Of course, that was before I knew about the murder.
Thirteen
I woke stiffly, groaning a little as I moved my limbs.
“What’s the matter? Accommodations not to your liking, princess?” asked Sebastian coolly.
He was sitting at the table, eating a plate of cold meat and flatbread. I pushed myself onto my elbows with a sigh. Clearly he hadn’t forgiven me for my lapse the night before.
There was a bucket of cold water in the corner and I washed my face and hands hastily before joining him at the table. He shoved the food at me with bad grace, and I began to eat. The meat was tough and the bread stale, but it was delectable. There was more wine, and I drank a little of that to clear my head.
“Feeling better?” he asked. His earlier irritation seemed to have faded a little, and I smiled.
“Yes, actually. It’s a new day, Sebastian. Why don’t we forget our differences and make the best of things? I’ve been thinking it over, and I believe I can help you. I know Gabriel said the map to the gold was gone, but what if we go back to the monastery? He might have been mistaken. It’s been a few years since the group of you were there, and what if he didn’t look thoroughly enough?”
Sebastian regarded me thoughtfully. “A logical plan, I’ll give you that. But how far do you suppose we will get when I’m wanted for murder?”
I stopped eating, my hand halfway to my mouth with a piece of bread. I put it down and wiped my mouth carefully. “That isn’t a very nice joke, Sebastian.”
He pushed a newspaper towards me. “I was going to wait until you finished, but it’s best you know.”
And there it was. In lurid black and white. The body of an Englishman had been discovered in the old quarter. He had been shot to death and left where he fell. The body, discovered in the middle of the night by a watchman making his rounds, had been identified as Hugh Talbot, valet to Colonel Cyrus Archainbaud.
“It’s not possible,” I murmured.
He poured another cup of wine and pushed it towards me. “Drink.”
“Oh, my God,” I moaned. “I don’t understand.”
“At some point, friend Hugh must have shaken off the blow I gave him and given chase. And somewhere along the line, it ended badly for him.”
“Pickpockets—” I began, but he gave me a pitying look.
“Pickpockets don’t shoot men to death, not in Damascus. Besides, his papers were still on him as was his money,” he pointed out.
I moaned again and dropped my head to the table, but as soon as it hit I jerked it up again.
“There’s no mention of me,” I said suddenly.
Sebastian gave a nod of satisfaction. “I wondered when that would occur to you. As far as the colonel knows, you’re missing.”
“But why? The colonel must know I’m gone. Oh, God, he must think I’ve been abducted by the villains who killed Hugh. He must be frantic.”
“So frantic he didn’t tell the police?” he asked gently.
“But it doesn’t make sense,” I protested. There was a sense of watchfulness about Sebastian, as if he had already puzzled it out but meant to give me time to catch up. I gave a sudden gasp. “Unless he thinks I did it. If he thought I killed Hugh he wouldn’t tell the police. He’d try to protect me by hushing it all up. But what possible reason would there be for me to kill Hugh?”
Sebastian gave me a pointed look. “He did come to your room last night. Perhaps someone saw him.”
“He did not come to my room. He came to my balcony, as did you,” I said coldly. “And if anyone had seen him come, they would have seen me leave with you.”
“Not necessarily. They mightn’t have liked to pry.” His cool detachment was maddening, but it made a horrible kind of sense.
“I suppose,” I said slowly. “Someone might have seen him come to my room, but then what?”
“He could have persuaded you to go out with him. I believe you’ve been out in public with the fellow several times since your arrival in Damascus,” he said, widening his eyes innocently.
“Yes.” The word was as clipped and sharp as I could make it. “We were friendly.”
“And you’ve been seen out with the comte, too, haven’t you?” he asked in the same sweetly insinuating voice.
I looked up, horrified. “But it sounds so sordid. As if I were carrying on with both of them! And I wasn’t carrying on with either of them, not really,” I finished roundly.
“But, in fact, you did—what was the phrase you used—‘carry on’?—with Hugh,” he said, his voice gentle. He was watching me closely, and I made every effort to keep my voice calm even though my fingers were shaking on the newspaper.
“It’s very simple,” I told him. “Hugh made overtures towards me. I thought he might be useful, so I didn’t discourage them. I thought a man of action might be helpful if matters proved complicated with regard to finding you.” Sebastian’s face darkened, but I went on. “So, I didn’t put him off. I temporised. Women have been doing it for centuries, you know.”
He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Why?”
“Because some men don’t take kindly to being rejected,” I told him a trifle waspishly. “They’re like overgrown toddlers. You have to take them by the hand and lead them into doing what you want in order to avoid a fuss. Oh, I could have thrown him over, but he would have sulked. He was just the type. And I didn’t want scenes and an atmosphere when I was trying to work. So I humoured him.”
“And that meant kissing him,” he said, idly scraping a knife under his fingernails. “Of course, I can hardly blame you when he was doing precisely the same.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”
His expression was thoughtful. “Doesn’t it seem a trifle coincidental to you that Hugh should try to make love to the one girl he thinks is capable of leading him to me? To the Ashkelon hoard?”
