Hearts On Fire

32: The Royal Gem

He flung the newspapers across the table and stared at them as they flew into the air before they landed a few feet away from the table. He wished what he had seen could be erased, deleted from the papers they had been forcefully inscripted on. What had he just read, if Small knew this was what he would see in this newspaper, why would he bring such thing to him? For what use?

'Psycho-Prince or Psycho-Police? Which name suits the mighty Al-mustapha Muhammad Maccido?' That was the headline, everywhere, even on newspapers he had never come across with. He wanted to know who was behind this. No, it was evident that the newspapers editors were, but the story, who leaked it out? It had been a month, a freaking month that even the talks going round in the palace had subsided, and now this? Who was getting at him?

He got a call from Ummah, but he didn't pick. He couldn't pick. He knew exactly what she was going to say, for him to come home, and even if she wasn't going to tell him that, he would. Because he had never felt this pointless before all his life, but he was certain Ummah would come with something better for him. A way out for them.

He picked up his car keys and left the office, not minding to close it, because it wasn't his usual time for closing, but he didn't what to do more in the office, with the office. He entered the car and ignored the police officers saluting to him at the entrance. They have all read that, he thought. Not that he cared, but it just occured to him that they have done that.

He drove straight to the palace, to the only place he was sure he would find a way out. Not a way out, but something to do when things went wrong. And when he entered her chamber, he went directly to her private living room and she sat there with a thoughtful expression with all the newspapers laid out before her. He found himself a seat and sat down before he greeted her.

"Good afternoon, Ummah." He greeted with his voice quivering a bit. Because the expression on her face alone would let him know she wasn't Ummah anymore, she was Mama Fulani, and he must refer to her as that.

"Who did this? She did?" Mama Fulani asked, as she pointed at the newspapers laying across her carpet in a scattered manner.

Al-mustapha didn't know the answer to her question, but he would love to say she wasn't the one. Not that he was sure she wasn't, because whatever Fatima Zarah did would no more surprise him or take him off guard, she had done something even more than this, which was revealed who he was at first. And even if she was the one that did it, he wouldn't mind. Now that Ummah mentioned her, he couldn't remember the last time he saw her. May be two weeks? No, it was definitely more than that. Since the last she walked past him with the talk about their second game, that had been a month. He shrugged his shoulders, he didn't mind a bit.

"I'll confirm from the news stations, Mama Fulani. What should I do now?" He knew he needn't further more about his question. She knew what he meant by that, he wanted to know what he would do now. If there were reporters at his door, what would he say not to add more salt to the wound? If someone at the palace call him and asked something, how should he act?

"I'm sure no one will ask you anything in the palace, they've known this for a month now. And for the outside world, handle things the way you want, just don't be violent. About the way to tackle this issue, now that the whole state knows, I have a better solution. And I'm sure it'll serve both the palace and outside of it." She crossed, uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. And that told him she was nervous and hesitant about telling him what she had come to conclue was.

"What is the way out, Ummah?" He hated it when he called her Mama Fulani, hated it even more when she acted like one. That's why he wanted to get used to calling her Ummah even if she was acting so hard for him to call her Mama Fulani.