Caliphate

Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 24 Muharram,

1538 AH (4 November, 2113)

Latif went first to his office, just off of the entrance from where outside stairs rose above the mosqued courtyard, and entered the castle. The former gate guard of Honsvang followed as the brothel keeper waddled as fast as he could.

"There is a loudspeaker system," Latif told the janissary. "We haven't used it in years but—"

We're fucked, thought the janissary. No fool, he; he knew that if the thing hadn't been used in years then it probably couldn't be.

"—if the Almighty sees fit," Latif continued, "we can summon your comrades in a quarter of the time . . . a tenth!"

We're totally fucked, the janissary amended. Still, one never knows. Perhaps, just this once, Allah will lend us his aid.

Alas, it was not to be. Latif waddled briskly down the interior hallway, pushed open his office door, and sat down at the dusty desk holding the controls for the public address system. Pushing away some cobwebs he flicked a switch to power up the system.

And was rewarded with some crackling, and a fair bit of smoke pouring from the control box.

"Get your slaves to start knocking down doors," the janissary commanded. "And what do you have in this place for arms?"

That question spurred a thought. "Forget the slaves, except for those you send for arms," the janissary said. "I have a quicker way."

With that, the janissary left the office, trotted down the corridor to a spot near the center of the castle, took his rifle in hand and began firing the rifle methodically into the high ceiling. Janissaries began pouring out of rooms even as smashed plaster and bits of masonry poured down from above.