“You think he only kissed me because he was using me to get the gold?” I demanded.
He gave a half shrug, wincing when he remembered his tender ribs. “Granted, you’re alluring enough, I suppose he might have been inclined to have a go anyway, but let’s just say I don’t like coincidences.”
I ground my teeth together and he waved a finger. “That’s very bad for your teeth, you know. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t approve.”
I opened my mouth long enough to ask a question. “If you don’t like coincidences, how do you account for the fact that I just happened to be in the colonel’s employ at the same time as Hugh Talbot?”
Sebastian considered this a moment. “How did you come by the job? Advertisement in the newspaper?”
“No, actually it wasn’t. Cubby Ashley, a friend of mine, happens to be the colonel’s nephew. He put me onto it.”
“A grown man going by the name of Cubby? You can’t be serious. He ought to be horsewhipped.”
“It’s a pet name, and I hardly think someone called Slightly ought to be throwing stones.”
Sebastian gave me a glowering look from under his brows but decided to let that one pass. He spread his hands. “But there you go. I suspected for some weeks before my departure that I was being watched. Talbot or a confederate of his could have very easily seen us leave the church together. And given the unorthodoxy of our departure,” he added, his dark eyes gleaming, “they might have put entirely the wrong construction upon our relationship and assumed it was far more intimate than it is. They could have traced me to the steamship office and lost the trail there. The most logical thing was to backtrack and pick you up to use as their pointer.”
“And then he could have had a word with Cubby,” I said slowly. “He could have suggested it first to the colonel, convinced him he needed someone else to help with the travel. And then he could have worked on Cubby, persuaded him to put the plan to me, knowin
g I’d be desperate to find a way to the Holy Land. It’s rather diabolical, isn’t it?”
He gave me a thoughtful look. “Does your unfortunately named friend need money?”
“Pots of it. He’s expected to marry well, and he’s fallen in love with a girl who has nothing. He could easily have been bribed to suggest the job to me. And Cubby’s not terribly bright. He would have bought any story, thought it a great lark. Oh, the fool!” I said bitterly. I gave him a cold look. “Go on. Say it. Cubby’s a fool but not as big a one as a girl who thinks trips to the Holy Land just happen.”
He gave me a thin smile and said nothing.
“The poor colonel,” I murmured. “I must get that note to him.”
“Not a chance,” Sebastian told me flatly.
“But he’s worried! He thinks I’ve been abducted. Or worse,” I said darkly.
He fixed me with an inscrutable look. “I’ve been abducted, Poppy. There is nothing worse.” I stared at him, mouth agape, but he merely went on speaking in a calmly matter-of-fact tone. “The colonel is in no danger from Hugh’s conspirators, whoever they may be. There’s clearly been a falling-out amongst thieves—or perhaps they decided Hugh’s usefulness was outlived since he managed to bring you out here and flush me from my cover. And one less conspirator means one less share of the gold given out.” He paused and I wondered if he were thinking of his own Lost Boys and the traitor amongst them. “Besides,” he went on, “you cannot contact the colonel because the note would be handed over to the authorities and would serve no purpose. You are just as much a possible murderess as potential victim in this case.”
I spluttered. “But that’s impossible! They can’t really believe I killed Hugh.”
“Why not? You had an intimate friendship with the man and then he ends up dead the same night you disappear? Looks suspicious enough to me, and I’m inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“The benefit of the doubt?” My voice had risen to a screech and he held up a finger, wincing. “Why shouldn’t you,” I hissed, “when you were with me the whole time? You know I didn’t kill Hugh.”
He shrugged. “I assume you didn’t kill Hugh, but I wasn’t with you the whole night. I stepped out to keep watch, remember?”
“You were keeping watch. You would have seen me go,” I pointed out acidly.
“Not necessarily. Sometimes a gentleman has bodily functions to attend to,” he told me, batting his eyes modestly.
It was the batting of the eyes that tipped it. “You’re joking! You think this entire affair is some great jest,” I accused.
He sobered. “No, I don’t. A man is dead, but he’s not the sort I’ll weep salty tears for, and I don’t see you reaching for the sackcloth and ashes, so spare me the indignation.”
I shook my head. “I have never been so wrong about a person in my entire life. I thought you were nice.”
“I am nice,” he returned, giving me a hurt look. “If I weren’t, would I have rescued you from his clutches last night? Would I let you stay here even though I could collect a generous reward for your return?”
I pointed to a significant sentence in the newspaper. “I think not. You are wanted just as fervently as I am.”
He shrugged. “There are ways to manage these things. I have friends, you know. I could simply put one of them forward to claim the reward and share it out. I’m generous like that.”
I screeched again, and he put up a hand in protest. “For God’s sake, Poppy. My grandmother had a parrot that didn’t make noises that off-putting.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Fine. What do you want out of all this? What is your grand plan?”
