“Let’s not seem too friendly, old chap,” Daud whispered in cultured Oxford English. “The old man has heard tales of the wealth—relatively speaking—that the villages down river are raking in, and he has decided that he deserves his share.”
“Has Riskali made things difficult for you?” Eddie asked, bowing formally, so that the watchers would think they were merely exchanging greetings.
“Yes and no,” Daud agreed, bowing in return. “I have the camels you requested, along with saddles and such, but I don’t think Riskali intends to let them leave the village. He’s a farmer, but canny enough to know that good camels will fetch a pretty price in Luxor.”
Eddie nodded. “A bit unethical, isn’t he? Where are the camels now?”
“I have them around the west side of the village,” Daud said. “Let me show you.”
All through this exchange they had ignored Neville as if he wasn’t there. Now he trailed them as they walked through to village center, still apparently ignored.
Half-feral dogs barked at them as they passed. One, more daring than the rest, darted out and nipped at Eddie’s heel. Without looking, he kicked back and the cur ran, yelping. Children ran after them as well, blending in with the dogs, whining for baksheesh.
Daud tossed them a few coins, and they dropped back, squabbling after the largess.
“It does offer such a problem,” he said. “Just like in the cities, some of these lazy beggars have turned the Prophet’s admonition to be charitable to the poor into carte blanche to harass strangers. If you give too little, you are in violation of Islam. If you give too much, you invite robbery. I fear I took pity on them soon after I arrived, and added to the headman’s greed.”
Eddie reached into a pocket within his sleeve and pulled out a bundle of candied dates. He stopped long enough to give these to the children, who were much more pleased by this kindness than they were by coins that their parents would take from them.
“A stopgap I use in Cairo,” Eddie explained. “It makes the children happy, and keeps their parents guessing.”
“I suppose I was too long in England,” Daud said, Oxford intonations so perfect that if Neville closed his eyes he could believe himself in that university city. “After guarding my life and purse from the sharp knife of Riskali’s envy, I won’t easily forget again.”
Their deliberate progress had brought them beyond the tended fields, to where Daud had pegged the camels. There were six, each solemnly masticating the prickly grass growing in clumps from the sand. When the three men approached, the camels raised their heads and glared down at them from beneath long lashes.
“You’ve a lovely group here,” Eddie said, stroking one female along her shoulder and dodging the wad of green slime she spat in his direction. “No wonder Headman Riskali covets them enough to set aside all provisions against theft from another of the Faithful.”
Daud smiled and prodded the nearest camel.
“Pretend to be examining them,” he said, including Neville in his directions. “The villagers are too busy seeming indifferent to come close now, but no reason to give them cause to wonder what we’re talking about.”
Eddie cocked an eyebrow, but obeyed, making a great point of checking one of his slime-spitting acquaintance’s big, two-toed front feet. Neville endeavored to look both inexperienced and nervous, neither of which was hard to do. He rode a camel well enough, but was no great expert—and the villagers, whose dark eyes he fancied he could feel watching them, made him very nervous indeed.
Daud pulled a camel’s head down and made a great show of displaying its teeth for inspection.
“The villagers welcomed me warmly enough when I first arrived,” Daud said, “but when Riskali saw that I could not be bullied out of giving him at least one of the beasts, my welcome grew a bit cold. Good thing I brought a few fellows with me, or you might find no trace of either me or the camels.”
“Where are your men?” Eddie asked.
“Near the shore,” Daud replied. “When I saw the dahabeeyah coming in, I decided we’d better be ready to flag you down if the headman decided to refuse you landing. My chaps will be out here soon enough. I don’t suppose your captain would give us a lift, would he?”
“I’m sure he’d be glad to,” Eddie replied.
“Allah bless you,” Daud said. “Now, not to make too fine a point of it, but how do you plan to get those camels away from the villagers?”
“I’m thinking about it,” Eddie promised. “Do you think the headman and some of his retinue would deign to dine with us on the Mallard ?”
