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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 93: City of Desert Sands
🕑 Added 2025-08-28 03:53:59 +0000 UTCMuch to Lucius’s disappointment, he did not have any opportunities to speak with the other Peers: not alone, at least. Roland and Angelica kept strictly silent all throughout their voyage in the skies. And when the odd moment came that the group landed for a night of rest, they quickly hurried off to their rooms and shut themselves in, unwilling to take any visitors.
It wasn’t that the two of them intended to be mean spirited or distant from the players. Rather, their true discomfort dwelled with each other. Lucius saw a pained, and somewhat embarrassed, look in Sir Roland whenever he met the lady’s eyes. Angelica was a bit similar, albeit her feelings were more harsh.
Astolfo on the other hand was more than willing to mingle with the others. The young man’s bright personality brought them together, and oftentimes they even found themselves playing the occasional card game. Lucius’s favorite was a Frankish unique take on poker where, instead of a single round and a hand of five, there were instead three rounds that used an accumulative point-based system. It made for great fun, although it became quite complicated once the 150 different joker types were introduced.
>[Number 1 Rated Salesman 1997 discreetly looks at the other players’ hands and then whispers the answers to Lucius]<
>[Virtual Goddess of the Wired gasps and says that’s cheating]<
>[Wild West Gunslinger smirks and tells the Star no hard feelings, but a game’s a game. Cheating’s also a skill if you’re crafty enough]<
Thus did the next two weeks pass by without a care. Everyone tried to remain cheerful, but it was clear the strained relationship between the two began to affect everyone’s mood.
Fortunately, their minds would soon be preoccupied. Little by little, the fields of Francia disappeared to make way for a grand stretch of sand, sparkling like glittering gemstones under the light of the midday suns. It was a mesmerizing sight; and though it didn’t quite have the same gentle air as its religious neighbors, the dunes scattered about had their own unique charm.
It was as if they had just entered a great and mighty sea. One could look out into the horizon and still fail to see an end, and yet there was something peaceful about how vast this land was. Back in Francia, Lucius was always accompanied by the sounds of swaying wheat and flowing water. Here, there was a thoughtful quiet only broken by the occasional gust of wind; and the flat sand looked like artwork with its long wavy lines and grooves.
Lucius was tempted to jump in and swim freely with how smooth it all appeared. The sight reminded him of the time he visited the deserts of Egypt and found himself escaping a rather surprising assortment of mummies and undead creatures after having disturbed the ancient tomb of Tutankhamun. It turned out that the pharaoh's curse was real after all—who would’ve thought?
After a few more hours of flight, a faint silhouette crept into view from the distance. The group’s destination, Arabia, was finally within sight.
“Is there anything we must know about local culture before we descend?” Lucius said to the Peers. The chariot’s speed had lessened since the city was within sight, so the wind’s howl was much less intrusive.
The answer to the gentleman’s question, however, few seemed to know.
Roland coughed into his fist. “There is no need for such knowledge. The ones we’ll soon meet are likely familiar with the ways of the Franks.”
“It is still polite to respect their practices, my friend.”
“Yes, I… suppose it is. Regretfully I am not familiar with the Saracens myself.”
“That is surprising. I heard from Sir Astolfo that you were the leader of the Arabian conquest efforts.”
“The only skills required of me back then were strategy and, well, slaughter. His late Holiness, Pepin the One Who Ambushes From the Barren Sands, thought their people lowly and forbade us from replicating their ways. I was to close off my eyes and ears, for to listen to even a word of their language would taint the sanctity of the Frankish tongue.”
The other players looked at him in horror. Roland described such awful things with a dull tone, distant, as if he was uninvolved in the spreading of the former emperor’s doctrine.
Astolfo lowered his head. “Well, even if you wanted to, there aren’t any books about Saracens in the archives. The former emperor made sure to burn them all, and Arabia closed off their doors to outsiders after the invasion, so not many people even know about them—unless you’re a native.”
Roland nodded along and returned to his stoic position. “You are right, Sir Astolfo. I did not have the opportunity. Our faith has replaced the Saracens’ prior teachings nowadays, regardless, so you are free to act as you wish.”
Lucius supposed that was expected of common people, but a gentleman such as himself absolutely deplored being unmannerly. Was there really no such way to know until he encountered them himself?
