NZBC summer fiction
PART ONE
The Mu’ezzin of the Sultan al-Zahir Barquq mosque in the City of the Dead was calling for morning prayers when in one last rattling exhalation the Englishman opposite me expired. As his head fell forward, jangling our coffee cups and startling the clientele, his skin appeared almost translucent in the dust-dappled light. “Shem-el-Nessim!” were his final words. Read on...





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