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feeling that I’m on a hiding to nothing. ‘You all worship Allah.’
    ‘And who is Allah?’ she presses.
    ‘Your god.’
    ‘No,’ she barks. ‘
Our
god. God and Allah are one and the same. Assuming you believe in God.’
    ‘Well, I’m not religious, but if I did believe, it would be in God, not Allah.’
    ‘As I just told you,’ she says, ‘Allah
is
God. Our religions have the same roots. Muslims believe in the Old Testament and they revere Christ, Mary and all the saints
that Christians do.’
    I scratch my head and stare at her, lost for words.
    ‘You don’t know anything about Islam, do you?’ she says.
    ‘Not really, no,’ I admit grudgingly.
    Ashtat starts to laugh, then grimaces. ‘I’m sorry. I should not mock you for being ignorant. In my experience, most of your people knew nothing about mine. We were just potential
terrorists in your eyes.’
    I want to protest but I can’t, because it’s the truth.
    ‘I’m not going to give you a history lesson,’ Ashtat goes on. ‘If you are truly interested, you can look up the facts yourself. But Muslims and Christians – Jews
too – all started out in the same place and believe in the same God. We branched along the way, but at our core we are the same.
    ‘I’m Muslim,’ she continues, ‘but one of my grandmothers was Christian. She converted when she came to this country and married my grandfather, but she told her children
and grandchildren about her old beliefs and encouraged us to respect Christianity. The Virgin Mary was her favourite and I often say a prayer to her, thinking of my grandmother, especially in these
troubled times.’
    Ashtat stops and waits for me to respond. I can only gawp at her. It’s like I’ve been told that the Earth actually is flat or the moon truly is made of cheese.
    ‘Why did your people hate us if that’s the case?’ Shane asks. This is obviously news to him too.
    ‘Why did
your
people hate
us
?’ Ashtat retorts.
    ‘Because of September the tenth and all the other crap,’ Shane says.
    ‘You mean September the eleventh,’ Carl sighs, rolling his eyes.
    ‘What about the Crusades?’ Ashtat counters. ‘Western Christians tried to wipe out my people, to steal our land and treasures. Later, in the twentieth century, you divided up
our nations as it suited you, to govern us as you saw fit. You . . .’ She shakes her head. ‘We could argue about this forever, but it would not do any good. I don’t hate anyone or
blame anyone or see myself as being part of any army except the army of the Angels. The old grudges seem ridiculous now that the world has changed so much.’
    ‘You’re the one who started the argument,’ I pout.
    ‘I was not arguing,’ she contradicts me. ‘I was simply pointing out a matter of fact, in response to your assertion that Arabs could not also be Christians.’
    ‘All right. I stand corrected. Happy now?’
    ‘Yes,’ Ashtat says, putting away her crucifix.
    ‘I didn’t mean any harm,’ I add softly.
    She smiles. ‘I know. Forget about it.’
    ‘My dad . . .’ I consider telling them how I was raised, about my racist father, what happened with Tyler, how I’m trying to be different. But before I can decide how to start,
a Chinese guy enters the dining room and claps loudly.
    All conversation comes to an immediate halt. Everyone rises and bows. The newcomer waits a moment, then bows smoothly in return. When he straightens, he looks around, spots me and comes
across.
    He’s a bit taller than me, although not a lot older, maybe five or six years my senior, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. No shoes. Bones jut out of his toes and fingers. They’ve
been carefully trimmed into dagger-like tips.
    He stops in front of me. I’m the only person still sitting. I glance at the others but they don’t look at me. Their gazes are fixed dead ahead.
    ‘I am Master Zhang,’ he says softly. ‘In future you will stand and bow when you see me.’
    ‘Why?’ I