by Anna Butler
The Dog Who Swallows Millions.
Anubis.
Chapter 22
TODD AND I left for Cairo at dawn to bring all the Gallowglass guards down to Abydos.
I wouldn’t let Ned come to see us off. He had stayed in Harry’s room, and they’d both had a disturbed night. Harry had slept in short bursts and woken frightened each time. Ned came out to the kitchen as Todd and I wolfed down breakfast.
“We’ll be back this afternoon.” I swigged down about a pint of coffee, hoping it would keep me awake. I hadn’t slept well myself, back in my own bed alone, and a long flight to Cairo and then back to Abydos was quite an undertaking. “We’ll call on the Marconi if there’s a problem, but Todd had all the guards stationed at the hangar out at the aerodrome, and they were on alert. It shouldn’t take long to get the Brunel ready for takeoff.”
“You should rest for a few hours before flying back. You didn’t sleep much either, I’ll be bound.” Ned leaned back, stretching, turning his head from side to side to ease his neck. He stared out into the courtyard, his mouth drawn. “I thought about sending Harry back with you, but I haven’t anywhere to send him that’s safer than here with all my guards.”
“The Khedive?”
Ned blew out a sharp breath. “As a last resort, perhaps.” He sighed. “I’ll try and make today as normal as possible for him. I think from what Mr. Bakhoum said yesterday, we’ll have about half the workers available. I’ll get back to the entrance passageway and continue the dig. Getting Harry out with the other children to keep him company is the best I can do for now. A little normality won’t hurt.”
“Let’s see how things go tonight. You’ll have a dozen guards here ringing the house. Just let that joker try and get within a hundred yards of us!”
“You’re convinced it’s another prank, then.” Ned’s grin was a sad shadow of its usual self.
I’d gone out with Sam and Todd as soon as the sun came up to see what evidence, if anything, our visitor had left behind him. As at the temple a few days earlier, what we found were massive prints. We’d brushed them away after taking photographic images of them. No need to frighten everyone further.
“Spirit djinn dogs wouldn’t leave footprints everywhere. Knaves in Anubis masks, now… that’s a different story.” I glanced at Sam. “And I wouldn’t just be shooting to stun tonight.”
“Don’t worry,” Sam said, grimmer than Death itself. “We won’t be.”
For once, Sam and I exchanged a smile of perfect harmony.
I SPENT the flight hunched over a portable datascope, studying the image captured the previous night, putting it aside only to make necessary course corrections and checks.
I could have drawn the image from memory, were I an artist, from the jackal head to the light dusting of hair over the creature’s chest and what looked like the edge of a tiny mark—a birthmark? a scar?—on the left shoulder just where the pectoral collar rested. I looked for anything, any clue at all, to tell me who it could be. The head… a mask, surely? But in the stark flash of the Cowens box, I couldn’t see a join or straps or anything that might hold it on. Just the black head merging into a black neck that gradually paled down its length to the shoulders. If it was a mask with stage makeup, it had been cleverly done.
We reached Cairo just after ten. Todd’s second-in-command, known as Banger Bill from his love of the humble sausage, was waiting on the aerostrip and greeted us with “Got the message from Mr. Hawkins, Boss, and we’re ready to go. The ground staff here are just waiting for our signal to move the Brunel out onto the strip. But we got a problem to sort out first.”
Todd was windmilling his arms and swinging from side to side to loosen up after almost three hours in the passenger seat. “What?”
“Got a call from the palace. His nibs wants to see you. The Pasha chap. When I told him you and the captain were on your way up from Abydos, he said he wanted to see both of you.” Banger jerked his head toward the hangar. “Sent a car for you, he did.”
“We don’t have time for this.” I was trying not to fret, but after the previous night, I wanted Ned and Harry much better guarded. Sam was an army unto himself, of course, and I knew he’d die for Ned. But even Sam needed more than only Frank and Michael Forde in support when we were up against the kind of people who ran about the desert imitating the ancient gods and blowing up aether generators.
