“It takes one to know one, it seems. Well, there’s no ambiguity as to why these two are on board,” said Lazarus.
“Yes, but how the devil did they get onto Murad’s trail? He’s our lead and ours alone, or so I thought.”
“I know damn well how they came to be here,” said Lazarus bitterly. He swung away from the rail and, careful to keep his face hidden from Hassanein and Brugsch, made his way towards Katarina’s cabin.
He hammered on the door with enough force to crack the old wood. When it failed to open immediately, he bellowed through the woodwork as if hoping that would shatter it. “Get out here, Mikolavna! You’ve got to explain yourself! I won’t be fobbed off any longer!”
“I say, keep it down, old chap!” said an Englishman, poking his head out of a door further down the corridor. “Your rows with your missus are your own affair but kindly leave the rest of us out of it!”
Lazarus ignored him and hammered again. Eventually the door opened and Katarina looked out at him. “Gracious, you do have a pulse after all,” she said, with a rare glimmer of a smile on her lips.
“Just what the devil do you mean by it, woman?” Lazarus demanded.
“By what, you oaf? Hammering on a lady’s door like it was a public house!”
“By letting that blasted police captain in on things?”
Katarina’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I just saw him, damn it! And that Brugsch fellow too! You told them all about our tailing of Murad after I specifically said I didn’t want to involve the police.”
“Speak sense, Longman. What possible reason would I have for wanting the police involved? You yourself acknowledged that my mission had nothing to do with the black market. If anything, I would want those fools well away from this as their presence will only compromise us.”
Lazarus took in her words but did not relinquish her from his angry glare. “Well how the hell did they know to follow Murad?” he said at last.
“I imagine they had either you or your companion followed,” she replied. “You’re not as inconspicuous as you seem to think. Following you would have been my first port of call also.”
“Well, we’re buggered now, pardon the language. If Murad spots those idiots he’ll be off like a jackrabbit and we’ll be left scratching our arses.”
“Then I suggest you do everything in your power to prevent him from seeing either Hassanein or yourselves.”
“While you’ll be in your cabin reading, I suppose?”
“Best to keep a low profile.”
“Perhaps we could keep a low profile together,” Lazarus suggested and then realized how it sounded, and colored. “Well, you’ve got an empty bunk in there and one of those buggers is liable to bloody well trip over me on deck if he decides to take a midnight stroll.”
Katarina rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t be trying to weasel your way into my bedchamber on exaggerated grounds would you, Longman?”
“I paid for the bloody cabin!”
“Very well,” she said, flinging the door open wide. She was wearing a thin silk garment which made Lazarus’s eyes goggle. “Make yourself at home. Top bunk’s yours.”
They drifted into Minieh in the early evening. Most of the passengers disembarked to explore the city. In the morning, many of them would go on to the tombs at Beni Hassan while the steamer took on fresh food.
Lazarus dispatched Katarina to watch Murad’s cabin and to alert him if there was any movement. There wasn’t, and they bedded down at around eleven o’clock.
When the passengers returned the following day, they set off once more and a further day of solid travelling was undertaken. There was still no sign of Murad, and Lazarus began to worry that he had given them the slip at Minieh.
But when the boat drew up at the quays of Bellianah, Katarina reported that Murad had emerged from his cabin with his suitcase in tow. Lazarus sighed with relief. “At last we can ditch this godforsaken steamer and hopefully Hassanein and Brugsch in the bargain!”
Bellianah was the port of call for those wishing to see the ruined temples at Abydus. They joined the mob who were about to depart, and were provided with donkeys for the excursion. They saw that Murad was attempting the same trick, and nobody seemed to notice that he had loaded his bag behind the saddle.
“Maybe he wants to see the funeral chapel of Seti I,” joked Petrie, who had long expressed a desire to excavate at Abydus, convinced there was more to find there.
