‘Accepted,’ said Joyce. ‘But remember…the Professor is not to be harmed. Not so much as a chipped fingernail. If she was to be hurt out here, as attaché, my government would ask questions of me, and that would serve neither yours nor your brother’s best interests, understand?’
Faroud bowed low. ‘I understand.’
CHAPTER XIX
The Bizarre Bazaar
MADAME DESTINE SAID goodbye to Alexandria’s brother as he gently steered his cart down the road. It was only when she lifted her hand to wave that she noticed something was missing. She snatched at her wrist frantically. Her bracelet was gone. A piercing whistle caught her attention, and she looked up to see Joran jeering at her from the end of the road – with her jewellery in his hand.
‘Magpie!’ she fumed, squeezing the handle of her parasol in frustration.
She surveyed her location. A towering stone archway served as the main entranceway to Agra Bazaar. The noise beyond it was tremendous, as if the walls had imprisoned all the sights, sounds and smells of the bazaar within and they were bursting at the seams.
Destine was drawn irresistibly inside.
Agra Bazaar was a bustling jungle of scattered shops and stalls situated within a labyrinth of twisting alleyways and narrow lanes, culminating in one vast, sprawling marketplace in the centre of the city. The bazaar’s reputation maintained that it sold everything and anything that a person could wish for, and it was a proud boast that the city did its best to live up to. Its origins as Egypt’s centre point for trade began centuries past with caravans arriving from the Asian continent bringing spices, silks and other luxurious goods such as gemstones, precious metals and tapestries. Soon after, Europe began extending its seafaring conquests in search of warm water ports and they brought with them an increase in trade. Agra Bazaar’s revenue blossomed, and despite the fact that it was positioned at least an hour’s journey from the main port, it managed to thrive beyond all expectations. There were no homes left in Agra any more – it was a district populated solely by businesses small and large.
No wonder Cornelius recommended this place, thought Destine, it will keep me out of his hair for hours.
She walked along the main street and into an explosion of people. All the many and varied shops’ doors were carved into the rock-faces, each one a tiny cave of wonder, their facades painted in bright colours to entice the passing consumer. Destine was sorely tempted more than once, but she resisted. She knew that it was unlikely she would see Cornelius before nightfall – perhaps longer if Joran decided not to show his thieving little face again – so for now, Destine was happy floating about from shop to shop and from one stall to the next.
The unfolding bazaar and its wonderfully eclectic people occupied her attention completely. The swarm of colourfully dressed people’s myriad emotions were playing havoc with her increasing sensitivity to them. Proud boasting, desperate pleading, unyielding begging – the whole spectrum of emotions was open to her, and Destine had to consciously muffle the noise from her mind. Just by being off the ship and able to stretch her legs, she had forgotten all about losing her clairvoyant gifts. Usually they were her guide as she navigated through life, but here in Agra Bazaar, she felt very much at home, and very much at peace. It was understandable after all. In such a public place, what could possibly cause her harm?
Plenty – was the answer.
As Destine manoeuvred her way through the street, she was oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. Heinrich Nadir followed her every move from a small table outside a tearoom. He paid close attention to the elegant woman’s ports of call, lest she strayed too far from view. His two very deadly aces up his sleeve were held in reserve on the bazaar’s outskirts. The Hades Consortium assassins would stick out like sore thumbs in Agra, and he did not want to risk frightening the Frenchwoman away. Too much was resting on her capture – more even than Godfrey Joyce was aware.
Blind to the attention she had garnered, Destine meandered along the concourse until she reached the bazaar’s central square. Colourful banners and flags from the buildings’ flat rooftops blew in the breeze. There was a large stone spire set into the centre of the square; around it tall wooden masts were dotted randomly. Lanterns were affixed midway up the masts, and streamers and ribbons were tied around every one, fluttering in the light wind. The whole place was alight with an atmosphere of colour and vibrancy. From out of nowhere, a scent floated lightly upon the air and stirred Destine’s senses. She was reminded of her youth in Toulouse as the smell of freshly baked goods wafted past her nose, and she tried to recall the scent.
