“I did not!” cried Wahab. He clutched the metal die with which he stamped the leather. “I have been told not to use the Nazarene’s seal for anything else.”
Jade believed him. So if Libby Tremaine had one of the bags, she must have gotten it from either de Portillo or whoever he was working for.
“I will tell my master. But if you wish to save your last remaining eye, do not displease him further.”
Pondering what she’d learned, she left the shop just as the call came for afternoon prayer. This man, Wahab Taboor, made the leather bags, secreted the hashish in the two side panels, and stamped and embossed them for identification. He didn’t receive orders directly from this man so there was no sense trying to find out if they came from Patrido de Portillo or from someone else. But since de Portillo didn’t reside at the house where the bags were kept, she presumed he was only the courier and not the one ordering the merchandise. This other man wasn’t an Arab, though. She’d heard him speak. Perhaps one of the French residents of Marrakech? But the voice hadn’t sounded French.
Jade also knew that Wahab’s cousin Fahd still delivered the bags to the house and that this person had not relocated since her escape. This unknown man also had several native Moroccans working for him. Wait a minute. What did Wahab say? Jade closed her eyes to think. Something about the first man, the one who placed the order. A man of your peoples. Of course, the first man was Berber. But that wasn’t much help. There were a lot of Berbers living in Marrakech. Bachir? The second messenger was an Arab, possibly the one who’d been left to guard her. He certainly would have looked intimidating to Wahab Taboor with his large size and dagger. Probably hires a whole retinue of lackeys.
As she mulled it over, it was a decent amount of information, but was it enough? Could she convince the French to watch for Fahd’s delivery and catch these people red-handed? Somehow she doubted it, especially if they figured out that she was the same woman who’d fled Tangier under suspicion. Besides, the French preferred not to interfere with the Sultan’s rule unless they had to. They’d probably consider an Arab stuffing hashish into bags as something for the Sultan’s men, not them, to punish. Only when it came into their country would it matter. Having the Sultan mete out punishment would result only in Wahab being thrown into one of those horrid prison pits to rot and die while the mastermind went free. Or worse, the Sultan would assume she was behind the operation and toss her in, too.
If only she could find this woman that also had one of these bags. It certainly sounded like Libby Tremaine. If she could made her talk, make her tell the authorities where she’d gotten the bag, Jade might at least be able to clear herself and her mother of the murder and drug charges. Well, at least the drug charges.
This is a mess! She hoped Mohan was having better luck locating that silver amulet. Since it was just midafternoon, she had a few hours before she was due to meet him at the Koutoubia tower. Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since morning. She still had another bracelet full of silver coins, courtesy of the old woman. One of those coins ought to be worth something to eat. She broke one off by its link and went in search of some food vendors.
Her search, led by her nose, took her back south towards the Jemaâ el-Fna, and before she reached the square she ran across the dried-fruit market. She tried bargaining for a handful of anything—dates, raisins, almonds, or even sunflower seeds—but discovered that unless she wanted a full basket, she was out of luck. Her stomach growled again and informed her that only something substantial such as an entire cooked chicken would be acceptable. She headed for the main square.
Perhaps it was all the walking in the uncomfortable, heelless slippers, but her feet, calves, and knees ached. The first two problems didn’t concern Jade too much; the last one did. Her left knee had an uncanny knack for hurting when she was in danger. Zoulikha claimed this gift, or curse, depending on your viewpoint, arose when death entered her body during the war. In particular, when she received her shrapnel wound, just before her sweetheart, David, was killed in a dogfight. Unfortunately her knee also ached just before rain, and right now, both of her knees hurt. How was she supposed to know if she was in danger?
Why can’t I get a clear sign? Something that leaves no doubt, like maybe everything suddenly shifting to black and white, or a voice in my head that screams out, “Danger!”