He folded one booted leg over the other. “I’ve had considerably longer to think this over than you have, and I have a bit more experience of what to do when the authorities would like you to do something you really, really don’t want to do.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Putting you on a train for Beirut is obviously a non-starter since they’ll be watching the station, and the last thing we need is for you to be taken into custody now. So we’ll have to leave Damascus another way.”
I blinked. “Wait. You’re taking me with you?”
His gaze was marginally kinder. “I am. I told you, I’ve thought it over. So long as you don’t mind the newspapers saying nasty things about you for a few days, the best plan is to get right out of Damascus. Whoever killed Hugh is looking for the gold, Poppy. That means they’re looking for us,” he finished gently.
“Oh. OH,” I said, putting it together. “You mean we’re in danger, then. But how do you know Hugh was killed by someone after the gold? It might have been a robber or—”
He shook his head. “It won’t do, Poppy. I told you I don’t like coincidences, and that would be a monstrous one. He comes here as part of a conspiracy to recover a fabled treasure and just happens to get murdered? I can’t believe that. He wasn’t robbed. He was shot at very close quarters, in the heart. That implies it was someone he trusted to get close to him, a confederate. He might have told them about me, and if he did, we’re in even more trouble. Our only choice is to stick together.”
“I’m surprised you don’t want to hand me over to the police,” I said. “It seems the reasonable thing to do.”
“If we were in England, I would. But have you been questioned by Syrian police? I have. It’s not an experience I care to repeat, and it’s not one you should have. Ever,” he said flatly. “First things first—we need to get out of the city. We’ll need to plan a route and secure disguises.”
It seemed logical enough and I told him so.
“Thank you,” he said dryly. “It is what I do, you know.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if I know you at all,” I said.
He threw me an enigmatic smile. “Then here endeth the lesson.”
We finished the remains of the cold meat and flatbread and I asked him if he had specifics in mind with regard to our next move.
His expression was thoughtful. “I’m not thrilled about our prospects, but for now the best thing will be to lie low and get out of Damascus. Somehow I have to get you out of the country and into the hands of the British authorities.”
“I’m rather surprised you don’t plan to go straight to them,” I said mildly. I hated to give him ideas for getting rid of me, but I was quite certain he’d already thought of it.
“Almost as difficult an option as the Syrians, but for very different reasons. The situation here is delicate. There’s a revolution afoot, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he told me. “God only knows what’s going to happen, but right now the British authorities here are in no position to hold off the Syrians if they want you for murder. Or me for that matter. We’d put them in a devil of a bind if we simply turned up. No, we need to get you somewhere else entirely.”
He fell silent a moment, then reached into a cupboard and pulled out a map. He spread it over the table, using the cups and plates to anchor the corners. “Here we are,” he told me, pointing to a large dot labelled Damascus. It sat serenely next to the pointed peak of Mount Hebron and beside the long brown sweep of the Badiyat ash-Sham. A little distance away was the coastline with Beirut and Sidon marked at the edge of the blue fringe of the Mediterranean. The coastline ran straight down from the Lebanon through Palestine, then curved as it led westward, skimming its way towards Africa. To the east, the vast stretches of desert pointed the way to Mesopotamia, the capital city of Baghdad labelled in a tidy hand.
“Any preferences?” he asked casually.
I was startled. “What do you mean?”
He pointed to Cairo, far to the west, and then east, to Baghdad. “I have contacts there and there. People who might actually listen if we explain we didn’t murder Friend Hugh. Which do you fancy?”
The fact that he had asked for my opi
nion was astonishing; the possibility that he might actually listen to it was miraculous. I bent and studied the map, looking it over carefully, scouting the dangers and difficulties along the way.
I straightened, pointing to Egypt. “Cairo. Definitely.”
He had been watching me carefully as I scrutinised the map and now his eyes were coolly assessing. “You seem adamant. Explain your reasoning, if you please.”
I pointed again to the map. “Baghdad is a good option, but not an excellent one. We cannot take the train—therefore the fastest and most secure route across the desert is cut off for us. To cross the desert, particularly as the days are growing warmer, would require a very fast motorcar with excellent suspension or horses. Motorcars can break down and horses must be changed if you’re riding fast. And then there are the Bedouin.”
“Go on,” he urged.
“They are at war with one another, tribal conflicts, and so forth. I would imagine crossing the desert would require an escort. That would take time and money and draw attention to us.” I pointed to the map, tracing out the route along the coast. “But if we make for Cairo, we can go by sea if we like to Alexandria. The distance to the coast is not significant, so missing out on taking the train wouldn’t be nearly as much a handicap as not taking it to Baghdad. We could make for Sidon and turn south from there, either using the coastal roads or by ship,” I finished.
He gave a grudging nod. “Sound logic, dear girl. Very sound.”
“How long will it take?”
He shrugged. “Sixty miles would be a good day’s riding, but the Anti-Lebanon Mountains lie between. They’re not tall, mind you—you crossed when you came on the train from Beirut. But we’ll want to avoid the usual checkpoints. We’ll have to go around a longer way and slip over the border at one of the unmanned crossings.”
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