The Iron Man [Serial]

Mr. Charmchi Changes Trains

By the time we got to Ismailia I had spoken at length to Arash Charmchi and learned more than I had ever expected I should want to know about Iran, the languages spoken there, why one was from Russia, Zarathustra, and how recognizing two sides to a situation may be useful in the work of a consulting detective.

My ability to spontaneously provide answers consistent with my cover identity had never been more thoroughly tested. I—Julien Dangerous—was a Yankee Manual considered a person of interest in London and possibly labeled an Enemy of the Peace, if Inspector Priest had reported seeing me in Venèxia, granted asylum in Egypt, and soon to be sorted into the Military Caste. J.D. Stocking was very much like me, except he was a perfectly compliant Egyptian of British Ancestry working in the Creative Caste.

I had to keep my answers as close to the truth as possible, to have the best chance at being convincing, yet avoid revealing that I was traveling about the world on secret missions.

As nervous as I was to be discovered by a detective, the more we spoke, the more it seemed Arash was the one out of sorts. There were further awkward silences, and expressions that furrowed his brow and turned down his lips.

We kept coming back to the existence of differences in the regional sections of the Code.

I kept my answers factual.  I had no privileged information, but the code was publicly available so that citizens may know it to follow it. Anyone who traveled between nations might notice regional differences. I didn't actually know how the Code had been drafted, specifically, but it seemed self evident to me there must have been negotiation between member nations and a central authority—The Fashionista to begin—to determine what was and wasn't permitted in the region.

But this being true meant that when attire was allowed for some and not others, blame could not be placed with The Pax itself, but with the regime that negotiated for the region, whether through neglect or intent.

That realization, I think, bothered Arash.

I wanted to tell him how much I valued self-determination and how I sympathized with those who did not feel free to express themselves as they wished, but I might as well burn my Stocking identification papers if I told him so after introducing myself using the name. For all I knew, he could have been playing a role to see how many strangers on a train he could entrap into speaking against the Pax.

The thought occurred to me that I might somehow slip away, don a green mask, and then pretend to bump into him so I might tell him to make use of a camera if he found injustice and give him the wire extensions to contact for help...something.

But I would look just like me, wearing a mask. Surely, a detective would figure out who I was.

All I could say was that I was changing trains at the next stop.

"As am I," Arash said. "I continue to Port Said."

"It has been enlightening speaking with you, Mr. Charmchi. I shall have to visit Iran someday."

"I will be pleased to meet with you if you are in Tehran."

We soon parted as we disembarked the train. I fell into step shortly behind Murphy and Me'rah. There was a short while before our train to Suez, and we moved with the crowd out of the station to stretch our limbs.

Ismailia was surprisingly less urban than I expected, but then Cairo was probably one of the largest cities in the world and Alexandria a sprawl encompassing several older towns along the coast. By comparison, Ismailia had the appearance of a European town; the station itself looked somehow French to me.

I noticed also the presence of Gendarmes, which I had not yet encountered in Egypt.

"It's normal," Murphy said, having found some bit of shade and stopped. He tipped his head toward the closest team of blue-uniformed officers. It was a darker blue than that worn by the Egyptian Regular Army also in the area, and marked with distinctive row of silver buttons. "They are all along the canal."

"Is there some textile smuggling or such?" I asked.

"Probably, but they are here to send a political message. The canal itself is part of Egypt, but a French company still holds the right to operate it and collect fees, of course, for another 20 years. A company which is owned in part by several European governments."

"They can do that? Mix private finance and government like that?"

"You're the one who speaks some Hindi."

The history of Company Rule. I nodded.

"There was a settlement offer to turn over control to Egypt in exchange for a lump sum payment, but there's no way we can afford it." Murphy's lips pressed tight and he shifted his eyes to one side, perhaps to see if others listened.

"Was it an unfair amount?"

Murphy shrugged. "Malik Arafa melted down every gold clock in Abdeen Palace to pay  the workers digging Cairo's Metropolitan Rail tunnels. We have priceless artifacts and more palaces than we can use, but the nation is...." Murphy left it at that, shaking his head.

"Can we do anything?" I asked. "Do we need more tourists?"

Murphy reached out and lay a hand on my left shoulder. "You are doing your part." He smiled. "There are still problems, but things are getting better. Reports on the progress at Giza will bring fresh tourists. And if Nikola is half as clever as I think, we'll have power enough to increase textile production."

I had faith in our friends, but international economics was a little beyond me.

Murphy raised his hand and waved to someone behind me. I turned and saw a vendor approach carrying a tray of bottled beverages. "Three," he said, passing a few pounds to the cold drink vendor.

I took a bottled soda from the tray.

"You should send a report to Hypatia," Murphy said then, "About Charmchi."

[Ismailia Train Station, Egypt 1915 with Indian troops lined up in front by Sergeant William David McWilliams, 1st Field Ambulance and 2nd Field Ambulance, New Zealand Medical Corps; from an album in the collection of the National Army Museum of New Zealand. Used under CC attrib no-comm no-deriv license. http://nam.recollect.co.nz/nodes/view/5865 (This image may be in the public domain in New Zealand if the known author died before 1966.)]

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Chapter 87!

The media (top) is the video for "I Want to Break Free" by Queen. Chosen because Freddie Mercury is awesome, and also a Zoroastrian.

Bunch of political and economic exposition. :(

I want to write some more action-y scenes, but I feel like motivations wouldn't make sense if there isn't some of this political stuff established. Maybe some people like reading these bits. :)