The Jackal's House

by Anna Butler

  “Todd saved my life,” I said quickly. “I was bleeding quite a bit. He stopped it and got me out of there.”

  “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place!” Sam snapped.

  I stared. “Seriously? Khan el-Khalili? Everyone goes there.”

  Sam choked. His face reddened and soured, the visage of a man who’d just swallowed a wasp. It mustn’t have been easy biting back whatever he wanted to say, but not even he could argue with logic. Everyone did go to the souk to shop. It was one of the major sights in Cairo. Todd couldn’t have anticipated an attack, but he had got me out of there in almost one piece. And he’d brought all the Christmas presents and the box of lanterns with him. What more could they ask for?

  Ned gave Todd another long hard look and nodded. “Very well. Todd, you’re being reassigned. Your primary duty now is to protect Captain Lancaster as if you were protecting me or Master Harry.”

  “Do a better job than you’ve managed so far.” Sam’s tone was a growling snarl. Perhaps he didn’t dislike me quite as intensely as he used to.

  Todd nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t need a guard!” I eased my arm back into its sling, as per doctor’s orders, an action that may, in retrospect, have undercut my argument a trifle.

  “He’s got me,” Hugh said. The look he gave Todd didn’t indicate a willingness to share.

  “Todd will protect both of you.” Ned used his father’s tone. No one argued with that. “I don’t like what’s going on here, and with this attack on Rafe in Cairo….” He shook his head. “I’m suspicious of the whole thing.”

  “No one is going to be trying to kill me,” I protested. “Really, Ned, that’s got to be beyond rational belief.”

  “We just can’t be sure. The dervishes may have been looking for a random victim, or they may not. They may have been genuine dervishes, or they may not. I’d rather be safe than sorry.” Ned looked at Sam. “How long will it take to power up the security net around the shed?”

  “Not long. I just have to link in the power cells.” Sam jerked his head toward the storage area in the underbelly of the two-seater where we’d stored the two solar power panels before takeoff from Cairo, and turned to Hugh and Todd. “Give me a hand, you two.”

  Todd sprang to obey. As he passed us, Ned put out a hand to stop him. “Thank you for getting Captain Lancaster out of there, Todd. That was well done, and I’m grateful.”

  Todd, rather red about the ears, nodded and went to join Sam and Hugh in sliding the panels out carefully.

  I slipped my unencumbered arm through Ned’s and walked him away a few paces. “That was nice of you, to temper your justice with mercy.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair of me to say anything less. I was frightened out of my wits when he told me you’d been injured, but without him, it would have been much worse.” Ned turned and took my hands in his, careful not to jar the injured arm. “I owe him so much for getting you back to me alive.” He squeezed my hands hard. “Best Christmas gift ever.”

  You know how romance novelists claim the hero’s heart melts with love when facing the object of his passion? Totally true. At Ned’s words, my heart turned into something of the consistency of the finest, squishiest marshmallow.

  Oh Lord, if we must be fools, at least we were fools together.

  Chapter 19

  WHEN SAM was satisfied that the two-seater’s miniature “hangar” was as secure as he could make it and he’d replaced my damaged armband, using my right arm this time, we returned to the expedition house for lunch. Hugh rounded up a few of our workers to carry the various bags and boxes. The advent of exciting parcels filled young Harry, who was waiting for us in the courtyard, with anticipatory glee. He grinned at the parcels but favored me with one of his patented hard stares. I hadn’t been the recipient of one of those since our arrival in Cairo.

  Molly greeted me with an extravagant wriggle, panting in agitation and barking in apparently delirious joy as she danced around me. She settled at my feet so I could use my good hand to rub the top of her head between her ears. Her tail, that ridiculous fluffy flag, thumped against the tiled courtyard floor.

  “She likes you.” Harry had an unflattering note of surprise in his tone.

  “I’m a very likeable chap.”

  “Mmmnpfh.” Harry touched the sling. “Does that hurt?”

  “A bit.”

  “You probably shouldn’t do that again, then. Papa didn’t like it.” Harry stooped to get his arm around Molly’s neck. She turned her head to swipe up his face with her tongue. His voice was muffled. “Molly didn’t like it either.”