“Eagerly,” Daud said. “It will be the social event of the year—if not the decade.”
“Can you get your gear and your men aboard?” Eddie asked.
“Easily,” Daud replied. “We don’t have much. If anyone gives us trouble, I’ll just explain that I have business with you. The villagers aren’t much interested in our camping gear. What they want are those camels. The rest would be gravy.”
Eddie stepped back and rubbed his hands together. His satisfied smile might have been for the camels. Then again, it might not.
“Very good. Let me go and extend our invitations. We will precede you aboard, and let Reis Awad know what to expect. Oh, and make certain you bring the camels’ saddlebags along. Where are the saddles?”
“In the house you saw me come out of,” Daud answered. “The old woman who lives there doesn’t get along with the headman, but is too venerable or some such thing for him to get rid of her.”
“Think she’ll let us take them?”
“If it meant putting a finger in Riskali’s eye, I think she’d carry them herself.”
They parted on that cheerful note. Riskali was very pleased to accept Eddie’s invitation—in which, Neville noted, he was very careful to include several of the tough-looking young bucks, as well as the distinguished greybeards. The villagers saw the visitors off with a great deal more warmth than they had greeted them.
When they were rowing back to the Mallard , Neville asked, “Are you going to let me in on your plans?”
“I’m still putting them together,” Eddie said. “As soon as I know what I’m doing, you’ll know.”
Jenny and Stephen were enthralled by the report Neville brought back, and immediately started speculating on how Eddie intended to claim the camels.
Reis Awad agreed that a banquet could be put together for that evening. The higher-ranking men would dine in the saloon, while the younger would be hosted on the crew deck. Eddie took several sailors to the village to buy or borrow supplies—including pillows and rugs on which to seat their guests, for the banquet was to be held native fashion. Riskali agreed to slaughter a sheep, no doubt chuckling up his sleeve at being paid to kill an animal he himself would be eating.
When he returned, Eddie briefed the others about his plan.
“Now, even if we’re careful,” he said, “this is going to be risky.”
His auditors nodded, excited, rather than intimidated by the possibility of adventure. The voyage from Cairo had been long and peaceful enough to ameliorate memories of that terrifying night when the jackal-masked assassins had attacked. They all longed for a challenge.
“My plan,” Eddie said, “is for us to take the camels from right under their noses while they are banqueting with us on the Mallard .”
“Won’t they miss us?” Stephen asked.
“They would miss us ,” Eddie replied, “but they won’t miss Jenny.”
“Jenny?” Neville and Stephen were both appalled, but Jenny was thrilled. She remembered the tale of how Eddie had fallen in love with Miriam when that woman was young and brave, and she suspected she owed a great deal to Miriam’s example.
Eddie silenced the men’s objections with a gesture.
“We don’t have much choice. The villagers have had ample opportunity to see us. If any of our party failed to appear at the banquet, it could be taken as a slight. I don’t trust Riskali enough to believe that
he wouldn’t take an imagined insult as an excuse for banditry. I have every confidence in the ability of Reis Awad and his crew—augmented by ourselves—to win the day. However, I prefer to avoid the sort of conflict that might make our eventual departure impossible.”
Reluctantly, Stephen and Neville nodded their acceptance of this logic. Jenny had the good sense not to gloat.
“I suppose I’m exempted from this banquet,” Jenny said, “because I’m a woman, and our Islamic guests would be insulted if they were asked to dine with a woman?”
“Again,” Eddie said, “many Mohammedan men make exceptions for European women, but I would not put it past Riskali…”
“To take imagined insult as an excuse for banditry,” Neville finished. He looked rather sour, but Jenny didn’t blame him.
“Since Jenny will not be expected to attend the dinner,” Eddie went on, “she will be able to go ashore, go around the village to where the camels are pegged, and saddle them up. She can lead them slightly south, and we will meet her there.”
Uncle Neville frowned. “I will admit that Jenny has shown herself capable, but that’s a great deal to ask from one person—female or not.”
