The Carpet Cipher

by Jane Thornley

  Peaches sat down in the chair beside me and whispered: “So what the hell is going on?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I said. “What took you so long? I’ve waited for you all day.”

  “What took me so long? I went shopping in the medina and its friggin’ fabulous, for one thing. Have you been? Like, I get the cabdriver to drop me off—he tried to take me to his uncle’s carpet shop but I wasn’t having that—and found this store that sells robes of every color you can imagine. I bought five! Serena told me there was no way I should come to Morocco in my stretchies. This being a Muslim country, I get that, but I can tell you, I’ve seen plenty of tourists in short-shorts that would make my threads look sedate. Don’t people have respect?”

  Stretchies was her word for the spandex and the leather body-hugging outfits she preferred. I leaned over. “You still don’t exactly blend.”

  She grinned. “Think you do with your screaming red locks? Besides, I never blend, sister. Hey,” she said, looking up, “here comes tea.”

  As Mohammed served the steamy mint brew, Ingram appeared with a map. “I have marked the place in the medina where the pharmacy is located, Miss Martin. Not very far. I have called to say you are coming. Ask for Shadiz. He will take care of your hand.”

  “Hand? What’s wrong with your hand?” Peaches asked, whipping her attention from Mohammed’s adroit tea-pouring techniques to my wounded member resting now out of sight on my lap.

  “I burned it. On a stove,” I added, bringing it into view. My injury looked far too severe for any minor household accident.

  Peaches hissed. “So, like, I’ll take her, Ingram. Pass me the map.”

  Ingram looked from one of us to the other. “I would be happy to—”

  “No, no. I passed that place a short time ago—like something out of Harry Potter, right?”

  The young man beamed. “Yes, miss, exactly!” Obviously the beloved wizard had reached even North Africa.

  “Right. Come on, Penny. Let’s get you some help,” Peaches said, lifting from the chair by one elbow.

  I insisted on at least changing from my jeans to loose trousers and a tunic top first (and to ensure my gun was packed deep in my bag) before allowing myself to be mustered out the door, through the alley, and into the malodorous courtyard. Peaches continued steering me by the elbow.

  “I need a hat,” I said.

  “Forget the hat for now. What the hell happened?” she said the moment we were well away from the riad.

  I provided my summary as briefly as possible, ending with my belief that the riad held the hidden dowry. “It’s much more complex and serious than I ever anticipated. These bastards murdered Maria Contini and tried to kill me, too. Whatever it is, it must be valuable.”

  “Holy shit!” she exclaimed, slapping a hand over her mouth when a passerby cast her a sharp look. “You needed me before this. I told you I’d be your bodyguard, woman.”

  “I didn’t think I’d need a bodyguard when I went to Venice,” I protested as she steered me along. “Besides, I mostly have the skills to take care of myself. I’m just no match for a gang.” The last one I dealt with were the Willies, of which her own brother had been the head. That we helped put both our criminal brothers behind bars might not have been the traditional bond of sisterhood but it worked for us.

  “What were you doing going into that building alone, anyway?”

  We were in an alley now, treading the winding path among tourists interspersed with robed locals and plenty of zipping mopeds. I hated those things. They were the auditory equivalent of motorized flies and made it damned hard to see if we were being followed. One zipped too close to me, this one of the expensive motorcycle variety, forcing me against a wall and putting me further on edge. I could have sworn that same red T-shirted guy had passed us at least twice before and that at least one helmeted motorcyclist made a couple of drive-bys, too. “I wasn’t alone. Evan was waiting for me by the entrance. We were in touch every second. How’d I know they planned to torch the place?”

  “So why didn’t Muscle Man go in there with you? What kind of bodyguard is he?”

  “He didn’t fit in the corridor,” I said, “and neither would you, and he’s not my ‘bodyguard.’ We’re on the same side of this particular scenario, that’s all.”

  “Well, I’m your bodyguard from here on in, got that? No foolin’ around. Her Majesty has one, Sir Rupe has one, and now you have one.” Her Majesty referred to Nicolina, not the queen.

  “Sure but you are also our engineer and head contractor,” I reminded her.