Jade decided she’d rather be safe than sorry, so she paused a moment to take in the people around her. As far as she could tell everyone appeared to be intent on buying and selling produce, but as she turned she caught a movement in her peripheral vision. Someone darted back into the crowd. Was she being followed? She proceeded on her way, but every so often she suddenly looked behind her. Most of the time she saw nothing out of the ordinary, but once she had the feeling that someone didn’t want to be seen.
Whoever it is, better not interrupt my meal.
The late-afternoon sun kept most people out of the square, but Jade noticed a few hardy vendors set up under makeshift shades. She passed a sleeping man, his head drooping on his chest, a clarinetlike instrument in his lap. Beside him was a circular basket, its lid weighted down with a stone. Naptime for the snake charmer. A few boys in ragged tunics ran across the square, playing something resembling a game of tag.
Jade found someone selling kabobs and purchased one with large chunks of chicken, squash, and onions, grilled over hot coals. She held the wooden skewer in her right hand, grabbed a chunk of chicken and squash with her teeth and had to remind herself not to bolt her food like a coyote on the run. She would be perfectly safe in this large, public square. After all, who would want to attack a harmless Berber woman in broad daylight?
The four boys raced by again, this time with a different aim than a game. They had sighted fresh prey in the guise of the rare non-Moroccans and raced ahead in pursuit of money. “Baksheesh,” they cried as they held out their hands and called for charity. They knew from experience that the few visitors, overwhelmed by the clamoring cries and outstretched hands, tossed coins just to make the youthful beggars go away.
Jade followed the urchins with her gaze as she ate and instantly recognized the boys’ intended victims. Libby Tremaine strolled into the square with Woodard and Chloe Kennicot. Walter had lagged behind to watch a juggler toss and catch three lemons and a cucumber. At first, Jade stepped back to avoid being seen by them. That’s when she noticed that the boys’ pursuit of money held all the earmarks of a coordinated attack. Three of them managed to encircle Mrs. Tremaine, culling her from the herd, as it were. As they pressed forward, she held up her hands in front of her and stepped backward, distancing herself from the Kennicots. The fourth boy ran behind her and reached for her bag.
The bag. From a distance Jade recognized the leather pouch by its shape. The boys planned to steal her bag. In the meantime, the juggler had moved during his act so that Mr. Tremaine stood with his back to his wife, not noticing the assault.
Someone wanted that bag back. Jade couldn’t let it happen. “Libby!” she shouted. She saw heads turn in her direction, searching for whoever had called. “Your bag. Hold on to your—”
Her next words were cut off when a man grabbed her from behind. Jade’s reflexes took over, and her left elbow jabbed backward into his gut. Without waiting for him to react, she twisted to the right and stabbed the Arab in the cheek with the wooden skewer. The man howled in pain and released her, grabbing for the skewer, his fingers slipping on a greasy chunk of chicken and onion. While he struggled with the stick, Jade risked a glance to the others to see if Mrs. Tremaine still had the pouch. She did, and by now her husband and friends had rallied to her rescue. Jade darted away just as her assailant made another grab for her.
She took off running, but her slippers made it nearly impossible to gain any decent headway. None of the onlookers appeared interested in helping her, either. Instead they seemed to find the pursuit highly entertaining. Jade instinctively reached for her knife sheath on her boot,
only there was no boot, much less a knife. Spit fire and save matches! The dagger was with her boots at the mule. She needed a good diversion, something that would stop her assailant in his tracks. She found it.
Jade ran towards the sleeping snake charmer and scooped up the basket next to him on the fly. Pivoting, she hurled the basket and its contents towards the Moroccan. The lid fell away, revealing one very perturbed cobra. The man screamed, flinging his arms in front of him. Jade didn’t wait to see the outcome. She assumed that her attacker, the juggler, or someone else involved in the attacks would continue the pursuit. She needed to hide.
The easiest way to hide in plain sight was to break her profile, something many animals did. As she’d done in the past, Jade’s mind raced through her experiences with wildlife and settled on a role model, several in fact. Many animals, when fleeing, flashed a bright spot of white. The predator focused on the white patch. Then when the prey dropped or folded its tail, it effectively disappeared from view.