Cinnamon bread – that was it!
It was unmistakably cinnamon bread. Destine was stunned. But surely she was mistaken. It could not possibly be coming from within Agra Bazaar, could it? She was surrounded by stalls selling smoked fish, marinated chickens and spiced-lamb skewers, and there seemed nowhere capable of producing such an extravagant and familiar smell. It tugged at her senses, and she was desperate to find it. Leaving the hustle and bustle of the central marketplace, Destine moved towards the alleyways that branched in every direction.
Down a nearby lane, a gaggle of women gossiped like starlings at dusk. As Destine passed, one of them darted out her hand and grabbed at her wrist. Destine was stopped in her tracks as the Egyptian woman stroked her long, flowing dress and flashed a mouthful of haphazard teeth at her. She spoke with a rasping, guttural hiss and Destine knew it was not a friendly invitation to join in the conversation. This woman wanted money. Destine tried to pull her arm free, but in a flash the woman’s friends rounded upon her, enclosing her within a tight circle. Destine was shoved violently against the brick wall. She felt a hand snatch at her neck, at her wrists, and more hands grabbing at her – invading her, picking at her bones. Holding up her arms to defend herself, Destine begged the women to stop.
Although the assault seemed to last for ever, it was over within seconds.
With a sudden eruption of laughter, the women pushed Destine to the ground, towering over her with an assortment of jeers and sneers…and then they were gone. They darted down an alley and around a corner, disappearing into the maze of streets like fleeing rats.
Rising to her feet, Madame Destine steadied herself against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her necklace of pearls was gone, as was her charm bracelet; even her earrings had been forcibly ripped from her ears.
‘Merde!’ she cursed, thumping her hand against the wall. ‘You foolish old woman, what were you thinking…wandering off alone?’
She stared down the alley in the direction the women had fled. Potent adrenalin buzzed around her veins, and Destine allowed herself to become inflamed by it. With her fists clamped into tight balls of fury, she set off in swift pursuit.
Rounding the corner of the alleyway she looked all about, but the women were nowhere to be seen. She cocked her head, listening above the hubbub of the marketplace, above the rattle of horse and carts, above the shopkeepers’ boasts. She heard a raucous laugh from somewhere down the labyrinth of alleyways. Recognising it as her attacker, she set off after the thief. She moved past a small corner store selling carpets and flattened her body against the sandstone wall of an alleyway, trying to pinpoint her foes’ location. The laughter was louder now, and she visualised the gang of women picking through her possessions. Destine approached the corner of the wall as quietly as she could. She tensed herself, ready for the confrontation and leapt into the alley with her fists raised.
The alley was empty.
The women could have been anywhere within the maze of side streets, and Destine’s adrenalin would no doubt subside long before she found them. She was just about to turn tail and head back into the main marketplace when once again her senses were inflamed. It was that luscious scent of cinnamon bread. She looked around, using her nose as a compass, desperate to track the source of the smell.
And then she found it.
The carpet store that she had just passed beckoned her t
owards it. The smell was emanating from the store’s rear window. Destine moved across the street swiftly, as if the store might vanish at any moment. So determined was she that she failed to see a horse galloping towards her at speed.
‘Look out!’ a man’s voice yelled.
Destine spun around as the large, black shape loomed upon her like a great dark cloak. Something slammed into her body, wrenching her neck back like a rag doll, pushing her from the horse’s path. She landed on the pavement, her fall cushioned by several rolls of soft carpet. Her eyes rolled, waiting for gravity to resume control. Lifting her head, she made out a blurred image of a dark-skinned man astride a large black horse in the street. He was cursing madly at her, raising his fist in the air. Destine slumped back down onto the carpets, trying to summon the strength to move. Her scattershot mind was flooded with questions – not the least of which being: ‘Who is this strange little bearded man looming above me?’