Todd, though, merely shrugged. “Mr. Edward said to make sure you didn’t fly straight back. Going to see the Pasha will take us a couple of hours, and you’ll get to sit down for most of it. Not much of a rest, maybe, but we’ll still be back in Abydos before dark.”
“We don’t have the time to waste, Todd. I—”
“Mr. Edward said to get you to call him when you got here,” Banger said, shepherding me into the office area within the hangar. “He already knows the Pasha wants you.”
Which didn’t leave me much space for argument. Within a few moments, Banger had linked through the large static Marconi communicator at the expedition house to Sam’s earpiece. All Sam had to do was hand that over to Ned.
Ned sounded tired but bracing. “I know it’s imposing on your good nature, Rafe, but this is opportune. The Khedive granted permission for House Gallowglass guards to be stationed in Aegypt, but their main role was to provide security at the hangar and watch over the aeroship. We need to tell his people we’re moving them to Abydos and avoid any kind of diplomatic brouhaha. I would be very grateful if you would brief the Pasha on what’s happening here. I don’t mean that you should ask permission to move my guards here, you understand. It is a courtesy only. Assure the Pasha we will exercise our usual restraint. He should trust Gallowglass that much, I hope.”
“It will delay us getting back, you know. By at least three or four hours.”
“You’ll still be back in time for tea.” Ned’s laugh was soft in my ear. “I’ll save you a crumpet.”
I could only hope Todd and Banger put my pink ears down to being crushed by the earspeakers. I promised Ned I would be suitably soothing and diplomatic, and in ten minutes Todd and I were on our way into Cairo.
I noted the two palace guards on their perches at the back of the autocar and glanced at Todd. “Escort for our safety, or to compel our attendance, do you think?”
He just rolled his eyes.
The great disadvantage of there being so few autocars in the streets was, of course, a concomitant profusion of camels, donkeys, carts, and people. The chauffeur drove with one hand on the air horn, letting out blasts an alphorn player would envy. People scrambled out of the way relatively quickly. Donkeys tended to bray as loudly as the autocar’s horn, and bolt, their huge loads swaying or their carts bumping along behind them. Camels, of course, stood their ground, scoffing at us down the length of their noses.
The autocar delivered us to the Abdeen Palace, where El Khawaga Pasha had his office. I hoped he was in a forgiving mood, since I was hardly dressed for a visit to royalty. I had somehow forgotten to pack my court levée dress. The butler, as august a specimen as you’d find if it had been Buckingham Palace, pretended not to notice as he escorted us to the Pasha’s office.
That gentleman, luckily, overlooked my state of undress. He shook hands with graceful courtesy and waited until a quiet manservant had served us all with coffee before explaining why he had called us there.
“Two reasons, Captain. But first, allow me to inquire about your injury. I hope it fully healed?”
“Perfectly, sir.” I aimed for a smile that would underscore my British stiff-upper-lippedness. “Aches a bit, of course, but mustn’t grumble.”
“Excellent. I am pleased to hear it. My people have reported on their inquiries into the attack upon you last month, and I wish to share their conclusions with you. It’s rather an interesting development.” The Pasha leaned back in his chair, lifting the delicate coffee cup to his lips. “We located the sheikh who leads the band of Sufi dervishes you encountered. There are several such bands i
n the city, and it took a little while to track down the one involved. The sheikh is not a sophisticated man, although I am assured he is a genuinely devout one. It appears that he was approached on the afternoon you were attacked, by a man who paid to have a tanoura danced in honor of a deceased member of his family. When you encountered them, the Sufis were en route to their lodge, which lies to one side of the Khan el-Khalili. It is not unusual for them to pass through the souk and to perform as they go in order to increase their haul of baksheesh from the many excursionists enjoying the spectacle.”
The Pasha replaced his cup on the low table in front of us. He looked troubled. “The man who commissioned this special ceremony joined it—which is unusual and should have put the sheikh on his guard—and the procession to the lodge was timed to the moment. A second man, claimed by the first as a relative, came and spoke to him and then guided the entire band into the souk. The only inference to be drawn is that you were watched, Captain Lancaster, and the attack on you was planned.”
“Planned?” My voice rose to an embarrassing pitch. I swallowed hard. “So I wasn’t just any handy passing Englishman?”