Eddie nodded. “I have spoken with Reis Awad. Two of his men are very good with camels, and they will accompany her. Our invitation should have pulled the best of the village’s men away. Jenny and the sailors may need to deal with a few boys or some young men—if there is any guard posted at all.”
“And why should there be?” Jenny said, stroking Mozelle, who slept in contorted comfort on her lap. “Daud will be aboard, as will his two men. The villagers don’t know the sailors, so they won’t know that two are missing.”
“That is my precise hope,” Eddie said. “I spoke with the old woman Daud befriended, and there will be no trouble about the saddles.”
“Will I need to get the rest of our gear ashore?” Jenny asked.
“Most of it,” Eddie admitted. “When Daud comes aboard with the saddlebags, we’ll need to transfer necessary gear to them and have them ready in the lighter.”
Neville straightened. “Wait. Why does Jenny need to go ashore at all? Why can’t the sailors handle everything?”
“I considered that,” Eddie said, “but Reis Awad could only spare two men, and three sets of hands would make things much easier. Also, Jenny can represent you as the owner of the camels. If this becomes a court matter, our position will be stronger for that. Sadly, the law looks differently upon the actions of Europeans and of Arabs.”
“I understand,” Stephen said. “Otherwise it’s just the sailor’s word against that of the villagers that the sailors were fetching the camels.”
Neville didn’t look pleased, but he accepted the truth in Eddie’s statement. Eddie’s plan was simple, direct—and, most importantly, was already underway. Jenny wondered if that was why Eddie had waited to brief them. It did rather eliminate argument.
“I have one addition to suggest,” Jenny said. “In Cairo I laid in a rather large supply of powdered opium—I thought we might need it if someone were injured. If the cook makes one of his spectacular curried dishes as part of the feast, then enough opium could be added to make certain our guests are less alert than they otherwise might be.”
“We don’t want them falling asleep!” Stephen protested. “Or us,” he added as an afterthought.
“Our people can avoid eating much of that dish,” Jenny said. “In any case, I was not suggesting enough to knock anyone out, just enough to make our guests a little slow.”
“It’s an idea,” Eddie said. “Brief me on how much does what, and I’ll see what can be done.”
———
The scents of chopped onions and garlic, of roasting and stewing mutton, of baking flat bread, and other such culinary preparations, were heavy on the air when Reis Awad sent the lighter to begin ferrying the guests aboard. The first load brought aboard Riskali and a husky, rather villainous-looking young man Riskali introduced as his youngest son. More sons came aboard on the next trip, and nephews and cousins on the later. Daud and his assistants were last, crowded in with a low-ranking nephew who was hardly showing his first beard. Clearly the village was all one extended family, and Riskali was the acknowledged patriarch.
Eddie welcomed all of their guests in Arabic. He had cautioned Stephen and Neville to keep their knowledge of the language to themselves, and in keeping with his representation that he was the master of this expedition, made Reis Awad his co-host, relegating the Englishmen to a secondary role. Neville and Stephen took their demotion well, restricting themselves to greetings in stilted Arabic that would have done credit to a music hall performance.
The meal’s main component was a plentitude of greasy mutton. Whether roasted or stewed, the villagers ate it without utensils—other than the wickedly sharp knives they wore at their belts and used for hacking a chunk of meat into a more convenient size. Eddie ate in the same fashion, wiping his hand—for like a good Mohammedan he ate only using his right hand—on the hem of his robe. Neville followed suit, but Stephen could not bring himself to eat in that fashion, and had cutlery and a plate brought from the galley.
The villagers thought this quite funny, and made a variety of crude jokes at Stephen’s expense. Although the young linguist managed to act as if he didn’t understand, and that he thought their laughter good-humored, his fair skin flushed with anger.
“Easy, old chap,” Daud cautioned him in English, keeping his tone light. “We don’t want to make them angry enough to leave. Remember Miss Benet and the risks she is taking.”