  Ned and I exchanged grins. “That’s very thoughtful of her,” I said.

  Harry was rather pink-faced when he straightened up again, obviously the result of bending down for a protracted period, and we left the sympathetic bonding there. Quite enough for one day.

  After lunch, Ned returned to work. I didn’t precisely jeer when he and Sam left for the dig, but looked pointedly at the sling. “How sweet that a man with only one working arm can’t possibly operate a shovel.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Ned said, tone and expression most solemn. “I expect you’re almost grateful to the marauding dervish who knifed you.”

  “He has my eternal thanks.”

  Ned laughed, hugged me again, and departed. Strangely, he neglected to take Harry with him. Damn him. I’d forgotten that he could be ruthless in palming off his son onto me. I suspected it was my punishment for scaring him.

  So instead of shifting muck, Harry and I spent an hour or two stringing the colored lanterns around the courtyard and fitting them with old-fashioned candles. And when I say Harry and I strung lights, what I mean is that Hugh and Frank clambered up and down stepladders under Harry’s exacting supervision while I sat in a chair ignoring Hugh’s pointed comments. I was also under Harry’s orders, I might add. He apparently felt I was still an invalid and shouldn’t exert myself beyond sipping on something comfortingly spirituous and offering the occasional word of encouragement.

  Todd gave the box of lanterns a look of deep dislike—he’d had it on his knees for the entire flight from Cairo—and refused to get involved with stepladders. Instead, he hulked over at the courtyard gate, ostensibly on guard, and offered unwelcome advice of the “I’m just saying that two green lamps next to each other looks cockeyed, Master Harry, that’s all” variety.

  When Harry and Todd were satisfied with the placement of the lanterns, Hugh was persuaded to return to the dig for a couple of hours. His parting words were an admonition not to overdo things. Fat chance. I’d make the most of my invalid status, thank you.

  Harry flopped down onto the still-warm tiles at my feet. “What shall we do now?” He patted my arm, very gently. “If your arm didn’t hurt, we might have played cricket.”

  “Cricket?” Todd said, scoffing, as he and Frank joined us. “Football’s the game for a man.”

  “Oh.” Harry swiveled round to look at him. “Which is your team?”

  “Woolwich Arsenal, o’course. The Gunners.”

  Frank sucked air in between his teeth in a sharp hiss and shook his head. “Oh, that’s sad, isn’t it, Master Harry? The Gunners!”

  Harry and Frank exchanged commiserating glances. Harry scrambled up to stand by Frank’s side in as pointed a demonstration of partiality that I’d ever been privileged to witness. “Frank likes Spurs, don’t you, Frank?” Harry said. “Molly does too.”

  Well, that clinched it. Obviously I’d better be a Tottenham Hotspurs supporter like Molly, should I ever develop an interest in football.

  Frank smirked proudly, and Todd sniffed with disdain.

  “Which is your team, Captain Lancaster?” Harry regarded me solemnly. “What do you think?”

  “I think that we don’t have a football, but if Father Christmas brings you one, you can show me how to play. In the meantime, what do you say to seeing what we can find in the way of sweetmeats and honey cakes? I’m getti
ng peckish.”

  Harry gave a ragged cheer and abandoned football for a raid on the kitchens. Frank was diffident at first about leaving Harry to my care, but bless him, he rarely got any time off, and without him to watch Harry, Ned and I would have had even less time together. I owed him a respite. So with Todd and Flynn overseeing the gate and Frank taking the opportunity for forty winks, Harry and I spent the rest of the afternoon playing snakes and ladders and beggar-my-neighbor. Harry was a holy terror at both and implacable when it came to tiddlywinks, sending my little counters bouncing all over the table. Molly ate one of them.

  My penalty for enduring crushing defeat at his hands was to replenish our supplies of malban, the Aegyptian version of Turkish delight, and tall glasses of cold aseer asab. We then crowded onto a small, creaky sofa in the sitting room with Molly, ate sweetmeats, and read Robinson Crusoe together until darkness fell.

  I have spent worse Christmas Eves.

  I was welcomed back with a pleasing amount of attention when the team came home for their festive dinner. A little warm kindness, a flattering desire for all the gory details to satisfy their curiosity, and jovial good wishes for a speedy recovery expressed their concern. Genuine, but brief.

