Hassan had been dragged away by two colonial policemen, screaming and struggling the length of Ibn al-Nafis Street. His cousins had been rounded up as well. Zaki had managed to knock out two policemen before they had managed to subdue him, and this while he had been laid up in bed with a broken leg. Qamar had fought hard as well and had to be beaten senseless.
As Mohammed crushed three different opponents in three consecutive games of backgammon, everyone argued about what they had been arrested for. Some said it was for the murder of a spice merchant. Others for the theft of a jewelry shop. The conversation turned into a long list of the evils that accursed family had committed in the neighborhood, and each crime had its supporters as the one that finally laid them low. No one suspected that the Englishman had been responsible.
No one, that is, until the café got a new customer.
Everyone immediately recognized the Nubian who worked at the Englishman’s shop.
He greeted everyone, sitting down rather stiffly. His employer had sent him to the hospital and he had been well cared for, but his shoulder and hip still stung. He ordered a coffee. After the usual pleasantries and questions after family, all of which had to be repeated any time another of the café crowd made their appearance, they finally got to ask the question they really wanted to ask him.
“So what kind of a man is this Englishman?” asked Mohammed al-Hajji, who had just come from the mosque. Of course he had finished calling the dawn prayer two hours before, but it was his habit to stay in the mosque and study the Koran before coming to the café.
“He’s a strange one, to be sure,” Moustafa said. “The war has left him a bit of a recluse, and he has little love for his own kind. But he will be a good neighbor to you. Don’t worry about that. He was the man who got Hassan and his cousins arrested.”
Everyone gasped.
“Really? Was it because of that riot Hassan tried to start? I was surprised that he didn’t have him arrested right away.”
Moustafa shook his head. “No, their troubles started well before that. And he wanted me to express his thanks to you for helping him. He would have done so himself, but he was busy investigating the murder in his house.”
Actually Mr. Wall had done no such thing. Europeans often forgot to thank people. Moustafa had become so accustomed to that he didn’t expect them to remember anymore. But what Moustafa really wanted to tell them, the reason he had come over to this café, was about how Mr. Wall got in a fight with Hassan and his entire gang and defeated them all. He’d gotten the tale from Faisal, no doubt in an exaggerated form, and Moustafa exaggerated it further, placing him in the scene as a witness to add some veracity. In this version, Mr. Wall faced a dozen thugs, not just four, all armed with swords and guns. Mr. Wall had fought them all off with only his fists and his cane, which Moustafa neglected to mention could turn into a sword.
The men at the café listened with rapt attention. Moustafa was a natural storyteller, a talent born from the village where he grew up, where there was little to do but regale each other with tall tales after the day’s work was done. He had been raised on the stories of the south, and now he was getting new ones in the north. He told them all about the fight, and even gave some details of how Mr. Wall tracked down and shot the murderer. While he had to leave out much of that story, he did mention how he had saved Faisal and stopped the Germans from looting Egypt’s antiquities. He did not mention the destruction of the underground temple. That pained him deep in his heart and gave him a seething anger toward the Germans whose foolishness had led to it. He supposed someday someone would discover it and painstakingly restore it to its former glory like so many other ancient monuments. He wondered what those future archaeologists would make of Baumer’s skewered skeleton.
“This is a man who believes in justice,” Mohammed al-Hajji said approvingly. The others nodded in agreement.
Moustafa smiled. That was all he wanted to hear. He had cemented Mr. Wall’s reputation. His boss was an outsider and always would be, but he had contributed to the neighborhood and shown himself to be honorable. That would earn him respect, and he would not be molested by anyone living here. At least no one honest.
Moustafa sipped his coffee as the conversation turned to other things. This wasn’t a bad café. Perhaps he should come more often. He deserved a break every now and then, and there was a nice bunch of fellows here. He got a feeling he’d have more stories to tell them before long.
***
It was a tough climb to get everything he needed up to the Englishman’s roof. Faisal had to make five trips to get his blanket, some wood he had scrounged, a tarpaulin he had stolen from the market, and some straw stuffed in burlap bags up the three floors to the rooftop. He had watched carefully and saw that the Englishman never came up here. His laundry was all taken away by the washerwoman, and so he didn’t even come up to use the line.
That suited Faisal just fine. He still took care, however. When he cleared out the old shed on the roof, he left a heap of old wood and broken furniture against the doorway like it had been before, so no one would see the little bedroom he made inside. He cleared out the rest of the junk, lowering it painfully down the side of the building and disposing of it, so that the shed was about half-empty. He swept it out with a bundle of reeds, stomped on a few bugs so he’d have the place all to himself, laid down the burlap sacks filled with straw, covered them with the tarpaulin, and then laid his blanket over it.
Faisal stood back and admired his handiwork. This was the best place he had ever lived. It was safe from thieves and bullies, free of vermin, and would be warm in the winter. In the summer, he could sleep outside under the stars, although if he did that he would have to wait until the Englishman went to sleep every night to be sure he didn’t come up here and catch him.
And not only did he have his first home, he had his first job. The Englishman didn’t know about all the dangers around him. Who saved him from Hassan? Who saved him from the jinn? And if Faisal wasn’t around, who’d save him the next time?