  She snorted. “Multitasking is my game. As soon as the labor force gets their lazy butts back to work, I’ll get back to the other job. I’m also part of our new enterprise so let me feel useful, will you? I don’t know shit about art except that my brother traded drugs for the stuff. For now, I watch your back, sister. And maybe your hand, too.” She had me by the wrist now, tugging me through the medina like a naughty child and I almost didn’t mind. In these vulnerable moments, I was willing to temporarily take the back seat. “You’re lucky you didn’t get burned to a crisp and what’s with trying to protect a book of fabric scraps—you crazy, woman?”

  “It was a very valuable historic compendium of everything the Continis had produced, not ‘fabric scraps.’ I—”

  “Wait, I think this is it.” She dropped my hand and took out the map.

  We both stared at the building before us, a partially open-air shop painted bright blue with jars and unidentifiable bottled things lining the front. Strange objects dangled in the breeze—gourds, calabashes, and at least one rare cat pelt. “That’s a pharmacy? It looks like a Chinese medicine shop crossed with something right out of Harry Potter, like you said.”

  “Yeah,” Peaches said. “The North African Harry Potter magic shop—a Berber pharmacy. I’ve seen different pharmacies all over Africa but I’ve only just heard of the Moroccan ones. How cool is that?” While Peaches had been studying engineering in London, she had taken several trips to the southern African continent in search of her roots. Her face broke into a wide grin. “Let’s go.”

  “I think I’d prefer a Boots about now.”

  “You nuts? These guys are like one of the oldest pharmacies on earth. Half of the pharmaceutical stuff is based on these potions. They’re like medicine men and they can certainly tend to a wounded paw like yours. Come along, Phoebe.”

  “Penny,” I reminded her, stepping forward.

  “Penelope’s my real name, too, remember?”

  “I didn’t choose it, Evan did.”

  “I got to meet this Evan guy. Sounds like a piece of work.”

  Inside, the shop was a fascinating blend of the cosmetic, the medicinal, the magical, and everything in between. Cones of colored powders caught my attention right away and for a moment I was oblivious to the beautiful woman with the perfect skin who stepped before me describing the benefits of argan and rose oil, a jar held in each hand. “Sure, I’ll take both,” I mumbled, heading for the color wall.

  “Penelope,” Peaches called. “Bring your paw here to meet Shadiz.”

  I turned. Peaches was standing beside a man in a kind of turban and a white robe, one arm slung over his shoulder. Both were beaming as if they’d just encountered a long-lost friend.

  “Shadiz, thank you for seeing me,” I said moments later as we were ushered into a back room and to what could have been an examining table had it not been covered in some kind of dust. Shadiz spent a few moments cleaning up, Peaches assisting as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I was instructed to rest my hand on a length of clean white cloth while Shadiz inspected it, muttering to himself in Arabic all the while.

  “I think he’s saying it’s not good,” Peaches remarked.

  “Not good but not deadly. Shadiz fix,” the man assured me with an encouraging smile. “This happened how?”

  “I burned it on the stove.”

  “But there is a deep cut there also,” he
said, studying my hand intently.

  “I’m a mess in the kitchen,” I said. “I cut myself with a knife, too.”

  “Tell him truth. We need friends here, Phoeb, and Shadiz is a friend.” Peaches was staring at me—I mean, seriously staring.

  “I will do you no harm,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “It is my pledge to Allah. Speak the truth and I will help you. Healing is in my hands.”

  Try arguing against that. “Fine. I have a ruthless gang of thieves following me who have already killed one person. They think I may lead them to something important and maybe I already have—or close, anyway. Now it seems they want me dead, too.”

  Shadiz straightened. “You have my protection.” In a moment, he stepped out, returning moments later with a basin of fragrant water, the lovely cosmetics saleswoman with him carrying a tray of implements and unguents.

  “While I work, please read the wall and Fatima will translate.”

  I gazed up at the wall to my right, realizing for the first time that there was writing in gold script above the shelves. Fatima began translating.

