Chapter 13 #2
A factory with remarkable architecture, but clearly a factory.
Hasim’s female friends didn’t accompany them this time but stayed on the tram and waved goodbye as they rode away.
Francis was pleased it was just the two of them now.
Some men in short sleeved tunics and baggy trousers were outside the factory entrance, in the middle of unloading a box of metal rods, but they paused their work and bowed when Hasim and Francis approached.
Francis was used to people bowing and didn’t realise until afterwards that it was strange they had bowed, when Francis was in disguise. But he was too interested in seeing the factory to think on it.
One of the men took them inside after a quick conversation in Turkish, and Francis was led on another wonderful journey of discovery.
Never in his life had he seen a factory like this: tall inside, with a domed roof made of glass, letting the light in, and tall windows.
Sturdy wrought iron framework crisscrossed the upper space, complimenting the glass in a pleasing way.
Mosaic tiles decorated the walls inside, with a recurring motif of the rising sun.
And all of this to house machinery the likes of which Francis could never have dreamt existed; large cylinders of varying sizes, all humming and glowing in golden light.
Workers dressed casually flitted about among the machines, some floor level and some suspended. One of them removed a set of dark goggles from her head, grey hair tied back from her face, and approached them.
She spoke in Turkish as she greeted Hasim with a smile and kissed both his cheeks.
Hasim smiled back then introduced Francis in German.
“Archie, this is my cousin, Sanay. She is the senior engineer. If you have questions, she is the one to ask.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Francis said, bowing his head to her.
Sanay took no notice of his formality and drew Francis in for two kisses, too.
“Welcome!” she said in German, her accent not as strong as Hasim’s. “Have you witnessed the power of solar energy before?”
“No, I haven’t,” Francis replied. If one didn’t count the sun burning his skin to a crisp. “I’m curious as to how it works.”
“You saw the silver panels outside?” Sanay asked him.
“Yes, Hasim pointed them out.”
“Those panels draw in the heat,” Sanay explained, walking away to show them. “Here,” she pointed up at a huge cylinder, “is where the heat travels into a filament. Like a giant lightbulb.”
“A giant what?” Francis asked, crowding in beside her. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at.
Hasim said something in Turkish.
“Ah, okay,” Sanay said. “The filament is…a coil.” She made a circular motion with her finger.
“The heat goes around, becomes hot, and our generators convert that heat into energy. We store the energy in these power banks.” She led them along a metal walkway, showing them pipes and more silver panels.
“And send that energy into the city. There is no smoke from burning a fuel source, like coal. No steam, no pollution to the air. The air in our great city has never been clearer, all thanks to natural energy from the sun, wind, and water.”
“It sounds very impressive,” Francis said, glancing back at Hasim. “I can grasp how the wind and water are harvested, but I’m afraid I’m still not sure I understand how you capture the sun so.”
Hasim smiled at him. “She can show you a lightbulb. Same machine, but smaller.”
“Yes, they are where this all started,” Sanay explained. “Come.”
She took them deeper in among the glowing generators, rooted around in a box and handed Francis a bare lamp that cradled a glass ornament on top.
“What is this?”
“Watch,” Hasim told him.
Sanay flipped a switch on the lamp, and the glass bulb shone brightly.
“Oh!” Francis exclaimed. “Like magic!”
“See here?” Sanay leaned in, switched the lamp off, and carefully pointed a finger on the bulb’s glass surface.
“That small glowing coil inside, that is the filament. In the case of powering lights, once the filament reaches a certain temperature it produces this slightly yellow colour to our eyes. And captured within glass, it can be contained safely. Solar powered light for your home, for the streets, even for the palace.”
“Oh, I understand,” Francis said, peering in at the miniature marvel. “May I?”
Sanay smiled and gestured for him to go ahead.
Francis flipped the switch himself to watch the bulb turn on and flipped it off again to watch the filament still glowing even after the bulb went dark.
“And this is all powered from the sun?”
“Yes,” Sanay said. “Every day, charge in the sun. It runs all night.”
A ringing sound went off, and Sanay excused herself before walking away.
“Hasim, this is extraordinary,” Francis said. “Thank you for showing me.”
He was so engaged that it took him a moment to fully realise Hasim had gone quiet.
“Hasim?” Francis turned to him, admiring for a moment how the glow of the turbine just beyond gave Hasim the appearance of a golden aura.
Hasim had been staring at the ground, hands tucked behind his back. Now he looked up, his dark eyes troubled.