Yes, Hassan wasn’t the only thief in the neighborhood. Others would be prowling around the house soon enough. Faisal needed to guard the rooftop to keep anyone from coming up here and squeezing through the window like he did. Plus he had to make sure that amulet stayed put so the jinn didn’t haunt the house again.
Of course a job meant pay, so when the Englishman was sleeping like a dead man, Faisal could sneak down and get some food from the pantry. Not too much, mind you. He’d be fair. Just enough to eat well. And maybe a little extra to sell. He needed a new jellaba. And perhaps some sandals. And sweets. Definitely some sweets. The Englishman never kept sweets in the house. Silly Englishman.
But better than his little bedroom and the food and the new jellaba and the sweets, he would be able to keep an eye on everything that happened in the house. If he hid out of sight beside the rooftop windows, he could hear the conversations filter up. The Englishman and Moustafa often spoke in Arabic and Faisal could tell what they were saying. Also, he could peek over the front of the rooftop and watch who came and went from the antiquities shop. He’d know everything that happened and everything they were planning.
That would be the best, Faisal thought as he watched the moon rise over the Mokattam Hills and Mohammed al-Hajji, the muezzin from the mosque at the corner of the street, made the call for evening prayer. Faisal could see him, a dark figure standing on the walkway of the minaret a block away and a little above him, silhouetted against the moonlit sky.
Yes, knowing what went on downstairs would be the best. Because the next time the Englishman and Moustafa went on one of their adventures, he wouldn’t miss any of it.
HISTORICAL NOTE
While the main characters and story in this novel are pure fiction, the historical background is as accurate as I could make it. The events of the Egyptian Revolution of 1919 unfolded as they are portrayed in the novel, from the arrest of the independence leaders who were pressuring the British Empire
to make good on its promises, to the mass protests and their bloody suppression. This was a key moment in modern Egyptian history and marks the beginnings of an effective independence movement, one that would see completion in the following generation.
A couple of the minor characters are also real, such as Sir Thomas Russell Pasha, commandant of the Cairo police. His arrogant attitude toward the independence movement in my novel is sadly all too accurate.
Another real figure is that of Heinrich Schäfer. I am glad to say he finally did finish his Principles of Egyptian Art, which, while a weighty academic tome, is still one of the most thorough introductions to understanding the art of ancient Egypt almost a hundred years after it was written.
Sheikh Moussa el Hawi, the renowned snake charmer who cleared out Augustus Wall’s home of deadly serpents, may or may not be a real figure. He is discussed in Paul Brunton’s A Search in Secret Egypt, but so much of that mystical book is exaggeration or pure invention (although of the most entertaining sort) that I have no idea if the snake charmer actually existed.
Besides Schäfer’s Principles of Egyptian Art, two other excellent books that helped with researching this novel are Grand Hotels of Egypt in the Golden Age of Travel and On the Nile in the Golden Age of Travel, both by Andrew Humphreys.
I must admit to one spot where I played with history. The mastaba of Idu is exactly as I described, but it was not excavated by a French archaeologist named Pierre Dupris, who is my own invention. The mastaba was actually excavated in 1924 and 1925 by George Andrew Reisner, director of the Harvard University-Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Expedition. I changed this, with no disrespect to Mr. Reisner, because I wanted an interesting site I was personally familiar with that my readers could actually visit, one discovered by a fictitious character I didn’t mind disparaging. I’ll give Mr. Reisner the benefit of the doubt and assume he was a better man than Pierre Dupris! The fact that a curse is written on the doorjamb was an added bonus, for what book about Egyptology would be complete without a curse?
Even stranger than the curse of Idu was the Thule Society, one of the many esoteric societies that emerged in Germany after World War I. Some added racist elements to their outlandish occult theories, and the Thule Society was the foremost among them. Many of the early members of the Nazi Party were also members of the Thule Society. Like most secret societies, they had a fascination with the mysteries of the Orient, and while there is no record of their searching for the lost inscription on the Great Pyramid of Cheops, it would come as no surprise if it was on their to-do list.
About that inscription. The Great Pyramid really was encased with blocks of polished white limestone, and early travelers reported that it really did bear an inscription. Most of the stone was robbed after a disastrous earthquake in 1303 AD destroyed much of Cairo. The stone was used to rebuild many mosques and palaces. Not wanting to have a pagan inscription on their buildings, the architects placed the stones face-to-face to hide the writing.
So the last statement of the great Pharaoh Cheops really does lie hidden within the walls of Cairo’s medieval buildings.
About the Author
Sean McLachlan worked for ten years as an archaeologist in Israel, Cyprus, Bulgaria, and the United States before becoming a full-time writer. He is the author of numerous fiction and nonfiction books, which are listed on the following pages. When he’s not writing, he enjoys hiking, reading, traveling, and, most of all, teaching his son about the world. He divides his time between Madrid, Oxford, and Cairo.
To find out more about Sean’s work and travels, visit him at his Amazon page or his blog, and feel free to friend him on Goodreads, Twitter, and Facebook.