‘That was quite a tumble!’ the man said. ‘Had I not pushed you out of the way, it might have been far worse, ah?’ The stranger was short and stocky, with a thick white beard skirting the circumference of his round face. Tiny spectacles sat askew on the bridge of a once-proud nose, and tufts of downy hair sprouted from the sides of his bald head. Most intriguing of all; there was something about his large, brown eyes that captivated Destine.
Something almost…familiar.
‘Are you all right?’ the little man enquired. ‘You are liable to get yourself killed, standing in the street around here. Did you not see that horse?’
‘Horse? Non, I…I did not,’ replied Destine, her breath shallow. ‘But, oui…I am fine. Just a little shaken. You saved my life, sir. I am most relieved you were passing.’
‘Passing?’ squawked the man. ‘My dear, I was not passing, or have you forgotten that this is my carpet store?’
‘Forgotten?’ asked Destine.
‘Ah! I do not blame you. A lot has changed since you were last here – except you, of course! You look exactly as you did twenty years ago, Destine. I cannot wait for you to fill me in on what I have missed, ah?’ the man grinned.
Madame Destine scowled at the chap, rubbing at her bruised ribs. Surely she must have also struck her head during the fall. Either that or this man was mad.
‘Since I was last here? Twenty years ago, you say?’ she asked.
The man chuckled as he helped Destine to her feet. ‘I know! It makes me feel old too, ah? Come along inside the store. I will make us a nice pot of tea, and as luck would have it, I have just baked some cinnamon bread with fresh butter and jam – just the way you like it!’
‘But, monsieur…how could you know how I like it?’ asked Destine, with a frown.
‘How else, Destine?’ piped the stout fellow, as he scuttled through the curtain of beads that hung from the shop’s doorway. ‘You told me.’
‘I…I did?’ Destine began to follow the man, but halted in her tracks. ‘Wait, monsieur…did you just call me “Destine”?’
‘Yah,’ replied the cheery little man. ‘Twice!’
CHAPTER XX
The Silent Echo
INSIDE THE CARPET store, Madame Destine sat upon a stool at a large, circular table and looked around. The decor was exactly how her mind felt at that particular moment – hotchpotch. Virtually every scrap of wall-space was covered with swatches of carpets and ornate rugs, all arranged in a bizarre kind of mosaic. Huge rolls of varying types of carpet were stacked up against one of the walls in a long line.
Destine occupied herself by scanning every square inch for anything that might give her some clue as to who this man was…and how he seemed to know her. She found nothing, and as she heard a gentle melodic hum emanating from the rear of the store, she prayed that a little illumination would be forthcoming.
Accompanied by a delicious smell, the man approached the table carrying a wooden tray laden with warm cinnamon bread, fresh butter and a jar of conserve. A dented metal teapot sat upon the table, and the man nudged it carefully to one side in order to put the food down. Destine had not spoken a single word, but the stranger had done enough talking for the both of them. He chattered away merrily, barely pausing to take a breath. The permanent smile etched upon his bearded face never waned, and his stubby moustache seesawed when he spoke.
‘How are you feeling now, Madame?’ he asked.
‘My neck is a little sore, but nothing appears to be broken,’ Destine replied, ‘apart from my memory, it seems. I must admit to being slightly confused.’
‘That was a nasty scare, but nothing that some tea and a slice of cinnamon bread will not fix, ah?’ the man said, nodding to the table. ‘I had no idea you were coming, dear Destine, why did you not write?’
Destine gathered handfuls of her gown within her fists, squeezing them tightly, trying to wring out an answer to her confusion. The little Egyptian had buzzed around like a miniature whirlwind ever since she had set foot inside his store. So much so that she was barely able to concentrate on the muddle that was her memory.
‘Monsieur, I am sorry to be so blunt. You have been very kind, but I must ask…do I know you?’ She watched the man’s kind expression waver. ‘I think that you might have me confused with someone else. Or perhaps it is I that am confusing myself for someone else, I do not know! I have never seen you before in my life, yet you claim to know me. I ask myself how this can be.’