“No. It was quite deliberate. You were the target, Captain. We’re certain of that, because as our investigations continued, my people heard the various whispers and rumors in the souk’s coffeehouses. The man who commissioned the tanoura is confidently believed to be one Nazeer Sulayman.” The Pasha’s glance was sidelong. “You have heard of him, perhaps?”
“No.”
“He is well-known to the authorities. Or, rather, his name is well-known. He himself has proved rather more elusive.”
He handed me a document. I polished my spectacles on my shirt, rubbing them into clarity again with the soft linen, and peered at it. The man it described could have been any one of a thousand Aegyptians I’d passed in the Cairo streets. Certainly it evoked no recognition in me, and I said so.
“Who is Sulayman, sir?”
The Pasha took back the document when I proffered it, his mouth making a small moue of disappointment. “We know a little about him. He is a Coptic Christian, born around forty years ago. He earned his spurs during the Urabi revolution. That is unusual in itself—the Copts are not known for their nationalistic fervor. But somehow Sulayman became one of Urabi’s youngest, but most effective, assassins. Since the revolution was crushed, he worked his way up to being the best assassin available for hire.”
Something in my midriff weighed heavy. I nodded.
“The reason I asked if you knew him is that he is certainly well-known to many Europeans in Aegypt. There is a thriving community of merchants and traders operating here and in Alexandria on behalf of the Imperium’s Houses. He has worked for them in the past, removing rivals.” The Pasha’s gaze sharpened, but his expression and tone remained bland. “I wondered if you had heard of him through your House allegiances. House Stravaigor, is it not?”
I managed a creditable snort of derision. “I don’t have any House allegiance. Although, yes. Stravaigor.”
“I see. Stravaigor is known to have contracted with Sulayman in the past.” The Pasha’s mouth thinned. “His Highness the Khedive is most perturbed. I have been instructed to get to the bottom of things. Any thoughts on who may have targeted you?”
“Surely it’s because I belong to the Gallowglass party? After all, it makes no sense for anyone to have me killed, specifically. It must be a mistake.”
“Sadly, no. One of Sulayman’s associates was persuaded to give us some information. It seems clear that Sulayman was hired to dispose of you, not the young Gallowglass or anyone else on the Abydos expedition.”
Me? Someone had hired a top assassin to get me? What the pointy-headed devil? That had to be nonsense. I just wasn’t important enough to anyone to be a target. Back home, I’d be looking askance at one of the Houses, but even then I was far too insignificant, with no stake whatsoever in the games the Houses played. Out here in Aegypt…. Who could it possibly be?
Beside me, Todd drew in an audible breath. “Do you have any information, sir, on who may have hired this Sulayman?”
“Nothing beyond it being an Englishman.”
I muttered an “Excuse me” and jumped up to walk over to the window, then rested my forehead on the coolness of glass. The courtyard below teemed with soldiers, some barely out of boyhood, in full white trousers and short red jackets. An officer strode amongst them, his tarboosh the same glorious scarlet as his coat, his long, curved sword in his hand. A couple of older men ran around near the officer, pushing the boy soldiers into an uneven, straggly line. Inspection parade, it seemed. The little silver Aegyptian shillings in my pocket slipped through my fingers, over and over as I watched.
“An Englishman. Are you sure, sir? Not a Frenchman?” I glanced away from the window to see the Pasha regarding me, his expression thoughtful.
“No. Quite definitely English. I am told he was tall, dark-haired, and red-faced.” The Pasha’s smile was wry. “A description that matches every second Englishman in Aegypt.”
“Yes. Odd. I had a notion it might have been a Frenchman behind it.” I returned to my seat. Todd had refilled my coffee cup while I stood emoting to myself at the window, and I drank eagerly. The thick, rich sweetness brought reason and calm in its wake. There really was no point in worrying myself to a shadow thinking that assassins lurked behind every palm tree in Aegypt. It was far more likely that the Pasha’s people were mistaken, and I’d been seen as a convenient stand-in for Ned. Not that the thought that someone aiming for Ned was more reassuring, but at least he had Sam and the guards to protect him.