  “O mankind! There has come to you a good advice from your Lord, and a healing for that which is in your hearts. And We send down from the Quran that which is a healing and a mercy to those who believe.”

  And while she read, Shadiz drained the infection from my wound with a quick stab of something I hoped was sterilized—I didn’t look—and bathed my hand in a dish of warm, fragrant water. Next, he applied a pungent ointment and wrapped my hand in a length of gauze. Yes, it hurt like hell and yet it felt soothing at the same time. Unaccountable, I know, but there you have it. When he was finished, my hand felt much better and I believed it would heal at last. Magic, belief, a higher power—who knew?

  “Thank you, Shadiz. What do I owe you?” I asked.

  “When I do God’s work, I do not take payment.” Then he bowed.

  Unable to thank him in any other way, I went shopping in the main store, purchasing pots of dye powder, argan oil and rosewater bath oils, herbs, a package of real saffron, eucalyptus rubs, and an assortment of frankincense, jasmine flower, and musk, avoiding the dried hedgehog and chameleon bits. I was probably overcharged for the whole lot but I didn’t care. When I finished paying for my treasures, Peaches had disappeared.

  “In back room with Shadiz. Everything okay,” Fatima assured me as she turned to help the two Swedish backpackers looking for a snoring aid. That left me to further explore the shop of wonders, marveling at some things, wincing at others, until I stopped dead by the front door. The man leaning against the parked moped outside was definitely the same one who’d streaked past us on our way over—swarthy skin, a red sports shirt worn over jeans, a skim of a beard. To me he looked exactly of the same ilk as those who had terrorized me in Venice. I ducked back into the shop.

  “Fatima, where’s Peaches?”

  She pointed toward the back of the store. Dropping my parcels on the counter, I dashed through multiple rooms and through a beaded curtain until I found Peaches and Shadiz head-to-head in some kind of intense negotiation.

  “Penny,” Peaches said, obviously delighted with something. “Shadiz will get me a knife.”

  “A knife? What good’s a knife?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said but he doesn’t deal in AK-47s or guns of any kind. A knife will have to do. I’m pretty good with one actually.” Then she caught my look of alarm and added: “Kidding, just kidding, about the guns, anyway!”

  “Forget the guns! There’s a guy out front who followed us all the way from the riad. He’s waiting for us to come out now. Tell me what good a knife’s going to do us there? We can’t go outside and stab him!” Admittedly, I was overreacting. Blame the trauma of the last few days. I turned to Shadiz. “Is there a back way out?”

  “You expect us to run?” Peaches’s expression had turned murderous. She spun around and strode through the curtain, Shadiz and I scrambling after her. We practically had to run to catch up, which we couldn’t do until she was out the door, across the alley, and had taken some little man by the scruff of the neck. Only not the right little man, as it turned out. That one had disappeared.

  “That’s not him!” I cried.

  The little man was squealing and crying out in Arabic at this tall Amazon who had suddenly accosted him. Peaches released him and he fell to the dust. In seconds, he was on his feet and scurrying down the alley.

  “I know that man. He delivers packages for me.” Shadiz shook his head sadly. “This will not be good.”

  “Damn,” Peaches muttered. “I planned to just scare him, you know?”

  “And here comes the cavalry,” I said.

  There were two uniformed men marching down the street toward us with the delivery man beside them pointing at Peaches. While we stood waiting for an encounter, Shadiz stepped forward, hands raised, laughing. He spoke to the officers as if it was all a big joke, a huge misunderstanding—ha, ha. The officers appeared unconvinced. Probably had the attacker been anyone but a very tall black woman, the matter would have been smoothed over more quickly. As it was, Shadiz had to do a lot if talking while apparently appeasing his delivery driver.

  “Morocco is one of the few countries in Africa with serious racist issues against darker skins,” Peaches said under her breath. “But not so bad here in Marrakech, I hope. And me being female and stronger than most of these guys doesn’t help. That’s two counts against me. A couple of dudes called out ‘Obama’ when I was walking by on my way over.”

  “That’s a compliment, isn’t it?”

  “I doubt they meant it that way.”

