

Standing on the edge of the cemetery, Isaac can see the marked grave of Emily Chadwick, Ollie’s great-grandmother, inscribed with Ollie’s endearment,
Mum
. To Mum’s left is Ollie’s great-grandfather, Edward, and to her right the empty graves of Ollie’s grandfather, Augustus, and his wife, Elizabeth.

There is a grave here as well for Anne Chadwick, Ollie’s mother. The group’s attention, however, is on a new headstone, this one also marking an empty grave. Isaac has ordered this simple inscription:
Oliver Chadwick, Wonderful Father and Man of God, 1813-1850.

Phebe lays her flowers on the grave. Isaac motions for her to leave him here alone for a moment, and she does.

Kneeling before the marker, Isaac places his bouquet gently on the grave and then removes a small metal object from his coat pocket, hanging it by a silver chain from the headstone.

He smiles and walks off, leaving Jonathon’s precious last photograph of the Rasul as Oliver’s most fitting tribute.