Come to think of it, there was one person they had yet to ask, wasn’t there?
“What about you, Lady Angelica?” Lucius asked her. The lady Peer regarded him with surprise for a moment.
“Me…?” she said, drawing out her words.
Roland shook his head and tried to change the topic. “Of course Lady Angelica wouldn’t—”
“I do have sparse knowledge, but certainly not to the extent of a local.”
It was Sir Roland’s turn to look at her with shock. “Really? Wait, I do not remember you having any such skills.”
“There is much you do not know about me, Roland. I am my own person with my own life.”
The two shared an uncomfortable silence for some time, before Angelica sighed and addressed Lucius once more. “The Saracens are a people who value humbleness and moderate values compared to the grandeur of the Franks. While we are like a roaring flame, bold in spirit and adherents to Chivalry, the Saracens would be a calm flowing river. They are a quiet nation, and more withdrawn.”
Lucius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I see. Mild-mannered and reclusive… they certainly sound like the polar opposite of the Franks.”
“Indeed, but there is one common trait we share, and that is a deep reverence toward religion.”
“And that is where the problem resides.”
Lady Angelica bid him a sad smile. “More specifically, our differing religions. It is darkly humorous in a way, for we believe in the same God, the Lord Almighty. How could it be possible then that we would be so divided?”
“You believe in the Trinity: God the Mother, God the Blade, and God the Holy Star.”
“Yes. For us Frankish children, God manifests in three divine avatars, which are all part of Their great whole. The Saracens however believe that the Lord is simply one. They also consider the founding emperor, Yeshua in their language and Joshua in ours, to have been a saint and not the direct child of the Mother.”
When it came to religion, even the most miniscule of differences could lead to a bitter conflict. One such school of faith in Lucius’s home world, Christianity, also suffered from this, and throughout its history had seen the birth of many, many, many branching sects.
“I would imagine the most polarizing difference would be that last part?” Lucius said. “If they do not believe the founding emperor to have been fully divine, then that would infer that those of his blood do not have the sacred right to rule.”
Angelica nodded. “You are quite perceptive, Sir Lucius. That is correct. The Saracens do not believe in the concept of an empire, nor in the emperor’s legitimacy. Such was why their people chose to depart for other lands before eventually settling down in the deserts of Arabia.”
“And such was why Pepin was so determined in his desire to conquer them.”
Lady Angelica spoke not another word. She merely turned around and peered out in the city’s direction. Lucius did not ask her how she knew all of this information, and none of the others dared to press the matter further—even Roland.
The lady Peer of the moment almost seemed ephemeral, as if she would soon disappear into the sands.
Thus did the rest of their voyage proceed in complete silence. When they had drawn close enough to see the city gates, however, Astolfo took out his ivory horn and blew into it, releasing a loud blare that echoed throughout the entire area.
Sir Roland narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath before speaking to the group. “We have arrived. Prepare yourselves for our descent.”
The golden chariot slowly dropped in altitude until its wheels landed with a soft thud onto the ground. Unlike the dunes before, the sand here was mixed with rock and had a more solid surface. Lucius could jump out without worrying about sinking; and soon, the rest of the group joined him and waited to be greeted.
A couple of guards marched forth wearing outfits quite different from Lucius’s fellow Peers. Instead of wearing fully armored suits of metal, the Saracen warriors instead chose to don long tunics underneath a light-weight stitched plate of leather. Another distinction were the weapons they wielded: curved swords, daggers, and smaller weapons.
What intrigued the gentleman most, however, was how colorful their garments were. The Franks typically used one color as a base and then applied small streaks to highlight various sections, but the Saracens were different in that they utilized many different colors—some ranging from three at the least to six all at once—and yet the combination was far from messy. They blended and wrapped around each other in elegant patterns.
From within the guard troop, a man without armor strolled ahead and beckoned to Sir Roland’s group with a friendly Frankish gesture. He had a black turban covering his head and a thick groomed beard on his chin. He wasn’t quite as dark skinned as Sir Ruggiero, but the color was noticeably deeper than the pale Franks.
