by Valerie Parv
“You will also refrain from going off on your own,” he continued in the tone of an order.
“I thought you intended to trust me?”
“It’s the rebels I don’t trust. The man you call Business Suit is still out there.”
She felt herself blanch. “You expect him to turn up again at Karama, don’t you?”
“We are probably within his sights now.”
Her blood chilled. “I’ll do as you say, Your Highness,” she conceded.
The sheikh’s dark gaze transfixed her as he lifted her hand to his mouth. His lips whispered over her fingers, making desire pool inside her. As a way to seal their bargain, it was devastatingly effective on more levels than she cared to count.
“A wise decision,” he murmured.
Simone wasn’t so sure.
At the royal lodge at Karama, she was given a little breathing space. For the first three days of their stay she saw no sign of Business Suit, and barely enough of Markaz himself.
Fine with her, she told herself, although small surges of resentment troubled her when she saw him from a distance looking noble in his elaborate robes, about to preside over the majlis, the traditional-style Nazaari court of justice.
At the majlis, anyone could bring a grievance to the sheikh and receive a hearing, Amal told her. Concerns could range from a request for a piece of land or a scholarship for a son or daughter, to the effect of government policies, foreign relations and employment. Discussion could be heated and intense, Amal said. People sometimes waited a week or more to see Markaz.
Except when petitioning the sheikh themselves, women weren’t involved in the proceedings. They might not be segregated in a harem, but they may as well be, Simone thought. Whenever she stepped outside her room or the living rooms used by the royal women, she had to ensure her veil was in place. Not that she was often alone anyway. Amal was usually with her. And lately Bibi had taken to dogging her heels.
She couldn’t blame Bibi. For a teenager separated from her boyfriend, Karama must be the height of boredom. To Simone it was the very opposite. She had never felt so much at home anywhere.
According to Amal, this lodge had been built on the ruins of an eighth-century castle destroyed by an earthquake. Little remained of the original. Now lavishly decorated pillars stood at the entrance to a central hall where Markaz held court. The vaults of the different sections opened off the core and one section was reserved for the women.
As they approached the lodge, they’d driven along a road leading to an ancient Roman reservoir half the size of a football field. This provided Karama with water and the local farmers with irrigation, Markaz had explained. Then they’d crossed a line of palm trees marking the boundary between the desolate Lost Quarter and the arc of oases surrounding the city.
Simone was fascinated by the contrast between old and new worlds. The desert might be at their door, but satellite communications and state-of-the-art computer facilities linked the lodge with the world. She was able to keep in touch with her mother, and was pleased to hear she was showing slight improvement.
She’d debated telling her mother that she was close to finding Yusef, but decided against it. If Omar turned out to be the wrong man, raising her mother’s hopes could do more harm than good, particularly when the excellent care she was receiving seemed to be helping her progress.
Plus, the sheikh seemed to doubt that Omar was a hero, although everyone else thought so. Simone chafed at the restrictions keeping her from talking to the guard again.
She told herself she’d get another chance when the women went shopping at the Karama souk, the desert equivalent of a shopping mall. This souk was one of the oldest and largest in Nazaar, and Simone looked forward to seeing it. From Amal, she’d learned that Omar would be one of their escorts.
Had Markaz arranged the assignment to give Simone an opportunity to speak to Yusef? In this, her interests and the sheikh’s were identical, she reminded herself when resentment struck. Markaz might be manipulating her, but she wanted to talk to Yusef, too. Until the shopping trip, she would have to bide her time.
Communicating with Drew back home and keeping up with her Internet business provided a welcome distraction. She also used the Internet to learn all she could about the rebel movement in Nazaar. Not that there was much her parents’ experience hadn’t taught her. They may have fled the country thirty years before, but her father had kept up to date through his newsletter.
“You spend too much time working,” Amal chided after finding her at the keyboard yet again. “Wouldn’t you rather watch Markaz preside over the majlis?”
