Night of a Thousand Stars

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  I was in a small room, deep in the heart of the souk. The shutters were closed tightly, and not even a sliver of sunlight penetrated them. The floor and walls were stone, and the room was bare save for a table and a single hard chair. The sole light was a bowl of oil with a rag for a wick, heavily shaded so that only a sliver of light shone around it. Feeble as it was, the light from it dazzled my sore eyes, and I scurried to put the table between me and the figure that had just bolted me inside with him. He wore native robes, with the traditional headdress pulled low over his brow. The end of the headscarf had been draped over his face and pinned in place, throwing his face into darkness. He wore only black, and the impression he gave was of a shadow come to life.

  The shadow spoke in a low, rough voice, heavily accented in the Damascene dialect.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable and sit.”

  I did as he told me for the simple reason that it didn’t seem as if anyone advising me to make myself comfortable would be intent upon killing me—at least not immediately. I was afraid, of course. Anyone who had just been abducted in a strange country would be. But I was not bound or gagged, and the feeling I had from the shadow was not one of menace. In fact, there was something rather thrilling about it all, and I didn’t stop at the time to think how unspeakably stupid it was to find it exciting. I was as bad as my Aunt Julia.

  So I sat down and folded my hands in my lap.

  “Do you think I might have a glass of water?”

  “Not in this city,” the voice said tartly. “Or haven’t your travelling companions taught you anything?”

  “You know Colonel Archainbaud? And Mr. Talbot?”

  “I know all,” said the shadow.

  “Really? I doubt that,” I said, thinking of Masterman and our quest to find Sebastian.

  “I know that you have come to this city to seek something...someone to be precise. And I am telling you to seek no more.”

  I caught my breath sharply. “Why don’t you want me to look for what I came for?” I demanded.

  “Because there is no need. Your friend is safe and well and that is all you need know. He would send you his regards if he could.”

  “If he could! There, you see, he is not safe and well or he could speak to me himself.”

  The shadow made a little noise of exasperation. “It is not possible. He has business here and you must not interfere. It might be dangerous.”

  “I’m not worried about danger to me,” I said proudly, tossing my head.

  “I mean danger to him.”

  My hands fisted at my sides. “If you have harmed him, I promise you there aren’t enough devils in hell to protect you from me,” I swore.

  The shadow laughed. “He is entirely unharmed. I give you my word, and in this city, my word is worth a great deal.” He paused a moment. “But why should you care so much what happens to the Englishman you seek?”

  “He—he is my friend,” I said simply.

  “Ah! So you have known him a very long time, then?”

  “No, not exactly.” I hesitated, suddenly understanding how utterly stupid it sounded to say it aloud. “We’ve only met once.”

  The shadow laughed again. “And yet you come all this way to seek him out?” He made a tutting sound. “The women of this country would scorn you for such unladylike behaviour.”

  “I don’t care about being unladylike,” I told him, my temper rising. “I owe a debt.”

  The shadow tipped his head. “What debt? Do you owe him money?” he asked eagerly. “I could convey it to him.”

  “I should hardly trust an abductor with my money,” I returned tartly. “But no, nothing like that. It’s a debt of honour. I owe him for rescuing me.”

  The shadow gave a little snort. “Rescuing you? What sort of peril do you have in England? There are no desert bandits there to carry you off, no brigands to steal your purse or your virtue.”

  “You haven’t been to the docks,” I told him, remembering a similar conversation with Masterman. “But it wasn’t like that, either. I was running away and he helped me.”

  “Here it is a criminal thing for a girl to run away from her family.”

  “Yes, well, then I’m bloody glad I’m an Englishwoman.”

  The shadow laughed again. He seemed to be enjoying the abduction thoroughly, and I wondered if he made a career of it.

  “So the Englishman helped you to run away? This is the great act of heroism that caused you to chase him halfway around the world?”

  “I didn’t chase him,” I corrected. “I thought he was in danger. I still think it,” I added. “You haven’t exactly convinced me, you know.”

  He spread his hands. “You must forgive the melodrama. But these things are sometimes necessary, dear lady. And I am sorry I have not persuaded you. It is the truth—your English friend is alive and well and wishes you to be the same. You must not seek him further, I beg you. And he begs you, as well.” The shadow’s voice was low, almost pleading.

  “But he’s my friend,” I said simply.

  The shadow nodded slowly. “Yes, it is good to have friends. I hope that you will believe me when I tell you that your Englishman is also a friend of mine. And I will convey your concerns to him. But you must not seek him further.”

  He gathered his robes and prepared to rise. “I do not propose to warn you again. If you disobey me, there will be consequences.”

  “Consequences like these?” I asked, spreading my hands to indicate the barren room.

  “Oh, these are not consequences, my lady. They do not leave marks.”

  I gave a squawk of alarm. “Are you threatening me with violence? I’ll have you know my grandfather was the Earl March, and my stepfather—”

  He rose to his full height, looming over me. “Do not threaten me, my lady. Beyond the walls of this city lies the Badiyat ash-Sham, the great Syrian desert, where a person could be left alone to wander until thirst and madness claim all life and the sun bleaches the bones from now to the end of time itself. I think you would not like to find yourself there.”

