“Salaam Aleikum.”
A tall young man, eyes as black as a passing mullah’s cloak, bowed slightly and raised his gloved hands. He was dressed in a splendid red uniform, pressed and with perfect grace.
He said, with an accent so dry it must have been swept into town with the desert winds, “Welcome to the Blue Parrot.”
A wide stairwell led downwards, gently lit by golden shell-shaped light-fittings, providing little illumination but casting long shadows. The stairs were carpeted, blood red. Plush. The walls and ceiling were hung with paisley pattern textiles, much like the ones they’d just seen in the bazaar.
Dan pulled back his long hair and tied it into a knot, his standard knee-jerk reaction when his environment challenged his appearance.
“Jesus, d’you reckon we can even afford a drink i
