Click.
The sound of a clock hand progressing forward vibrated beneath Koza’s feet, followed by three deafening bells.
“Three o’clock,” he muttered, leaning on the railing of the observation deck.
With the exception of the palace, this little tower atop the domed roof of the clock tower was the highest point in the city. The clock tower loomed over the city; below, Koza could see the sun-dried brick buildings of Alubarna’s packed streets crowded shoulder to shoulder.
Here and there in the sandy city, people hurried about their business. Old women kneaded dough for kunafa at their street stalls, young men pulled carts piled high with vegetables, and children ran from alley to alley with dogs nipping at their heels. Traders and merchants lined the market, their colorful carpets and textiles forming a mosaic on the ground. It was another peaceful day in the kingdom.
Beneath Koza’s feet, the clock hand ticked forward again: It was now 3:01. The door behind him flew open suddenly and hit his back.
“Whoa! You startled me,” Koza said, turning around.
A little boy wearing a wrap around his head stared up at him.
“What are you doing here, Koza? This place is off-limits!” the boy exclaimed.
“I could ask the same of you, Fata,” Koza replied. “How did you get up here?”
“The door was unlocked,” Fata pouted, then jabbed a finger at Koza. “But you were already here!”
“I’m allowed,” Koza retorted.
“No fair! Grown-ups always say that!” the boy wailed. Koza noticed that his knees were dark and dusty—he must have crawled in through a vent.
Fata was the son of a family that ran a pub Koza often visited. He was a little scamp who’d just had his eighth birthday the month prior. He often played pranks on the customers at the bar, and got pounded by his father in exchange for his mischief. When Koza’s father Toh-toh visited from Yuba, he said, “Fata is just like you were at that age,” much to Koza’s indignation.
“What are you doing up here all alone?” Koza demanded.
“I like to draw. You can see all of Alubarna from up here.”
Fata pulled a crumpled-up piece of paper from his pocket. It was papyrus, a material made from pressed and woven reeds. Paper made from wood was a rarity in arid Alabasta, so to write or draw, people wrote on papyrus with pens made from whittled hawk feathers.
“But you don’t have to come up here to draw.”
“So? I get more inspiration when I’m up high,” Fata shot back cheekily, and plopped down on the floor. He took an ink bottle from his pocket and pulled out the stopper. After sticking the end of his quill pen into the ink, he started drawing on the papyrus without any preparation.
“I’m telling you, you’re not supposed to be up here,” Koza grumbled, casting a glance at the city of Alubarna below.
The truth was that he couldn’t scold Fata that harshly. When he was a boy, Koza had declared this spot the secret base of the Sand-Sand Band, and had snuck up here with his friends on many occasions. What was it about forbidden places that made them so tempting to infiltrate?
A lukewarm breeze from below ruffled his hair. Koza wiped a thin layer of sand from his glasses and squinted toward the distance, past the city walls. People thought of deserts as being flat and uniform, but the sand took on many colors and patterns depending on the angle of the light; the shadows behind the rocks were faded reddish brown, the sun was white, and the tops of the dunes were a pale orange while the feet were darker. Crossing this spectrum of color was a trail of footprints from a caravan of camels making their way across the sand.
In Alabasta, time moved like sand, trickling slowly through one’s fingers. At the moment, Koza’s job was protecting this sense of peace. Princess Vivi would momentarily be leaving with King Cobra for Marijoa. Igaram, Chaka, and Pell would accompany them. While they were gone, Koza would remain behind to keep Alabasta safe.
It wouldn’t just be Koza, of course. Backing him up was the royal army, and his old companions from the Rebel Army. Still, protecting an entire nation was a considerable task—a burden that Vivi and Cobra constantly shouldered.
“Hey,” Fata said from the floor. “You’re pretty cool, Koza.”
“Huh?” Koza grunted.
“Everyone loves you,” the boy replied simply.
“What is this about?” Koza frowned, suspicious. Fata peered curiously directly into his eyes.
“Have you ever loved anyone?” he asked.
After a silence that lasted most of a minute, Koza finally croaked, “That’s a good question.”
What does he mean by that? Love? What a question, Koza thought.
Fata let out a dramatic sigh, then cast his gaze on the palace that loomed beyond the distant plaza.
“For the first time in my life,” he said, “I’ve fallen in love with a woman, it seems.”
After an even longer silence, Koza simply said, “Oh.”
At the age of eight, he already had a crush. Who could it be? Salma, the girl who worked at the flower shop? She was Fata’s age. Or maybe it was Jasmine, the inn-keeper’s daughter.
“It’s a love fraught with challenges,” Fata opined. “She’s a beautiful flower beyond my reach.”
“Oh, so it’s Vivi,” Koza guessed.
“How did you know?!”