Jade knew her predators had focused on a Berber woman wearing a striped cloak with the partridge eye in the center back. As soon as she found a dark passage between buildings and makeshift shops, she pulled off the cloak and headdress and tossed them aside, keeping the sharpened fibula pins for weapons. What emerged out the other end of the alley was a tourist in a plain brown blouse and brown trousers. Even the dark henna stains on her feet looked from a distance like nothing more than a pair of boots.
She didn’t want to take too much of a chance. The plan only worked for wildlife as long as they stayed still until the predator continued his search elsewhere. And since there weren’t very many Europeans in the city, she’d stand out. Jade waited in the dark alley for another half hour before she decided it was safe to wait at the Koutoubia for Mohan.
Jade cursed her foolishness. Wahab Taboor must have sent someone such as his cousin Fahd to either de Portillo or the unknown man and asked why they were harassing him. They would have known someone, she to be more specific, was on to their smuggling plans. But the more Jade thought about it, the less sense that made. It would have taken Wahab a little time at least to locate his cousin and send him with the message. Then assuming cousin Fahd did make haste, he could not have made it to the smuggler’s house that quickly. Jade had sensed someone following her shortly after she left his booth.
No, it seemed more likely that the smugglers were keeping an eye on Wahab for some reason. Perhaps they wanted to make sure no one else got one of the bags. Or maybe they hoped the person who owned one would come back for another. And she just happened to be carrying one. St. Peter’s goldfish, but I’m stupid. Might as well wear a sandwich sign identifying myself.
She hoped they hadn’t managed to get hold of Mrs. Tremaine’s bag. Jade counted on it being stuffed with hashish and she wanted the officials to have a shot at seeing that one. In the meantime Jade wanted to find out how Libby actually got hold of the bag to begin with. Wahab claimed he hadn’t sold one to anyone else. Maybe Fahd had decided to make some money on the side by selling one to Libby, or perhaps she knew the smuggler? Well, that was going to be a problem for the French to figure out. As soon as Jade met up with Mohan, she’d pay a visit to their offices and explain what she’d learned. It ought to be enough to at least clear her mother and herself of suspicion. She just wished she knew what to do about that blasted amulet.
Like a needle in a haystack around here. From what she could see, everyone and his camel had a protective amulet. Hopefully Mohan had experienced some luck making his inquiries. After all, he had a strong interest in retrieving his daughter’s legacy. Jade pulled her pocket watch from her pocket. Five o’clock. About two hours until Salat-ul-maghrib, the evening prayer. She wasn’t far from the mosque tower. She decided to lie low until the muezzin’s call.
Finally there came the distinct wavering call and she heard, more than saw, the little cubbyholed shops being closed as most men left for the nearest mosque. She slipped out of hiding and walked to their appointed meeting spot. She spotted Mohan kneeling on an old mat, facing east, completing his evening prayers. Jade waited a respectable distance away until he was finished before approaching him.
“Mohan,” she called in a soft voice. “What did you learn about the amulet?”
“You are fortunate,” he said. “I have spoken to someone who says he can help us.”
“Does he have the amulet?”
“No, but he may know where it can be found. Come. I told him I would bring you to him so you would hear this, too. I think he does not believe me. He wants to see you.”
Jade’s heart beat a little faster. If this man had reliable information, then perhaps her business here would be finished and she could take her mother to Spain and out of danger. It would be just as well. Right now she felt like she’d been bucked from a bronco. “Slow down, Mohan.”
Mohan didn’t slow down, and Jade was forced to again hasten her steps in the little heelless babouches. How in tarnation does he trot in them? By now both legs hurt, as well as her left elbow with which she’d jabbed her attacker in the gut.
He led her through the dried-fruit vendor’s market and past a crumbling mosque. Turning right into a narrow alleyway after the mosque, he slowed and came to a small cube-shaped building with a stumpy minaret on top. Whatever tiles had once decorated the saint’s shrine had fallen into disarray as the plasterwork crumbled from the walls. Behind it was an equally run-down building that probably housed whoever tended the local saint’s grave.