Simone’s fingers froze on the keyboard, her heartbeat going into automatic overdrive. “Of course, but aren’t the proceedings off-limits to women?”
Amal met Simone’s bitterness with a smile. “If you weren’t so wrapped up in your work, you’d know that Markaz has declared the court open to all.”
So he wasn’t only paying lip service to reform. “When did this happen?”
“Before we left Raisa, he told me this would be the first open majlis.”
“He didn’t say anything on the way here.” She blushed, remembering how she’d accused him of needing lessons in equality.
Amal twirled the end of her veil between thumb and forefinger. “Perhaps you had other things to discuss.”
Simone closed off the computer and dragged her veil across her face to hide her heightened color. She didn’t want to admit how eager she was to see the sheikh’s court, but her pulse drummed in anticipation. It was the chance to see a unique aspect of Nazaari society at work, not Markaz himself fueling her excitement, she assured herself.
She kept her voice steady with an effort. “I thought we were going shopping at the souk.”
“We will as soon as the morning session ends. Unless you don’t want to see Markaz in action.”
Simone stood up. “What are we waiting for?”
Amal’s knowing smile lingered as she followed Simone out of the room.
Chapter 10
Simone hadn’t expected to find such a crowd waiting for an audience with Markaz. Guards escorted her and Amal to where Norah and her attendant sat on cushioned benches at the back of the vast, pillared hall. The word majlis itself simply meant a place to sit, Simone had learned. Most of the hundred or so people waiting to talk to their sheikh sat on cushions on the carpeted floor. Plates of sweets and bottles of chilled water were being handed around. Along one back wall, a table was piled with gifts that Amal explained were brought by the people in thanks for the sheikh’s advice.
Norah acknowledged Amal and Simone with a cool nod. Since their arrival, the few times Simone had seen her in the women’s common rooms, the princess had been reading or making notes, presumably for the book she was writing. The rest of the time, Norah had kept to her own rooms or gone walking in the grounds of the lodge, a veiled, solitary figure.
Simone focused on the majlis activity. Several local women were among the petitioners. “Why are they here?” she asked Amal.
“Probably to ask the sheikh to help them find husbands.”
Simone’s gaze was drawn to the raised dais where he sat flanked by his senior advisors. In immaculate white dishdasha and black embroidered surcoat, with a gold i’qal holding his headdress in place, he looked every inch the monarch. A fist closed around her heart.
He looked calm and solemn, giving each petitioner his full attention and the benefit of his advice. In the hubbub she couldn’t hear the actual discussion, but the man in front of Markaz looked satisfied as he bowed and moved away. She saw Fayed beckon to one of the women seeking marriage.
In the brief pause while the woman approached, Markaz looked up and saw Simone, his gaze seeming to pierce the gauzy covering hiding her face. His nod of recognition was slight, but enough to make her glad that the color rushing up her neck into her face couldn’t be seen.
Her skin prickled as if someone else was watching her. Not Markaz. His attention
had returned to his petitioner. Simone looked around uneasily until her gaze collided with Princess Norah’s. Had the woman seen the look passing between Markaz and Simone? The rigid set of the princess’s body suggested she had, and was far from pleased.
You don’t have to worry, I won’t run off with your son, Simone wanted to assure her.
Simone was annoyed with herself for waiting like a love-struck teenager for another glance from her idol.
Amal nudged her. “Have you seen enough of our handsome sheikh at work?”
“Yes. Let’s go shopping.”
As they were driven to the souk, Bibi taunted her about wanting to attend the majlis, then being so eager to leave. “It’s always the same old thing, squabbles over land and money, who should take care of a widow and whom a woman should marry. Dull and boring.”
“Unless it’s your problem being solved,” Simone pointed out.
Bibi made a face. “Sheikh Markaz didn’t even try to solve my problem. He took the easy way out, ordering me not to see Abdl.”
Across the car Simone exchanged glances with Amal. They both knew this wasn’t true. “Markaz only told you not to entertain him in your room.”