If a person spoke about an out-of-reach flower in Alabasta, it was obvious they were talking about the princess. Unlike most people, however, Koza knew the princess quite well. They’d played together as young children.
“You must swear absolute secrecy,” Fata demanded.
“Who would I tell?”
“I don’t know! Just promise me!”
“Fine, fine. But why Vivi?” Koza asked. “She’s a princess.”
Fata looked at the ground bashfully and murmured, “Many reasons…”
“Like what?”
“Last week,” the boy replied, “I was sitting down in the plaza and drawing a picture of Princess Vivi. I was looking at a picture of her in the newspaper. You know how I’m really good at drawing, right?”
This was not quite true. Koza glanced down at the papyrus held between Fata’s hands and saw a series of blobs and scribbles. Whatever he was drawing, it wasn’t good.
“It was the best drawing I’ve ever made,” Fata went on. “I was really happy about it, and then the real Princess Vivi walked by. She was with Terracotta. Amazing coincidence, right? So I ran after her and gave Vivi the drawing. She was really happy about it. Ever since, I can’t get that smile out of my head. Whether my eyes are open or closed, she’s all I can think about. Remembering her smile makes my heart feel like it’s about to burst. It goes boom-boom-boom… Is that love, Koza?”
Why are you asking me? he thought. Unable to come up with any wise advice for the young boy, Koza pretended to be distracted by a passing bird. Setting aside the question of what love was, Fata faced some considerable obstacles: Vivi was much older than he was, and she was also a princess. But to Koza, claiming age or status as an impediment to love felt uncalled-for, somehow.
Fata went on, “So I was thinking, what does Princess Vivi like? Alabasta. So I decided to draw a picture of Alubarna and give it to her next.”
“You’d better do it quickly, then,” Koza muttered. A second bird joined the first he was observing. “Vivi’s leaving for Marijoa soon.”
“What?!” Fata was shocked.
The upcoming Reverie had been all over the papers for ages, but Fata clearly hadn’t been paying attention. He hopped to his feet and grabbed Koza, looking panicked.
“What’s Marijoa?! Where is that? Is it far?!”
“It is,” Koza responded truthfully.
The boy’s face visibly paled.
“Oh no. I shouldn’t be sitting around, procrastinating on this drawing.”
“It’s not like you’ll be separated for life,” Koza reminded him. “Once the Reverie is over, she’ll be coming right back.”
“But it hurts not to be able to see her. What do you think I should do, Koza?!”
“Just calm down. You can’t stop her from going to the Reverie,” Koza said flatly.
Fata gave him a sidelong look. “I’m guessing you’ve never loved anyone, then. If you’re really in love, you can’t just sit still. I have to do something to tell Princess Vivi I love her, before she leaves for that…Verevie thing.”
“Well then, you’d better do it,” Koza advised.
“But I don’t know what to do!” Fata snapped, clinging to Koza’s trousers. “Help me think of something. Like, maybe there’s some way I can meet with Princess Vivi.”
“I dunno,” Koza replied. “Maybe just keep hanging around here and you’ll run into her again.”
“Just hoping for something isn’t a real plan,” said Fata. “Oh! I know! Could I sneak into her bedroom in the middle of the night?”
“Chaka and Pell would toss you right out of the palace, you idiot,” Koza said.
“Then what should I do?!”
How should I know? thought Koza. “Write her a letter or something,” he suggested. But Fata did not seem convinced.
“That won’t work. She’s not going to read it. Letters arrive at the palace every day from countries all over the world. I bet she even gets proposals from suitors trying to win her hand. My letter would get buried in all that.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Koza said with annoyance. For all of Fata’s high-minded rhetoric about love, he didn’t know the first thing about Vivi. “She’ll make sure to read it.”
Koza knew from experience that Vivi didn’t ignore even the smallest of voices. Sadly, he couldn’t claim the same attribute: Two years ago, when Vivi had tried to shout to him over the rumbling of cannons and smoke as the Rebel Army invaded Alubarna, Koza hadn’t heard her.
If the situation had been reversed, Vivi would have stopped and listened. Vivi always heard and paid attention, no matter how quiet the voice was. She faced every problem that arose, whether it was a minor matter or something big that required help from others, and she did so with the utmost sincerity. She’d been like that ever since they were kids.
“Really?” Fata seemed hopeful again. “Would the princess really read my letter?”
“Trust me, she will.”
Fata was dubious, but with Koza’s encouragement, he turned his attention back to the papyrus on the floor. He’d already drawn the city (supposedly), but there was plenty of space left to write a message as well.
The boy dipped his quill into the ink, then traced his chin with the soft end of the feather thoughtfully. He gazed into the distance, sighed heavily, and murmured, “Love is tough.”
Good luck with that, kid, Koza thought.