“You must be the… honored guests Sir Ganelon spoke about,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Welcome, my friends, to the capital city of Arabia: the Rivers’ Cairo. I shall be your humble guide and interpreter during your stay. My name is Ibn-al-Arabi, but you may refer to me as simply Arabi.”
Sir Roland acknowledged him with a bow of his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Arabi. I am the leader of the demonic subjugation force, Sir Roland of the Peers.”
The man’s eye twitched for a brief moment that Lucius just barely caught. Whether Roland did too or not, he didn’t show it.
“Yes, yes. I know of your name, Sir Roland,” the man continued. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“I… see.”
Mister Arabi bid the group a wide smile and then gestured them toward the gate. “Allow me to show you to your accommodations. Sir Ferragut, the Giant, will not return for another few days. Please do be patient. Until then, I invite you to explore our fair city in the meanwhile.”
The group looked amongst each other and nodded, before following the Saracen guide into the wide open alleys of the Rivers’ Cairo. Lucius took the chance to admire the local architecture; and indeed, the structures had great charm befitting that of a city in a desert. Each building was constructed with a mixture of clay and sand, lending the city a rich sunworn color of beige, and were openly spaced out so that large crowds could easily slip through.
The ‘rivers’ in the name wasn’t for mere decoration either. Multiple channels flowed through the city, with some intended for drinking while the others for more multi-purpose uses, and oftentimes a large cluster of people would gather around a station and wait their turn to draw water. At the very center, however, was a giant spring that surrounded what appeared to be a religious mosque. The waters were crystal clear; and though Lucius wasn’t close enough to see inside the building, he suspected that it was where the current ruler of this nation resided.
>[Skill ‘The Best Scammers Are the Most Knowledgeable’ has been activated]<
How convenient! Lucius quickly hid the book away before anyone could see and continued his merry jaunt. It would make for some nice reading later; but for now, the gentleman was absorbed with Mister Ibn-al-Arabi’s passionate speech about the city.
“You have arrived at a most fortuitous time,” the man said to them while pointing at various attractions to look at. “The son of the former wiseman, or Emir as we call in our language, will soon hold his coming-of-age ceremony. It is a wondrous time, indeed, for us people of the sands. I am sure he will… greatly appreciate your presence, Sir Roland.”
The Peer suddenly turned stiff, and a nervous sweat began to drip from his brow. “The son, you say?”
“Yes, our culture considers adulthood to be at the tender age of twenty one. Ordinarily he would be taught the proper customs and rituals by his father, but—well, I am sure you are more knowing of how the previous Emir perished than I.”
Roland swallowed a dry gulp and looked down. “I suppose you could say that.”
Mister Ibn-al-Arabi stopped in place, and then he looked Roland directly in the eye. “You will not refuse, yes? For you to be led here during this time is no doubt by God’s will. His current wiseman—nay, the people themselves, have awaited this moment for much time.”
A cold chill ran along Lucius’s spine. He turned around to glance at the bystanders, only to be met with an eerie display.
Every single person, whether they be man, woman, or child, stood still and glared directly at Sir Roland.
They did not move a muscle, not even so much as a twitch. Their expressions were blank as the crystal waters; and yet there was no hiding the pure animosity, the fury, burning in their eyes—only in their eyes.
The others noticed this strange behavior as well and quickly huddled together. Normally someone would shout a quirky line in response to this oddity, usually Mili and sometimes even Marco, but the two were uncomfortably silent this time: and no wonder. It felt as if even the slightest of sounds would break the tension, and they didn’t care much to find out what would happen if they did.
In the end, it was Sir Roland who chose to speak.
“I will… be there,” he muttered. “It is only natural that I, as the Franks’ representative, give my graces to the next Emir.”
Mister Ibn-al-Arabi regarded Roland with an ominous indifference for some time, before raising his hand and signaling for the passersby to continue on with their day. Whatever the Saracen man had done, it wasn’t magic or even demonic.
Yes, the truth was much more simple, and yet elaborate at the same time. Lucius chuckled to himself and made a mental reminder—wherever the group would lodge for the night—to keep his door firmly locked.
For the entire city was likely to be their enemy.
Comments
Jonas
Sorry for the late release! I had to do a lot of research for this chapter because of the setting, which made the writing process take a bit longer than usual. I'm quite excited to show you what's coming up next though, so I hope you enjoy!