  We fell silent when Shadiz returned with his arm over the shoulders of the trembling delivery man. “Kamal, please meet my friends, Peaches and Penny. They were attacked by a bad man earlier and you look just like him. Isn’t that amusing? I am sure Peaches is sorry to have frightened you.”

  “Yes, I am, Kamal. Very sorry,” Peaches said, bowing as if trying to shrink to the man’s height. “Will you forgive me?”

  Kamal squirmed in Shadiz’s embrace but his employer gripped him tight. “We forgive, yes, my friend? Allah wishes us to forgive so all is forgiven.”

  One of the officers spoke in rapid Arabic, obviously unamused, but finally Kamal threw up his hands mumbling something in Arabic and suddenly the party was over. Shadiz ushered us back into the shop and called for tea, which was served in yet another back room. Then he left us alone.

  Which suited me because I was shaken. “They know where I am.”

  “I thought it was a case of mistaken identity?” Peaches asked, sipping her tea. “Think I’m going to love this stuff eventually. Hell, that was close. Did you see how armed those cops were?”

  “You tried to throttle the wrong man but the guy I saw earlier was definitely one of them. I never really got a good look at any of them except to notice that the three guys looked so much alike they could have been brothers. They all had the same wiry build and short hair. That was one of them, I’m sure if it.”

  “Yet he took off.”

  “Probably saw me from the window. Look, let’s get back to the riad. We have work to do.”

  “We have to come back later and pick up the knife. Shadiz has to have it brought in tonight after dark but he’s open until 9:00.”

  “What do you need a knife for?”

  “Protection obviously.”

  “But I have a gun.”

  “Good for you but that still leaves your bodyguard defenseless. No, I’m getting me a knife.”

  We thanked Shadiz, gathered our bundles, and left. This time my bodyguard kept surveying every passerby our entire way back through the medina but neither cyclist made another appearance. Still, any little thing made me uneasy now. They were in Marrakech, I was sure of it, and every robed man, every veiled woman, could be one of them. What would they do next?

  “They must know where we’re staying,” I whispered as we crossed the stinky chicken courtyard heading for th
e riad. “That may be one of them I heard chinking away last night.”

  “Yeah, maybe. From what you’ve told me, they must know you’re here if your stuff was bugged and everything. We just have to make sure they don’t get to the booty before us.”

  Which wasn’t going to be easy. Back at the riad, Ingram met us at the door, relieved to see my bandaged hand and that we’d had such a good shopping episode. Though we insisted that we were just going to relax indoors for the rest of the afternoon, he and Mohammed were so attentive that it was challenging getting down to serious investigation without being observed. And then there was the housekeeping staff busy mopping the tiles and cleaning the rooms.

  Finally, we resolved on a room-by-room assessment with at least one of us posted at the door at all times. “We’ll make like we’re playing chess together or something, you know, new best buds,” Peaches said. “Let me go have a shower and change into my stretchies. Then we can get down to work.”

  “We should start upstairs and work down,” I whispered.

  “I know you heard chipping up there last night but nobody in their right mind is going to hide something for seven hundred years on a roof,” Peaches pointed out. “That thing would have been repaired and then repaired some more, as in multiple times. Whatever’s hidden here has to be on the floor level. That’s why I chose the lower bedroom.”

  I saw her logic. “Fine, we’ll start in the library.” I held my phone before her eyes. “See this? No ordinary phone, this. Evan provided a cheat sheet for all its special features and I’m sure he mentioned something about an X-ray app.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she said, plucking it from my hands. “Never saw an X-ray app on iTunes.”

  “And you won’t. The man’s a genius. He invents all these fabulous effects in his spare time, when he’s not protecting Rupert and reading, that is. Anyway, meet me back in the library once you’ve freshened up.”

  I retrieved my phone and took off to my bedroom to read the cheat sheet. I stared at the pages and pages of tiny print script, totally befuddled. Where I expected bullets and point form, there were paragraphs and diagrams. I shook my head, stuffing the pages back into my bag until later. Next, I started to unpack my treasures and was applying an argan cream to my parched skin when my phone pinged. Nicolina. I found something important in the documents. Having it couriered to the riad today.