WILLOCK 32

"Isn't it rude for a pianist to pluck thorny bushes this early in the morning?" An angelic, beautiful voice that I was quite new to and was familiar with stated from behind. It was always my duty to pluck out thicky bushes on times when I wasn't doing my piano duties in the evening. It was the princess, the princess of Iraq, Amir's sister, to be precise, and I had not yet gotten her name. How rude of me, I may say.

"You are quite an early bird, princess." I stated, turning my back to face her. I slightly bowed, something that I had spent quite a long time not doing.

"Yes, the air and breeze of this side of the country quite appease me." She said that, which made me smile a little. I was not quite the choosy of air since the start of my troubles; I had faced so much that I had forgotten what air and breeze felt like.

"Enjoy yourself, princess. I am not quite sure about the difference in breezes in this area in comparison to other areas." I added trying as much to be very precise and not sound rude by stating or rather identifying our differences as the cause of all this—you know, me not dealing with or being aware of the differences in the breezes and stuff. She just nodded when Ezron came up to me, shouting my name as hard as if he had not realized the presence of the princess, with whom we were sharing some little morning talks.

"Loo..ck!" Ezron stated, out of his breath, as if he had taken forever to look for me, but when he realized the situation, he quickly bowed, attempting to even want to withdraw from us to give us some space, but I cautioned him not to be so adamant or act up weirdly or whatever.

"Hi, Ezron." The princess stated, in some angelic voice, after Ezron had introduced himself, with which Ezron replied instantly, and the princess continued, "Your friend Lock here is quite a charm."

"Indeed" was all Ezron could say. Of course, he had not gone to school like I did; his education was all based on life experiences and the little things I had taught him throughout the journey, as he taught me about adventures and things I was not aware of.

As we were both speaking of different things, with the princess being so curious about life in British lands and how their council works, the kingdom, and everything of the sort, the prince Amir arrived, well dressed and groomed, maybe to leave.

"Sister, we have to leave." He stated that in a quite firm voice and seemed to not even yearn to engage with us. Of course I expected things like those: when royals speak to their similars or when one is of the royal crown, they tend not to really acknowledge mere peasants. After the princess left, Amir stayed and then, in one statement, said, "I want to see you alone, Lock." And with that, he just left without saying another word. He was quite different when speaking to strangers. Or maybe that's how he was supposed to act. Of course, he was expected to take the throne after the death of his father; maybe he, yes, was supposed to act out that way.

"Does he know you?" Ezron asked, looking at me keenly as if contemplating things.

"No, he acted quite unknowledgeable of my whereabouts, but he sure at first stated that we looked familiar with his friend, of course me." I stated.

"Do you think he might be curious about you? Can we lose our jobs? We've traveled so far, Lock; we can't run again." Ezron stated, and of course I could sense worry in his voice. He truly had a reason to worry; we had tried our best to hide our identity as much as possible. In so many areas where we entered and left, we used fake identity cards and had no papers. Even upon our arrival in Iraq, it was all by God's nature, because we actually expected the security to be much tighter. But one thing I quite learned here is that they respected their Muslim brothers and sisters more than anyone else.

"Don't worry much, Ezron; we will surpass this, and if anything is to happen, trust me that I will hold you and me, respectively. I will place your needs above mine. I don't know why he wants to talk with me, but I really have to talk to him. Let's be a little hopeful." I stated, making Ezron nod despite knowing that he was skeptical of all this and was not peculiarly interested in my talks about hope. He just wanted what was best for us, and I truly respected that.

We both left the area where we stood and entered the hotel as I left, maybe to look for Amir. If the prince requests a word with you, it would be so ignorant or rather offensive for one not to approach him; in British, it would be taken not as just a mistake but as a very bad ignorance and offensive act towards the crown. I walked through the cashier to check where the prince lived, and I certainly embarked on my journey to go and find him. Maybe the universe was helping, in one way or another; of course, the universe, maybe the universe, for many times... but I'd rather say this as the first time; I felt it was conspiring with me. It was calling me; it was making way for me. I am not sure how, but I felt this was a certain chance to make it all happen. To help us out of this rat hole of a place. I had not yet even shaved my hair or changed any of my complexion, for that matter. I just hoped the prince had some better news to offer me. And so, on arrival at the door where he slept, I stated to the guards that he had requested my audience, and of course, as expected, one of the guards entered inside, maybe to send the news or confirm something of that sort. It always happened, even back home. I cannot even imagine that my life had drastically changed just within a snap of a finger. I could not even recall much, but I sometimes still wonder if some time back I was a royal somewhere—a duke's son in that case. If I were to go back, what would they do? Was the question I started asking myself as I awaited the guard to come out—to either send me away or welcome me in—or maybe the prince had not yet arrived from wherever he had gone to visit in this land? Land embraced with beautiful beaches and beautiful women. I actually even enjoyed these people's culture; I had not yet even heard about prostitutes in this place. Ladies who are very common in London, especially in the dangerous streets, they are quite common, selling their flowers to any traveler, visitor, bourguese, duke, or king. They don't mind about their self-respect, but they just do it. Money? I'd rather pass on that.

"The prince is yet to see you." The guards directed their statement to me. He had first stated in the local narrative I account as maybe Arabian or sort of that, but when he saw that I had not flinched or shown any emotion but nothing other than confusion written all through my mind, he so repeated it in my well-understandable language.

"You said your name is Lock." He continued as they both looked at me as if interested in everything I was about to say.

"Yes." I replied to their question. Being here, I had learned nothing but respect for everyone; no one here was bigger than the other, and none was smaller; we were all equal in front of Allah, as they all stated even during their worship hours. Ezron had told me about converting to Islam and maybe changing my name, but I was quite skeptical about that, for as much as I was in another hometown, I still dreamt of going back to my land, I dreamt of leading the people, I dreamt of seeing everyone in the monarch happy and seeing my father proud of me, I dreamt of being a duke, I don't know, the dreams were quite confussing. For some, I saw myself seated on the throne, while for others, I was just taking over my father's businesses and controlling everything around me.

"So Lock, do you know the prince?" The guards continued, which somehow brought me to the reality that some two guards were inquiring or trying to be curious about me.

"We just met. I'm just a pianist." I stated it with the most utterly lowest voice I would ever make, which made both of them look at each other and then suddenly smile at me.

"You are lucky." They stated both at the same time, but I wish they knew that luck was one of the things that the universe had never given me. What is there to say I was lucky about? Lucky to be born a bastard? I was lucky to be thrown out of my hometown just because I was being said to be a threat to the throne. Sometimes the word luck is sort of charismatic, but for me it is nothing but an English word used to bring out hope and indebtness to the one being given the luck.

"Why do you say?" I asked, because somehow I wanted to know what exactly the prince needed me for.

"His sist…" As one of the guards started, the door opened, and outside came the prince in his lavish red and gold attire—amazing indeed.

"Lock, come in." He stated it in a rather firm and commanding tone. I guess he was the commander in chief of the Iraqian army, or something of that sort. Maybe he became, for he had quite changed from the prince I knew—the young prince who gave life no essence and who lived as if tomorrow lay uncertain. And with that statement, I followed the lavishing prince, my mind stating the words: maybe we all had changed, maybe just maybe.