Bibi’s young shoulders lifted. “Same thing. Then he dragged me to the middle of nowhere for a so-called vacation. It’s hardly a vacation since all he does is work.”
A similar thought had occurred to Simone but she didn’t voice it. Bibi’s resentment was enough for both of them. “You’ll enjoy yourself at the souk today,” she said. After Abdl, shopping was the teenager’s main preoccupation.
She wasn’t alone. Most of the royal women were addicted to shopping and their closets bulged with clothing, bags and shoes all with famous designer labels. Among themselves there was a spirit of friendly competition to show off their clothes, perhaps as a reaction to wearing anonymous galabias and robes the rest of the time.
While shopping could never compete with embroidery as Simone’s favorite pastime, she looked forward to seeing a real souk, having heard so much about them from her mother.
Sprawling over many blocks in the heart of the old city, Karama Souk was one of the oldest and largest in Nazaar, comprising dozens of meandering alleyways where you could buy anything from aromatic herbs to fabulous handmade carpets.
As their motorcade approached the ancient walls of the medina, Simone absorbed the sight of the narrow, winding streets crowded with shops, their wares spilling everywhere in profusion. Gold merchants, leather dealers, sellers of coffee pots and priceless carpets clamored for attention. A pharmacy like a witch doctor’s den advertised cures for everything from toothache to a broken heart. Maybe she’d visit that later.
When the alleyways became too narrow and busy, they left the cars and continued on foot. Norah had surprisingly decided to join the expedition, and led their group. While Simone didn’t like being under the princess’s unfriendly gaze, she was pleased to notice Yusef/Omar guarding the older woman.
She intended to find an excuse to claim his attention. Getting lost wouldn’t be the ideal way, she thought, knowing she’d have to keep her wits about her to avoid losing sight of the others.
A cry of “Barek” had her spinning around. “It’s only a donkey delivery,” Amal said, seeing her surprised reaction. “They’ve been delivering goods to the souk for hundreds of years.”
Simone made way for the owner of the burdened animal to harass it through, then abandoned herself to the exotic sights, sounds and smells. In most stores, they were expected to drink at least one glass of sweet mint tea and spend what felt like ages in negotiations for even the smallest purchase.
“Doesn’t anybody pay full price for anything in the souk?” she asked Amal, during a welcome visit to the ladies’ room.
Amal smiled. “That would take the fun out of shopping.”
Not sure about fun, Simone was conscious of the heat, made more stifling under her robes and veil, and of her aching feet. She restrained a sigh as they set off for another round of dress shopping. She’d bought one of the gorgeous embroidered pashas, a kind of two-piece galabia Amal said was worn on special occasions. For her mother she’d found a large flowing veil in French chiffon that could be worn dozens of different ways. Her purchases, along with those of the other women, would be delivered to the royal lodge later.
She’d drawn the line at the potions in the pharmacy, shuddering at the dried lizards hanging on the walls, until Amal assured her they were meant to impress the tourists, and were no longer used in modern medicine. Simone certainly hoped not. She was more enthusiastic about having her own blend of perfume made from aromatic oils and other mysterious ingredients.
She could also get used to being treated like royalty, she decided. Everywhere they went, Norah was recognized with much salaaming and deference. The rest of the royal party were also treated reverently, Simone included.
The whole experience had the flavor of a time gone by, Simone thought. Outside the stores, old men in spotless dishdashas and headdresses sat on benches whiling away the hours, others played cards or dominoes in dusty coffee shops.
Seeing Simone’s feet dragging, Amal cheered her with the news that their next stop would be for lunch at an air-conditioned café in the newer part of the souk.
Newer could mean a couple of centuries old, Simone knew. While her practical side yearned for lunch and air conditioning, she probably wouldn’t have the same chance to attract Yusef away from Princess Norah if the surroundings were less chaotic. She kept her eyes open for an opportunity to move closer and get his attention.