  Harry was at pains to turn everyone’s attention where it belonged. That is, he demanded they take notice of his lanterns, and beamed and preened when everyone professed themselves delighted with the effect. The conversation turned to pleasanter things than the attack on me, and the good food and drink at dinner restored everyone’s equilibrium. It was a pleasant, friendly, companionable time, but we didn’t forget the reason for our festivities. At midnight, with Harry asleep on his knees, Ned read aloud the Christmas story with the glory of the Aegyptian night sky above his head in a halo of stars.

  After Harry had been put to bed, the other professors and the students all reeled out of the courtyard to their own rooms, replete with good food and several bottles of wine broken out of Ned’s stash. The quiet Merry Christmases and the occasional Joyeux Noel and Fröhliche Weihnachten sounded, well, rather fitting for the season of good fellowship and peace to all men.

  “Sleep in my room tonight,” Ned said to me quietly.

  So I did.

  Not to make love, because I was almost asleep on my feet and Ned had to steer me to the bed while I wobbled along on shaky legs. And, of course, Harry was in the next room, so no Christmas lovemaking for us. At least, not lovemaking in its most energetic sense. Instead, Ned and I enjoyed an exquisitely slow, lazy togetherness. He helped me out of my clothes, planting gentle kisses on my bandaged upper arm, his eyes shadowed with care. He wrapped my spectacles in their protective silk handkerchief as carefully as I would have done myself. And once he’d coaxed me to lie down, he pulled me carefully up against him, hands smoothing over my back and sides. I tucked my face into his neck, my lips against the soft skin under his ear.

  I’d never had this before, the sort of relationship and companionship where sex wasn’t the be-all and end-all of it. Sex wasn’t what loving Ned meant. This was. This quietness, this contentment, knowing that it was Ned’s hand gentling me into sleep, Ned’s breath stirring my hair, Ned’s warm arms enfolding me.

  So, no. No energetic lovemaking that night. Just quiet sleep, entwined together out of sheer gratitude and thankfulness that we were both still alive to do so.

  A perfect start to Christmas.

  WE WOKE early on Christmas morning, if only because I had to retire through the connecting door to my own room before Harry burst in on Ned, beyond excited that Father Christmas had managed to find him so far from his usual haunts. It was a holiday for us, of course, and our Mohammedan workers were given the day off as well. They didn’t object since Ned paid them anyway.

  We exchanged gifts privately before breakfast. Sam’s ears went a charming shade of puce when he unwrapped his dagger and stammered out his thanks. It was almost endearing. Hugh swore his dominoes were too good to play with. Harry whooped over the toy tomb, delighted with that and the build-your-own pyramid Ned had somehow obtained for him. Ned loved his canopic jar and grinned like Alice’s cat when he handed over a small but perfect statue of Horus carved from polished black basalt. Odd how Ned’s mind and mine worked on similar lines when it came to choosing suitable gifts.

  “A hawk for my personal pilot,” he said in my ear, his breath making shivers ripple down my spine. “If ever you acknowledge a god, Rafe, I’d wager he’ll have wings.”

  We had a lazy day, lounging around the house. Sam linked our Marconi system long distance to that at the Abdeen Palace, and after Ned had traded polite greetings with the Khedive, an international link was established back to Gallowglass House. Ned and Harry spent half an hour bellowing good wishes to their family, including little Jack, and came back to the rest of us while as many team members as possible took their chance to speak to those loved ones back home who could connect to the system.

  Laurent Fouquet and his two compatriots made an unexpected appearance in the midafternoon, coming to bid us a rather stiff Joyeux Noel. They greeted Howard Carter with a little more respect, presumably for his official position as Inspector, and were persuaded to stay for dinner. I had the distinct impression they didn’t want to offend Carter. It may have been my imagination, but Fouquet gave Carter several searching looks. When it was obvious that Carter and Ned were on friendly terms, I thought Fouquet looked sour, but perhaps I imagined it. Fouquet often looked sour.