You might also enjoy his newsletter, Sean’s Travels and Tales, which comes out every one or two months. Each issue features a short story, a travel article, a coupon for a free or discounted book, and updates on future projects. You can subscribe using this link. Your email will not be shared with anyone else.
Fiction by Sean McLachlan
Tangier Bank Heist: An Interzone Mystery
Right after the war, Tangier was the craziest town in North Africa. Everything was for sale and the price was cheap. The perverts came for the flesh. The addicts came for the drugs. A whole army of hustlers and grifters came for the loose laws and free flow of cash and contraband.
So why was I here? Because it was the only place that would have me. Besides, it was a great place to be a detective. You got cases like in no other place I’d ever been, and I’d been all over. Cases you couldn’t believe ever happened. Like when I had to track down the guy who stole the bank.
No, he didn’t rob the bank, he stole it.
Here’s how it happened . . .
Available in electronic edition! Print edition coming soon!
Three Passports to Trouble (Interzone Mystery Book 2)
Back in the days when Tangier was an International Zone, the city was full of refugees. People fleeing Stalin. People fleeing Franco. People fleeing the Nuremburg Trials. Tangier offered a safe haven from the chaos of Europe.
The International Council had to keep a delicate balance, tolerating everything from anti-capitalist agitators to Germans with murky pasts. It was the only way to keep the peace, and it worked.
Until an anarchist was found dead with a fascist dagger in his chest.
And I got stuck with the case just when I had to smuggle a couple of Party operatives out of town.
Available in electronic edition! Print edition coming soon!
The Case of the Purloined Pyramid (The Masked Man of Cairo Book One)
An ancient mystery. A modern murder.
Sir Augustus Wall, a horribly mutilated veteran of the Great War, has left Europe behind to open an antiquities shop in Cairo. But Europe’s troubles follow him as a priceless inscription is stolen and those who know its secrets start turning up dead. Teaming up with Egyptology expert Moustafa Ghani, and Faisal, an irritating street urchin he just can't shake, Sir Wall must unravel an ancient secret and face his own dark past.
Available in electronic and print editions!
The Case of the Shifting Sarcophagus (The Masked Man of Cairo Book Two)
An Old Kingdom coffin. A body from yesterday.
Sir Augustus Wall had seen a lot of death. From the fields of Flanders to the alleys of Cairo, he’d solved several murders and sent many men to their grave. But he’s never had a body delivered to his antiquities shop encased in a 5,000 year-old coffin.
Soon he finds himself fighting a vicious street gang bent on causing national mayhem while his assistant, Moustafa Ghani, faces his own enemies in the form of colonial powers determined to ruin him. Throughout all this runs the street urchin Faisal. Ignored as usual, dismissed as usual, he has the most important fight of all.
Available in electronic edition! Print edition coming soon!
Radio Hope (Toxic World Book One)
In a world shattered by war, pollution, and disease…
A gunslinging mother longs to find a safe refuge for her son.
A frustrated revolutionary delivers water to villagers living on a toxic waste dump.
The assistant mayor of humanity's last city hopes he will never have to take command.
One thing gives them the promise of a better future—Radio Hope, a mysterious station that broadcasts vital information about surviving in a blighted world. But when a mad prophet and his army of fanatics march out of the wildlands on a crusade to purify the land with blood and fire, all three will find their lives intertwining, and changing forever.
Available in print and electronic editions!
Refugees from the Righteous Horde (Toxic World Book Two)
When you only have one shot, you better aim true.
In a ravaged world, civilization’s last outpost is reeling after fighting off the fanatical warriors of the Righteous Horde. Sheriff Annette Cruz becomes New City’s long arm of vengeance as she sets off across the wildlands to take out the cult’s leader. All she
has is a sniper’s rifle with one bullet and a former cultist with his own agenda. Meanwhile, one of the cult’s escaped slaves makes a discovery that could tear New City apart…
Refugees from the Righteous Horde continues the Toxic World series started in Radio Hope, an ongoing narrative of humanity’s struggle to rebuild the world it ruined.
Available in electronic edition!
We Had Flags (Toxic World Book Three)
A law doesn't work if everyone breaks it.
For forty years, New City has been a bastion of order in a fallen world. One crucial law has maintained the peace: it is illegal to place responsibility for the collapse of civilization on any one group. Anyone found guilty of Blaming is branded and stripped of citizenship.
But when some unwelcome visitors arrive from across the sea, old wounds break open, and no one is safe from Blame.
Available in electronic edition!
Emergency Transmission (Toxic World Book Four)
Trust is the only thing that can save the world.
The problem is, everyone has their own agenda.
When an offshore platform starts emitting toxic fumes that threaten to destroy the last outposts of civilization, the residents of New City have to team up with a foreign freighter to fix it. But a lingering mistrust remains, and neither side has the resources to stop the leak.
That is, until help comes from the least reliable source.
Can old enemies finally set aside their differences for the greater good?
Available in electronic edition!
The Scavenger (A Toxic World Novelette)
In a world shattered by war, pollution, and disease, a lone scavenger discovers a priceless relic from the Old Times.
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