The Blue Hour

Chapter 6: Hamid

They sat in silence. Under them, the ground was stony and cold. Hamid was tired, and his head hurt. He had been on the move since after the evening meal. Squeezed in the dirt between Flora and Reza, he was overcome by turbulent feelings and an urge to cry. Behind his closed eyelids, the image of Jurad's severed head appeared. He blinked hard. Jurad's death - it had taken all the strength from him, but when he stumbled over Reza the fatigue had vanished, and a fury driven him to force the wounded softa to flee with him. The world he had seen tonight was not the world he had dreamed so often, it was a world he could scarcely imagine. The chaos and the precariousness, the immensity of it, thrilling and yet, he was desperately afraid. The silence, the darkness, his unruly heartbeats, the strange shapes that threatened to burst from his insides at any moment.

He did not know where the words came from, but was reassured to recognise his own voice: "The truth is I never met Reza before tonight."

"Who is he?"

"He's a softa, and he plays the flute, that's all I know." He took a deep breath. "I came to the square with Jurad." His voice trembled. In the dark, it felt as if he was talking to himself.

"The Sultan's men attacked. They came out of nowhere. We didn't know, we couldn't imagine... The horses, the uniforms, the drawn swords, it's brutal. And glorious. I couldn't move. I couldn't understand... A soldier charged directly at us. I was on the ground. I could see him clearly, the ugly grimace which showed his tongue, the blade cutting the air. Jurad had his back turned. His head..."

Hamid swallowed and closed his eyes to shut out the image of Jurad's severed head, and of the dagger floating in the air. A deep breath went in, a deep breath went out. "I ran. All the students did. Those who weren't dead or injured. I tripped over a man. I thought it was Jurad. A blade had ripped his chest open."

"You did what you could." Her voice was small. Cloaked in darkness he could not see her, only feel her bristle.

A silence eddied around them. A horse neighed. The sound came from the inner courtyard, probably from the stables, judging by the faint odour of manure which floated in the air.

"Hush."

All they heard was Reza's quick and shallow breaths. As they strained to hear, another sound emerged, barely audible, yet irrefutable: the clatter of hooves.

"They're searching," Hamid whispered.

He stood up and let the darkness of the inner courtyard engulf him, leaving Flora and Reza alone.

After a minute, he returned. "There are water barrels next to the house, we can hide behind them. It's safer than staying out here in the open."

In the yard, next to the steps of the front door stood three large, oak water barrels. With Reza between them, they squeezed in, wedged in the narrow space between the barrels and the house wall. She reached across Reza and took his hand, hers was soft and warm and made him feel safe; their fingers intertwined.

"It's the home of Mme Giraud," she whispered. "I deliver gloves to her. She can't find me like this, Hamid."

They waited, quiet, with pounding hearts as the steady clatter drew nearer. He became conscious of how uncomfortable he was, he could barely feel his legs. Hooves clicked against the stones as a mounted soldier approached through the arched gateway.

From the street, a voice called out: "Where did you disappear to?"

"Move on, I'll catch up with you!"

Hamid listened with all his senses as the soldier guided his mount around the cobbled yard. A light came on in a window. There was a shuffle from inside the house, the front door opened and a man emerged at the top of the stairs. Hamid lifted his gaze and saw the shadow of his boots in flickering candlelight.