  The Frenchmen talked quietly with M. Archambault for the most part. Fouquet started to ask about progress at the excavation of the Osireion and was rather put out when Ned, laughing, banned all discussions of matters archaeological until Boxing Day.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow, Laurent. I’d be interested to know how you’re getting on with the New Kingdom necropolis you’ve found, and we really need to map out between us the connections between your tombs and my temple. But today let’s just sit back in good fellowship and enjoy one another’s company.” Ned gestured to me. “Didn’t you once tell me you had a brother in the French aeroforce? Rafe here was a flight leader on the Ark Royal….”

  Ned neatly decanted Fouquet onto me to entertain, and made his escape. I’d get my revenge later, by golly I would! In the meantime I set myself out to be pleasant. I don’t say Fouquet and I bonded, exactly, but he did thaw out as our discussion wore on. He even laughed at a couple of tales I told him. By the time dinner was served, he was almost mellow.

  “You and Guillame, my brother, have a lot in common,” he said. “A kind of insouciance, a care-nothing view of life.”

  I grinned. “Devil-may-care, you mean? I suppose so. I hope so. It’s a good philosophy to have when all that comes between a man and a fiery plunge to the earth is his wit and skill. One learns to laugh.”

  He nodded toward the sling on my arm. “Did you laugh then?”

  “When I got my breath back. It could have been much worse.”

  Beside him M. Archambault looked pained and sat shaking his head and saying “Ah, my dear Rafe!” in a sad, pitying tone. But Fouquet himself laughed and shook my hand. Perhaps he was taken with the spirit of the season, or perhaps he wasn’t quite as dour as he had first appeared.

  Harper and Symington arrived before the sun went down, just in time for some predinner aperitifs. Or, to be more accurate, just in time to join the communal sigh of relief that the sun was well over the yardarm and we could break out the scotch with impunity. We’d put their two bottles aside, of course, as a Christmas present from one expedition to another. We offered Fouquet a bottle too, even though the French are not great scotch drinkers. He accepted politely when we’d all been rather hoping he’d turn it down and there’d be one more bottle for the rest of us. Harper and Symington were both a little depressed and could have done with an extra bottle. It appeared their accommodating dahabiya captain was proving uncooperative about continuing to be their supply conduit.

  “A rich Englishman has hired the Princess to sail to Cairo to
collect him and bring him to Abydos, then take him up the canal to Al Masaid. He’s going to live on board there while sightseeing the entire area.” Harper’s tone and expression were gloom incarnate.

  I frowned. “Really? We do get visitors, of course, when the dahabiyas dock, but from what I’ve seen, they don’t stay longer than it takes for them to rush up to the temple to tick us off their list so they can write to tell Aunt Maisie that they’ve seen every sight between Cairo and Aswan.”

  Fouquet chuckled. “Of a certainty, those types would not be able to tell one temple from another, but there are always excursionists who wish to explore the antiquities. They are a nuisance, no?”

  “They’re a nuisance, yes.” Symington was as grumpy as his partner. “We’re not sure how we’ll get our supplies now. Aren’t you in the same boat, Fouquet?”

  The Frenchman shrugged. “I have stockpiled enough for the next few weeks and can buy more from the villagers. I will write to Maspero to ask him to look into arranging some supplies for us, but we are secure enough for the moment, I think.”

  Harper’s sighs rivaled the desert wind soughing mournfully amongst Mahmoud’s ruined palm trees. “The dahabiya captain promises his cousin will see to it.”

  And we all sighed with him, because we knew these Aegyptian cousins who conveniently owned a carpet factory or an alabaster workshop or anything else you happened to be looking for at the time. We patted Harper and Symington on the shoulders and enjoined them to feast as much as they could with us to make up for any lack at their expedition site.

  They needed little persuasion. Dinner was very festive. Todd had sent one of the guards to finish my Christmas shopping for me, and we had so many boxes of cigarillos and cigarettes, chocolates and sweets—not to mention the case of scotch—that I’d been astonished that Todd had managed to fit it all into the two-seater. The luxuries made a brave show on the dinner table that night, alongside plates stacked with dates, oranges, and nuts. We ate chickens roasted with pistachio nuts and cumin, with huge bowls of rice and peppers as a side dish. In lieu of a flaming Christmas pudding, our cook offered trays of baklava and the sweet honey cake called basbousa to go with dishes of sweet Umm Ali scattered with almonds and raisins.