“Indeed?” The Pasha regarded me closely. “We will return to that, if we may. Let me continue with what we know of Sulayman. We know that he is no longer in Cairo, but has gone south.”
“To Abydos?”
“Perhaps. As for his employer, all that Sulayman’s associate could be induced to say is that he too went south a week or so ago. I believe that he left after the arrival of another Englishman. He was certainly seen by my informant in the company of one of his countrymen. The accounts are confusing, but I endeavor to disentangle the knot.”
So, possibly two Englishmen. Tall, dark, and red-faced.
“And to add to the confusion, I am told a third Englishman appeared in Cairo the day before yesterday, asking about your expedition. I have so far failed to put my hands on him.”
My head was beginning to hurt. This knot was positively Gordian in its complexity. “Another one? Good God, Aegypt’s getting overrun.”
“Indeed. The situation has the mark of the Imperium’s Houses all over it.” The Pasha’s tone was dry. “I will, of course, continue to try and get to the bottom of things.”
I expressed my gratitude in suitably polite terms.
“To return to your Frenchman, Captain, does that have something to do with transporting all the Gallowglass guards to Abydos?” The Pasha laughed aloud at the looks Todd and I gave him. “You should credit me with a little intelligence, gentlemen. I am responsible for His Highness’s security. I keep an eye on the doings of important visitors.”
And Ned had to be the most important visitor to Aegypt that year. Of course the Khedive and his government felt the responsibility of having him there. So I didn’t demur, didn’t try to deceive the Pasha about our intentions. Instead I explained everything that had happened for the last six or seven weeks. While I avoided all mention of the Dog, I recounted all the incidents affecting the villagers and leading to the loss of the aether generator two days earlier. The Pasha maintained a grave silence until this last item, when his eyes widened markedly.
“And no one was hurt? Wa’ashadallah! That is a miracle, Captain. The fellahin appear to have been remarkably patient under all this adversity.”
I could only agree. “The villagers have been very loyal. It’s been a difficult time for them, but they haven’t blamed us, and they’ve continued to work hard on the excavation. We’ve been very lucky.”
The Pasha opened a long leather case and extracted a cigarillo. I accepted one when offered, although Todd refused politely. “Who do you believe is responsible for these incidents?”
It was a very nice cigarillo made from mellow, local tobacco. I blew out a thin stream of blueish smoke. “Academic rivalry is rife in the field, I am told. There are several nearby expeditions, and one of those has been unfriendly.”
He nodded. “A French expedition.”
I acknowledged that, inclining my head. “Although tensions with them have eased somewhat, I remain suspicious of them.”
“I am afraid that we can’t confirm that the Sulayman incident is part of the same campaign against the expedition. On the face of it, it seems unlikely. The aether generator to one side, they’re of a different order. You will probably need to look elsewhere for Sulayman’s employer.” The Pasha regarded me through a curling wisp of smoke. “So you are taking the guards there to find and punish the perpetrators.”
I allowed through a small, spare smile. “I am taking them there to increase protection for Professor Winter, sir, and his young son. Both are of crucial importance to the Imperium. The incidents have been annoying rather than anything else. But the aether generator… that came too close to a disaster. It risked the lives of everyone in the village. Improved security around the village and the expedition house is necessary to prevent more incidents.” I tapped a long column of ash into a carved alabaster ashtray. My hands were steady. “Frankly, I would love to get my hands on whoever has been harassing the villagers, who are little more than poor pawns in the game. But we have no authority here. If we do find the perpetrators, the Khedive’s justice will prevail.”
After a long moment while the Pasha regarded me fixedly and, I think, measuringly, he nodded and thanked me for the assurance. He did not appear to be employing irony, but then he was a subtle man. “The fact that Sulayman and his employer have gone south… well, I will not object to your plans to take the Gallowglass guards to Abydos. Nor will I object if Sulayman meets his match there, if you comprehend me.” He glanced at his watch, a rather discreetly grand affair in white gold. Cartier, probably. “I will have the autocar return you to the aerodrome. I expect you will want to reach Abydos before evening.”