Stephen nodded, then something of a manic gleam came into his eyes.
“If they think I am such a fop and clown, then I shall provide them with ample amusement.” He clapped his hands to summon one of the cook’s assistants. “I want a finger bowl with lemon water, two clean napkins, a candle in one of the silver holders, and the low table that is on the upper deck.”
The assistant complied, clearly thinking that the Englishman had gone mad. When he returned with the requested materials, Stephen set himself a neat table. With a flourish, he tied one of the clean napkins about his neck and set the other by his left hand. Helping himself to roasted mutton, bread, and rice, he continued with his meal.
Riskali was torn between fascination and appalled curiosity, “What does the man do? Why does he go to such trouble to eat?”
Eddie, who understood precisely what Stephen was doing, shrugged incomprehension.
“Many English customs are strange. They eat their meals with many small tools when a good knife and spoon is enough. In some houses where I have been a guest, they use one fork for the salad, another for the meal, and still another for dessert. They use different knives as well—short, blunt ones for putting butter on bread, sharp ones for cutting meat, and long blunt ones for cutting vegetables or fruit.”
The villagers roared amused appreciation of this description.
“If they need all of those blunt knives,” Riskali’s youngest son gasped between gusts of laughter, “they must be very clumsy and fear cutting themselves.”
Similar jokes followed, and Eddie continued to spin tales—all completely true, but with the details exaggerated—that exploited the difference between the urbanized Britisher and the Egyptian fellahin. Daud occasionally contributed, but mostly he kept his silence, willing the villagers to forget both him and the camels.
For her part, Jenny had eaten earlier, and was now double-checking the saddlebags. Her own and Uncle Neville’s offered no surprises, but she had to set aside any number of Stephen’s books, the weight of which would have been an unnecessary burden to the camels.
With the noise of the banquet in her ears, she and her two assistants loaded the lighter, which was tied to the stern of the dahabeeyah, as far as possible from their guests. Then they rowed quietly for the shore.
Jenny knew that this was one of the two most dangerous moments in the whole venture. If any of the villagers—either on shor
e or aboard the Mallard —noticed their departure, any hope of carrying this off would be ended. Kneeling in the bow, she looked back, holding her breath, waiting for a cry of alarm. All that came was a burst of rowdy laughter and a strain of music as the sailor/musicians prepared to perform.
Her own sailors let the small boat drift downstream. Then, when a clump of reeds growing from a sandbar gave them some concealment, they paddled ashore, heading for an inlet that Eddie had scouted out earlier.
Once the boat pulled clear of the drag of the Nile’s current, they unloaded the saddlebags. The larger of the men carried two. Jenny struggled a bit under the weight of her own, too aware of the tenuous nature of her command to ask for help. The second man took only a single saddlebag, and moved ahead to scout.
The night was cool, so most of those villagers who had gathered on the riverbank to enviously gaze at what they could glimpse of the festivities had already retired to sleep. Those who remained were huddled under rugs with attention for nothing but the light, laughter, and good smells drifting from the Mallard .
A few dogs growled as the three passed the outskirts of the village, but perhaps the slaughtering of sheep, ducks, and chickens earlier had sated even them, for they did not bother to challenge—or perhaps they had learned the wisdom of staying away from those who moved with confidence in the darkness.
Therefore it was without arousing suspicion that Jenny and her escort made their way to the western edge of the village where the camels were hobbled. A low wall designed to keep the sand from drifting into the fields concealed the kneeling camels from casual observation. However, a flickering fire framed by two huddled figures revealed that Riskali had indeed set guards. Doubtless if asked he would say he had done this for the good of Daud, but Jenny did not doubt his motives were less pure.
The two night-watchmen sat close to the fire, something—probably a coffee pot—between them, their attitude that of complete dejection.
“Fools!” muttered the larger of her two sailors, laying his burden carefully on the ground. “They blind themselves by looking into the fire.”
The Buried Pyramid Page 27