King’s Point
Narich, Anata
The neighbourhood of King’s Point was one of towering and crowded residential buildings and sprawling shopping centres. It was a neighbourhood marked by each successive wave of immigrants to the Caldan Union, many of whom first arrived in Narich. Each set of new arrivals tried to create a space for themselves and then tried to preserve that space, tried to build a sense of continuity, even as new and different groups arrived. Each group brought its own religious, cultural, culinary, and fashion preferences and each absorbed something of the others as well as the larger Caldan culture. Things mixed together in sometimes novel ways. For example, King’s Point boasted the Kosher Chinese Deli and The Original Curry Burrito, both restaurants that brought in novelty-seekers and, every now and then, even a repeat customer. Like most such neighbourhoods, it also drew its share of hipsters and Bohemians who had to have their Wizard Coffee and their Brandt Brewery. Cities and neighbourhoods shift and King’s Point more than most. These days one found Dayan bakeries and pleasant little Luwite restaurants where the experienced diner could get braised ox tripe in red wine sauce as good as any served in Sring Issa. There were also plenty of little places serving a Snefaldian Blend, combining a variety of Snefaldian traditions with a touch of contemporary Caldan cuisine. An Aatem Nal Library was now among the King’s Point houses of worship, joining two mosques, a synagogue, and a Buddhist meditation centre and, during daylight hours, it was common to see older people in intricate Snefaldian robes.
After dark, of course, things were a little different, especially on warm nights in one of the warmest falls on reocord. April Banner wondered if she should be walking along so late. She was a young woman in her late teens. She wore her hair in long braids which dangled in front of her face when she looked down at her worn trainers. She’d heard rumours of rising crime rates in the Snefaldian community, even vigilantism against those who crossed them politically. Now that the election was in full gear, it seemed to be almost all the People’s Party talked about. Changing the rules on asylum and immigration was, after all, a lot easier than reversing a constitutional amendment. At least that was the impression April had. She hadn’t been the best civics student. But she didn’t tend to think much of people like the People’s Party. April was a black girl from King’s Point, born and bred. She’d gotten to know a lot of Snefaldians since the started arriving in large numbers over the last few years and she was no stranger to prejudice from People’s Party types, even if she’d rarely seen it displayed so openly. So she tried to avoid generalisations.
Still, that didn’t mean there wasn’t crime in the neighbourhood. Not all the rumours were just made up. April’s steps quickened as she moved across the mostly abandoned shopping centre. There were still too many cars in the carpark and she could faintly here the sound of music coming from a windowless, unmarked establishment. She wrinkled her nose. It was Emma Holt’s latest insipid complaint about an ex-lover. April was more of a Nicki Pall fan. Still, nothing to be concerned about. She had almost dismissed the place from her mind when she was a man in a baggy hoody run out of the door. He froze as if surprised to see April, looking in her direction like a deer caught in headlights. April stumbled backwards, worried about what the man might do. After a few seconds which seemed like an eternity, he simply turned and ran in the opposite direction. She paused and waited , giving the strange man time to get well clear of her. She had no idea what he was about but he didn’t seem like good news. He didn’t seem like good news at all.
That was when the music stopped and she heard a series of popping sounds and muffled screams. What seemed like seconds later, before April even had time to react, she saw fire in the windows of two of the neighbouring storefronts. She heard the glass blowout as she ran away towards the road. Once there, she pulled out her SimonX phone and dialed 369. ‘Police,’ she began in a trembling voice, ‘I need help. Please!’ As she spoke, her nostrils flared. There was a smell in the air that seemed familiar but not. It reminded her a little of burnt pork like when her father had left a pork loin in the oven for two hours too long and the whole kitchen had been filled with smoke. He had been making it for her birthday when her mother had to be out of town. He knew it was her favourite dish. When she realised what the smell really was...It wasn't her favourite anymore.