  My breath caught in my throat and I sat, paralysed as a rabbit in front of a snake as he stepped backwards into the shadows.

  “Now you have heard my words. You are free to go,” he said, lifting one hand in a gesture of farewell.

  I scurried past him and out the door before he could change his mind. The room gave directly onto a small alleyway, part of a vast complex of buildings, each looking very like the others. I started forward, then understood I would never find my way back to this room again. It was too similar to the others, and the passages were labyrinthine, twisting back on themselves and making it impossible to know one from another. I had to discover whatever I could about my abductor, and this was my only chance.

  I turned back to the room. I had the element of surprise and I meant to use it. He could not have left—the windows were barred and there were no other doors. And despite his threats about the desert, I did not think him a killer. He had had the chance to do me any number of mischiefs when I was in his power and he had not taken it. If I could just peer through the door, he might reveal enough to show me some distinguishing feature, something I could use to identify him again.

  I crept back, my shoes silent on the stones. I put my eye to the keyhole, blinking hard. The little flame still burned in the crude shaded lamp, and the table was precisely where I had left it. The windows were still barred from the outside and nothing had been moved.

  But the room was completely empty.

  * * *

  To my relief, the boy appeared again then, and even though I gave him a tongue-lashing that ought to have blistered his skin, he kept a cheerful smile as he led me through the souk. After several minutes I rounded a corner to find he had disappeared again, and just as I opened my mouth to scr
eam in outrage, I understood where I was. The scorched façade of the coppersmith’s shop was in front of me. He had delivered me to the precise location he had found me, and as soon as he had, he melted away again into the crowded souk.

  A hand clamped around my arm and I let out a shriek.

  Hugh crushed my arm as he whirled me around. “My God, where have you been? I’ve been frantic!”

  I gave him a feeble smile. “I got lost in the commotion,” I told him. “I followed a little boy, who took me to a fountain to bathe my eyes. I couldn’t see anything in the smoke.”

  It was almost entirely true, but his eyes narrowed. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Let’s go.” I was only too happy to oblige, and as soon as we arrived back at the hotel I went straight to my room to take off my sooty frock and have a good scrub. I went to unpin the paper Damascene rose Hugh had given me, but when I looked, there was nothing left but a slender stem, each petal having been torn off in the drama of the day.

  Ten

  The next day the colonel was feeling peevish and absolutely not inclined to settle to work. I looked in on him after breakfast, but he flapped a hand at me as if he were shooing away a goose.

  “Go and amuse yourself, my dear. Talbot will attend me.”

  Hugh said nothing, but I could tell from the set of his shoulders as he tidied the colonel’s room that he was irritated. I gave the colonel a quick smile and darted away, as anxious to avoid Hugh as I was to meet up with Masterman.

  I snatched up my trusty Baedeker and hurried down the stairs and out the lobby only to find the comtesse’s motorcar waiting at the kerb.

  Faruq was waiting. “Good morning, miss,” he said serenely.

  “Good morning, Faruq.” I made to go around him, but he stepped neatly in front of me. For such a large fellow, he moved surprisingly fast.

  “I am under orders to take you wherever you would like to go,” he told me.

  “Oh, that isn’t necessary,” I protested. Once more I tried to step around and once more he blocked me.

  “It is the wish of my mistress, the comtesse. I must obey.”

  “Well, naturally,” I said, giving him a wide smile. “But surely someone else will have greater need of you. It seems silly for you to spend your time hauling me around.”

  He did not answer. He merely walked to the door of the motorcar and opened it for me. He stood aside and waited, and with a sigh I got in.

  “Where to, miss?”

  I gave him the address of the Turkish bath Masterman had set as our meeting place.

  “Very good, miss.”

  He said nothing more. I stared at the back of his sturdy head as he deftly navigated the motorcar through the narrow streets and rolled to a stop in front of a high wall. There was a wooden door but no sign and Faruq got out to open my door.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” I asked.

  He inclined his head, and I pulled a face. Faruq was clearly never going to be one for conversation.

  I went in, noting the shabbiness of the exterior and wondering exactly what I’d got myself into. But the anteroom alone took my breath away. It might have been a rich man’s home at one time, must have been, I decided with a glance at the gilded ceiling overhead. The floors and walls were tiled and the air was thick with steam that smelled of cinnamon and cedar and something else I couldn’t quite identify. An attendant hurried forward and led me to the disrobing area where I was stripped and given a small towel to cover myself with. From there I was guided to a small room with a low ceiling where I was told to sit and breathe in the billows of steam caused by another attendant whose sole job was ladling water onto hot coals strewn with herbs. I was utterly relaxed and rather light-headed when they took me to the next room—so light-headed I didn’t even protest when they slathered me in a mixture of hot beet sugar thinned with lemon juice. They applied thin muslin strips then, rubbing them firmly over the syrupy concoction before tearing them off, taking the sticky solution and other things with it. I gave a little shriek of protest, but they paid me absolutely no attention, and what they did next did not bear thinking about.

