In the Palace of the Khans by Peter Dickinson Page A

had. His face went blanker than ever.
    â€œWell, we must not keep our guest waiting to be taken home,” he said.
    Taeela refused to have the subject changed.
    â€œFirst, tell me I am right, Dudda.”
    He said nothing for a while, then sighed.
    â€œYes, you are right. I do not sacrifice my queen, though I lose the game.”
    â€œWord of the Khan, Dudda?” she said, dead serious now, and offered him her hand, palm up. He hesitated briefly and took it between his.
    â€œWord of the Khan, Taeela,” he said.
    â€œIt is spoken, Khan,” she answered, still utterly solemn, then swung round laughing, triumphant, and it was a game again.
    â€œNigel, you are witness. You will come again tomorrow?”
    â€œIf you like. But I’m afraid I can’t do Saturday or Sunday. We’re going up to the mountains for the weekend.”
    â€œPooh! Nothing is to do in the mountains?”
    â€œThere is for us. My father is nuts about fishing, and my mother and I will go bird-watching. She says they’ve found a really nice old hotel at—I’ve forgotten the name—it begins with an F. For- something.”
    â€œForghal,” said the President. “I must take you there one day, my dear. The hotel is a true relic of the Czarist days … I am afraid there may be problems about that, Nigel. I will call for the latest reports and telephone your father. Meanwhile I think the driver is waiting for you in the lobby. We will see you tomorrow.”
    Nigel told his mother what the President had said as soon as he got back to the embassy.
    â€œOh, I hope not,” she said, “but it’s the sort of thing that happens here. Somebody gets drunk in a bar and says something stupid about the President and they close the whole area off and do a house-to-house search and so on.”
    â€œAre there actually any terrorists? Bombings and stuff?”
    â€œNot like that, not so far. I suppose these days there are fanatics about wanting to turn Dirzhan into a proper Islamic state, though everyone else thinks the Dirzhaki are hopeless heretics and don’t even count. You’ll have to ask your father—he’ll be up for lunch in a few minutes, though I doubt if he’s heard anything about Forghal yet. It can’t be that urgent.”
    She was wrong on both counts. He was half an hour late and came in with an odd expression on his face. He didn’t say anything until he’d sat down.
    â€œThe good news or the bad news?”
    â€œThe President told Nigel there might be a problem about Forghal,” said Nigel’s mother, “so I suppose the bad news is that we’re not going there because the area’s closed off.”
    â€œRight, but I doubt if that’s true. Roger called the hotel this morning to check our bookings were OK, and they didn’t say anything.”
    â€œThen why on earth …? Unless he doesn’t want us to go to Forghal for some reason, I can’t imagine what.”
    â€œBecause he wants us to go somewhere else?” said Nigel. “And that’s the good news?”
    â€œYou’re spoiling my fun,” said his father. “Care to guess what?”
    â€œI don’t know. We were chatting away about going to Forghal, and he started telling Taeela what a nice old hotel it was, and then, all of a sudden he pretty well closed right down and sent me packing.”
    â€œSo the good news is …”
    â€œThat we’re still going somewhere we can fish and bird-watch … He’s taking us out to the thingummy gorge to look at the fish-owls so he can show the British Ambassador how much he cares about them?”
    â€œI worry about you, Niggles. You really are too bright to live long. Yes, he’s invited us to his hunting lodge for the weekend. That’s something in itself. It’s the old hunting lodge of the khans, not that far from the Vamar gorge, so we’ll be flying up in a