‘You have been through a very frightening episode, ah? It is no wonder you are confused. Here!’ The stranger offered Destine a plate of warm cinnamon bread, to which she nodded her thanks and helped herself to a slice, spreading a thick blanket of butter upon it. All the while, the Egyptian’s smile never waned. ‘I have missed that appetite of yours.’
‘Missed? Again, monsieur – where have we met before?’ asked Destine. ‘Who are you, what is your name? Where am I?’
The man sighed in mock frustration. ‘Okay, I will play along if it makes you happy! My name is Ahman Nadim.’ Ahman straightened the bow tie at his plump neck. ‘This is my carpet store…modest, though it is. And you, my dear lady, are Madame Destine Renard.’
His words made Destine’s heart miss a beat.
‘R-Renard?’ she stuttered.
This man Ahman knew her, all right. The very fact that he was aware of the name ‘Renard’ was proof of that. She had not used that name in a long while. Not since her son had tainted it so darkly. That still left the question: who was this mysterious fellow? How could he know such a private detail about her? She had never set eyes upon him before. Had she?
‘Pardonnez moi, monsieur,’ Destine said, considering each word carefully. ‘I am having difficulty recalling. Have you ever travelled to the European continent? Perhaps I have done a reading of your fortune?’
‘No, not me,’ Ahman replied. ‘I am not one who cares to know what life has in store. I shall surely find out eventually. What is the hurry, ah?’
‘But…if you have not seen me in the circus, then how do you know me?’ asked Destine, her manners pushed to their limits by her impatience. ‘Please…I have had a simply dreadful time in this country since I arrived here. I have been assaulted, I have been robbed – twice, if you include by my chauffeur – and I was almost killed by a runaway horse. Please tell me that I am not living a nightmare!’
Ahman slid his ample backside off his stool, and stood at her side, resting his hand upon hers. ‘Is it true, then?’ he asked fondly. ‘You really do not remember? You do not recognise me? Then…why are you here?’
‘By accident,’ replied Destine.
Ahman frowned deeply. ‘But you once told me that there are no accidents.’
‘Well, apart from this one, obviously,’ said Destine. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, monsieur, but although you know me, I have no recollection of you…although I pray you are a friend…for I am in desperate need of one right now.’ She took a bite of the cinnamon bread and immediately a flush of colour returned to her cheeks – as did a smile. ‘Mon Dieu, this br
ead is superb! How ever did you come by this recipe?’
Ahman scratched at his bald head, almost guiltily saying, ‘You gave it to me.’
Destine was beginning to feel as if she had walked into this conversation halfway through. ‘You are mistaken, sir. You must be! I arrived for the first time in Egypt just this morning!’
‘I do not wish to distress you, my dear…but it is you that are mistaken. Perhaps I need to contact Agra’s medical man to ensure you did not strike your head when you fell,’ said Ahman, his bewilderment now almost equalling Destine’s. ‘We have met before…many times. When I saw you moments ago, to be quite honest I was most relieved. I have waited so patiently for so very long for you to come back. I hoped that I would finally learn the answer to that old mystery of yours.’
‘Mystery? What mystery?’ Destine asked.
‘I will show you,’ chuckled Ahman.
With that, the carpet trader disappeared behind a curtain into the backroom, only to return a few moments later carrying a small wooden box in his stout fingers. ‘If it is answers that you seek, perhaps this contains the missing pieces, ah?’ said Ahman, as he ruffled through the contents of the box. He beamed a wide smile as he produced an age-stained envelope, handing it to Destine. ‘For you, I believe.’
Destine looked at the envelope as if it were an illusion the likes of which she had seen Cornelius perform a dozen times. It was incredibly old. The ink was faded, but still just about legible to her eyes, and upon inspecting the envelope closely, she came across three startling discoveries.
One: the letter was unopened.
Two: the letter was addressed to her.
And three:
‘This is my handwriting!’ she gasped. Not even Cornelius could have managed an illusion this good. ‘What manner of trickery is this?’
‘No trickery, my dear! The letter simply is what it is,’ said Ahman. ‘Why do you not open it up and read what lies within?’
The Eleventh Plague Page 10