  When it was finished, they rubbed me down with scented oils, stretching my muscles until they were sleek and gleaming. They wrapped me in wet sheets and beat me lightly with herb branches before scrubbing my hair and fingernails until everything shone. When they were finished with their elegant tortures, they sent me into the main bath to recover.

  I tottered to one of the pools and slid in. The water was heavenly, warm and gently scented from the flowers that floated on the surface. There were several women already there, as naked as I and completely unconcerned with it. I thought of hiding behind a convenient lily, but there seemed little point. The women enjoying the baths came in all shapes and sizes, from a tiny teenage bride preparing for her nuptials to a great-grandmother whose breasts stretched down to her hips. Nobody else seemed to mind, so I gave myself up to the experience and floated as lilies bobbed past.

  After a long while, an attendant prodded me, and I climbed into the dry sheet she held. She guided me to a divan and thrust a glass of mint tea into my hands. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so utterly unconcerned with anything at all, and my head was nodding a little as I noticed a woman leaving one of the baths. She had a spectacular figure, and she moved slowly and gracefully, rising from the perfumed water like Venus emerging from the foam. The water broke over the curve of her breasts, rolling back from a long, smooth expanse of stomach and lapping at a pair of beautifully rounded hips and shapely legs. I blinked through the steam.

  “Masterman?”

  The vision gestured towards an attendant for a dry sheet and came towards me. Her hair was hanging loose, waving damply about her shoulders.

  “Hello, miss. Enjoy the bath?”

  I blinked again. Without her severe hairstyle she looked years younger, and I gaped at the long, supple limbs and spectacular breasts.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Masterman, how old are you?”

  She gave me a slow, heavy-lidded stare. “Forty, miss.”

  I swallowed hard. “Golly.”

  “Golly?”

  “It’s American,” I told her. “It’s one of those words you use when you don’t quite know what to say. Masterman, I think Sebastian isn’t the only one hiding a light under a bushel.”

  “Miss?”

  I waved a hand in her general direction. “You’re stunning. You just need the right clothes. Those dark tweeds you wear don’t do a thing for you. And that hair—you need to have it cut right off. I’ve never noticed your cheekbones before, but you could cut glass on them.”

  She looked down her nose. “I think not, miss.”

  “But it’s true. You just need a little help. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to dress. Green, I think. We’ll find you something in green to bring out your eyes. And maybe some heels. You always wear those awful clumpy shoes but you have perfect ankles.”

  Masterman tucked her feet underneath the divan. “I am quite satisfied with my appearance, miss.”

  “That’s because you don’t know the power of a good frock,” I told her seriously.

  “Perhaps not, but I’m satisfied just the same. And you never answered. Did you enjoy the hammam?”

  I narrowed my eyes again. “Most of it was utter heaven. But you might have warned me about that sadist with the beet sugar.”

  Masterman grinned. “It does take one by surprise, doesn’t it? Now, what have you discovered?”

  Over more tea and sherbet I related the events of the previous day in the souk. She grew pale and then dark red by turns as I told her about my encounter with the shadow.

  “I don’t like it,” she said flatly.

  “Don’t like it? Masterman, it’s our first real clue!” I said, dropping my voice
to a whisper.

  “You were warned off by some strange shadowy figure that can apparently disappear into thin air to stop looking for Sebastian.”

  “And?” I prompted.

  “And I think you should listen to the shadow.”

  She gestured for more mint tea, heavily sweetened, and watched as I drank it all. “It’s good for shock.”

  “I haven’t had a shock,” I protested. “I’ve had an epiphany.”

  “You are not normal. A normal girl would have swooned or gone into hysterics.”

  “I’m made of sterner stuff,” I said proudly. “Remember I told you about my Aunt Julia? She once confronted a murderer—”

  She held up a hand. “I’m not interested in any more of your family’s tall tales.”

  “They aren’t tall tales,” I told her sulkily. “They’re memoirs. They’re perfectly true, I’ll have you know. My Aunt Julia was a proper detective at one time. And my father, as well.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about their experiences in espionage, but I wasn’t certain how many people knew of their exploits, and a little discretion for once seemed prudent. “It’s in my blood. I’m cool in a crisis and I have excellent deductive skills.”

  “And these deductive skills have led you to believe that Sebastian came to the aid of his inamorata Evangeline Starke when she went missing in the desert?”

  I shrugged. “It’s as good an explanation as any. And it suits his character. He came to my aid when I needed him. Perhaps he has a complex of sorts.”

  “A complex?”

  “Psychological complex. Some sort of disorder where he has to help ladies in need. What do you suppose such a complex would be called?”

  Her expression was dark. “I’d call it a Galahad Complex.”

  “Galahad! Yes, that’s it precisely. He was the youngest of Arthur’s knights, wasn’t he? And the only one to achieve the Grail?”