“Archie.”
Francis almost looked around, half expecting to see his dear friend approaching, before he quickly remembered he was supposed to be Archie.
“Yes?”
“I wish to tell you something,” Hasim said. He remained standing as he was, hands tucked away. Neutral, unimposing.
He’s about to deliver bad news, Francis assumed, bracing himself.
Before he could reply, Hasim continued. “Some years ago…my heart was broken. Ever since then, I have…struggled.”
Oh, Francis thought, immediately feeling bad. This wasn’t what he’d expected Hasim to come out with at all.
“Hasim, you don’t need to,” he began, but Hasim shook his head once.
“I can sense you are upset with me,” he said.
“Please, let me explain. I am married, yes. I visit the hookah den or the bathhouse, and I have taken lovers sometimes, yes. But…” He exhaled softly.
“But I spend my days alone. I mean, I am with my cats. Theirs is the only company I can bear most days.”
“Hasim, I…”
“Until I met you,” Hasim said urgently. “And now I feel alive again. I promise you, Archie, with all my heart, if you stay with me, I will be in no one’s bed but yours, if it pleases you.”
Francis dearly wanted to say yes, despite the fact he still needed to explain that his name wasn’t Archie.
But this was an impossible situation.
“Hasim, I…I’m so sorry,” Francis said. “I can’t promise I can stay, only because it’s out of my hands.”
Hasim didn’t move, but the look in his eyes showed his disappointment.
“You will ask?” he urged. “Ask your prince for his permission to stay?”
“Well, um…” Francis trailed off. He didn’t know what to say, but he had to think of something. “I’m not sure it’s in his hands either, Hasim.”
“Are you married?” Hasim asked.
Francis was about to say no, then realised Archie was indeed married. He couldn’t keep lying like this, it was getting ridiculous.
“I’m not wed to anyone,” Francis answered.
“I’m not otherwise seeing anyone either.
That is, besides yourself,” he added with a small smile.
“You know, Hasim, I would very much like to stay with you here, but I’m honestly not sure how I’d go about it.
The, uh, prince is engaged in this…tournament for the king, and that has to take precedent. ”
The look on Hasim’s face shifted at the mention of the tournament.
“That will end soon,” he said firmly.
“Oh?” Francis was surprised to learn that. “I thought it went on for another week?”
Hasim shook his head, dark brows knitting together. “It will end early.”
Francis had no idea why he looked so pained about it.
“Oh, I see,” he said, thinking things through. Perhaps he could write home to Granny and explain he was extending his visit? Come up with some excuse?
He was about to suggest as much, and began to say, “Perhaps I,” at the exact same time Hasim said, “I have something to tell you.”
They both paused, and the awkward moment lingered.
“Sorry, do go first,” Francis insisted.
Hasim shifted on the spot. Francis had never seen him look nervous like this. “I, um…I wanted to tell you…”
“Hasim!” Sanay called loudly. “Telefon!”
Hasim turned and called back in Turkish, sounding cross, and the two of them had a brief, shouted conversation across the factory floor.
Whatever it was about, Sanay kept repeating the word telefon, and it seemed too important for Hasim to ignore. Hasim waved his hand in defeat while huffing quietly.
“I have to answer this first,” he explained.
“What is a…telefon?” Francis asked.
Hasim smiled wanly. “You will see.”
They went to Sanay, who was standing at a pillar holding what looked like a small baton in her hand, connected to the pillar by a long wire. She offered the baton to Hasim as he approached and stepped back to let him speak into it.
Francis looked at the body of the pillar and its strange machine, wondering what this telefon could do.
Hasim had a brief conversation in Turkish with the baton, his eyes going wide in alarm.
“What? What’s the matter?” Francis asked.
“We must return you to the palace at once,” Hasim said, setting down the telefon. “Prince Francis was injured in the tournament today.”
Oh, dear.
“Injured how?” Francis asked, worried about Archie.
“A strike to the face during the boxing match.”
“Good heavens!” Francis said. “Is he seriously hurt?”
“He is conscious and alert,” Hasim said.
Francis sighed in relief. “Then I’m sure he’ll be fine but, yes, I suppose I should go and check on him.” He paused. “What were you going to tell me earlier?”
Hasim shook his head. “It can wait. We must check on your prince first.”
Francis bit his lip against saying something about his prince he may regret later.
“Yes. Let us talk later, then.”