“This man has information?” Jade asked, wondering what the keeper of an Islamic saint’s tomb would know about an ancient Berber amulet. She bent down and rubbed her legs, easing the cramps and aches.
“Yes,” said Mohan. “If you go inside, he will talk to you.”
Jade started towards the low doorway, then paused. Why would this man welcome a Nazarene woman inside? Suddenly her general aches and pains dropped into the background as the pain in her left knee dominated. It’s a trap. She wheeled about to run, but two burly Arabs already blocked the narrow alleyway. Jade pulled the fibula pins from her pockets and gripped them in each fist between her ring and middle fingers, letting the sharpened points stick out.
“Just try it,” she said in English, backing away, scanning the periphery for an escape route. The low light made it difficult to tell if she stood in a dead-end passage or not, and the last thing she wanted was to get backed into a corner. She eyed the caretaker’s hut, wondering if she could reach the roof. From there she might be able to run across the rooftops and flee.
One of the two men made a dash for her and received a gash across his face for his pains. Jade recognized his crooked nose. My prison guard. He attempted another lunge. This time Jade sliced across his forehead. She knew facial wounds bled freely and hoped the blood flow would temporarily blind him. His partner, more wary of her, edged forward cautiously. Jade feinted a move to her left, then darted right towards the hut. With one leap she managed to get her right foot onto the ledge of the narrow window slit, but the second man recovered quickly and reached for her legs.
Jade kicked out at his face, but without stout boots the force was not enough to do any damage. When he didn’t let go of her right ankle, she hurled first one, then the second fibula pin at him. He dodged both, releasing her as the second one whizzed past his ear. In that moment Jade grabbed the low rooftop and scrambled up. Luck toyed with her. The ancient building’s walls were in no condition to support her. A chunk of mud-brick and plaster broke loose in her hand.
For a fraction of a second Jade hung between capture and escape. The sudden lurch backward as the wall broke startled her, and had she given in to the confusion, capture would have been inevitable. But she hadn’t spent the better part of a year dodging shell fire on the front lines in the Great War for nothing. Her finely honed reflexes kicked in, fueled by a combination of fear and anger. She grabbed for the wall with her left hand and hurled the dry mud-brick in her right at the man below her, aimin
g for his nose. Direct hit. Her attacker howled as blood poured out.
Jade didn’t waste any more time pulling herself onto the roof. A quick survey of the surrounding buildings showed her the surest route of escape, one that would put several narrow streets between her and the pursuers by the time they doubled back out of the blind alley. The last thing she saw before she leaped from the rooftop was Mohan digging something up behind the abandoned caretaker’s hut, muttering an incantation against the jinn guarding his prize.
She found a building whose upper rooms arched over the alley and connected to the building on the other side. Jade raced across the arch, putting one street between her and her pursuers. The next alley was little more than four feet across. Jade cleared it starting from a dead run across the rooftops, losing her slippers in the jump. Then the streets widened and she was forced to run along a row of buildings to put more distance between her and the men. She knew they would continue their pursuit, so she decided that doubling back behind them would be the safest course of action. Besides, her legs were starting to weaken.
She scooped up a handful of plaster and tossed it across the alley to the next roof, imitating the sound of her running and jumping along the roof. Then she dropped flat and lay still. She heard the two men race by, still shouting to each other. As soon as they had passed, she scuttled crablike in the other direction and dropped down into the side alley. The first thing she wanted to do was discover what Mohan had been up to. Common sense told her to find a hiding place first where she could safely spy on the area.
Jade limped back along the alley until she came to a cluster of shops two buildings away from the empty caretaker’s hut. The merchants here had already closed down business for the day after evening prayers, and no one loitered nearby. Jade huddled in the buildings’ shadow, listening for the sound of pursuit. Silence. Her ruse had worked. The pursuers were chasing her shadow now.
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