Before she could make an opportunity, she saw Bibi glance around and then duck down a side alleyway. Simone looked for Amal but she must have gone into a shop with some of the others. Although Norah was in sight, Simone didn’t want her to know that Bibi was sneaking off. The teenager would get into terrible trouble if Markaz found out she’d gone off on her own.
Simone hesitated. By the time she located Amal and told her what was going on, Bibi would be out of sight. It wasn’t hard to guess she intended to meet her boyfriend somewhere in the souk. What if they were found by Business Suit or some of his associates? Bibi was unaware of the danger, and probably too love struck to care. The least Simone could do was warn her, and hope she’d see reason.
Under the cover of the store displays, she kept Bibi in sight through two more alleyways until she plunged into the less frenetic Gold Souk.
As a boy, Simone’s father had lived somewhere around here and had described to her the arabesque designs on the tiled floors, and the detailed murals painted at the entrance. Her grandfather had run a tiny café in the vicinity. If Ali and Sara hadn’t left Nazaar, Simone would have grown up here as well. Was the café still here? Who owned it now? She wished she had time to find out.
The jammed-together stores sold all kinds of jewelry, gold coins, watches and precious stones, but Simone paid the treasures little attention, anxious to keep her quarry in sight. After glancing at her watch, Bibi went into a stone-paved alley at the rear of the stores, startling a black cat out of her path. The screech made Simone jump, too.
The only hiding place was an open door swinging to-and-fro on creaking hinges at the back of a carpet seller’s store. She ducked behind it and watched as Bibi stopped. Then another door opened and Abdl stepped out. If Simone hadn’t recognized him from Bibi’s dreamy description, she would have worked out who he was from the teenager’s reaction.
With a cry of joy, Bibi threw herself at the young man whose arms wrapped around her as if he never intended to let her go. A lump rose in Simone’s throat. So she was right, this was an assignation between the young lovers.
She felt her eyes film. Bibi would get herself into real trouble if she thought she could defy Markaz’s orders again. Simone had started to move forward to warn the lovers, but they disappeared around a corner. Then someone grabbed her from behind. She was pulled through the doorway, her cry of alarm cut off by the clang of the metal door slamming shut. H
ad Bibi and Abdl heard her or were they too preoccupied with each other?
Hampered by her clothes, she swung around, but the man who grabbed her was smiling and salaaming. He looked to be about sixty, almost as wide as he was tall, his mustache and hair peppered with gray. “Forgive the insensitive treatment, Your Highness, but you are in a dangerous place. Lately ladies wandering out of the main thoroughfares have been set upon, and their valuables stolen.”
She could hardly believe her ears. “You’re rescuing me?”
“Indeed, Your Highness. I am Nayan al Kitab. Usually I keep the back door locked and bolted, but I had closed up for the lunch break, and was about to step out when I saw you there. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you outside my establishment.”
Nayan thought she was a member of the royal family. Her veil fluttered as she released a breath of relief. “I’m perfectly all right,” she assured him. “I was following a companion. We’re supposed to meet our escort not far from here.”
The carpet seller frowned. “There are some dwellings along the next street facing the souk. If you intended to go there, you have taken a wrong turn. A back alley is not an appropriate place for a young lady to meet anyone, Your Highness.”
Simone seethed inwardly. What right had this man to interfere in her activities for her own protection, just because he was male? He was probably one of those old-fashioned men who thought society would crumble if women were allowed to think for themselves. But arguing would only prolong the encounter, so she adopted a pose of feminine submission. “You’re quite right. I’ll be more careful in the future,” she said, curbing her anger.
He saw it anyway, but misunderstood. “You are distraught. Come, sit in my humble store. I’ll have mint tea brought for you while you regain your composure.”
Nayan ushered Simone into an Aladdin’s cave of carpets, and urged her to make herself comfortable on a cushioned banquette. Her heart rate was slowly returning to normal. Her head had realized she was safe, but her body was still catching up.