But any hopes to see the pillared temples once more were dashed by Murad’s quick departure from the group as soon as they set foot out of the village. His tarboosh wavering back and forth atop his donkey, Murad wobbled towards a cluster of palm trees, letting the tourists drift on without him. Lazarus and his companions halted also and led their donkeys around the side of a granary, keeping out of sight. Lazarus grew aware of a further pair of travelers watching them from the outskirts of the village, and he cursed as he recognized the police captain and the museum conservator.
“Is there no giving them the slip?” he grumbled.
“Look!” said Petrie, “He’s on the move!”
Murad was heading off through the palms in a southerly direction, following the river bank.
“Best to hold back for a time,” said Katarina, opening her black parasol to fend off the afternoon rays. “We don’t want him seeing the three of us trotting after him.”
“You should perhaps give our friends a lesson in stealth,” said Petrie, indicating Captain Hassanein and his companion who were off following Murad’s trail so close they might as well be travelling with him. Lazarus cursed again.
“Although,” mused Petrie, “Murad won’t necessarily recognize them. Maybe it’s best to have them as a buffer. That way we can follow them rather than him. It’s more discreet.”
“There’s nothing discreet about seven city folk on donkeys heading in the same direction at the same time of day,” said Lazarus.
“Well we don’t have much choice other than let Hassanein catch our friend before we have a chance, so let’s get moving,” said Katarina, kicking her donkey on and heading in the tracks of the departed.
“She’s a bit of a go-getter, isn’t she?” marveled Petrie.
“You have no idea,” said Lazarus.
It was the hottest part of the day. While their fellow passengers were no doubt enjoying cool water in the shade of the monuments at Abydus, Lazarus and his companions sweltered under the beating glare of the sun as they journeyed ever southwards.
The sluggish waters of the Nile drifted past in the opposite direction, and no cooling wind stirred the palms and halfeh grass that grew thick on either side of the beaten path. They occasionally passed villagers who naturally plagued them for baksheesh, but they didn’t have the heart to beat them away with sticks as they saw Captain Hassanein doing in the distance. Soon their canteens were running empty, but at least the sun had begun its descent towards the horizon.
It was dusk by the time they reached the village that was apparently Murad’s destination. They only knew this because Captain Hassanein and Émile Brugsch had stopped and were cooling off in the shade, several hundred yards short of the first of the buildings. There was no sign of Murad.
“Well I hope you haven’t lost him,” said Katarina, as they approached them.
They didn’t show any surprise at their appearance and had probably known they were being followed the whole time.
“Good lord, is that you, Petrie?” said Brugsch in heavily accented English. “I might have known you’d be outraged enough to join us in our crusade against the thieves should news of their activities reach your ears. Ah, this must be the Russian operative, Miss Mikolavna. A pleasure to meet you, my dear.”
Katarina did not acknowledge him. “Where is Murad, Captain?”
“Is that his name?” Hassanein said. “I must thank your friends for handing me this lead. I shall make my appreciation known to both of your govern
ments.”
“Drop the small talk, Hassanein,” said Lazarus. “Where is he?”
“He wandered into that village up ahead. It is called Qurna and is one of three such flea-pits in this locality. No doubt he meets his contacts here. This part of the country is swarming with tomb robbers.”
“So why have you stopped here on the outskirts?”
“You do not realize the situation in our country, Mr. Longman. The difference between city and countryside is even more vast than in England. Many such villages as these do not even consider themselves under the Khedive’s rule. Some voiced support for the Mahdist cause in the Soudan. They do not like us city people, the police in particular.”
“They’re practically savages,” said Brugsch. “They’ve been isolated from the urban centers and been beyond the reach of authority for so long that they’re more or less independent out here.”
“In short, you’re scared,” said Lazarus.
The captain snorted. “I have a boatload of reinforcements en route. When they arrive, we shall enter the village and begin interrogations.”
“And in the meantime Murad may slip away, along with anybody else of value to us.”
“I advise against entering the village, if that’s what you are intending, Mr. Longman. If I would be putting myself in danger by entering, then it would be near suicide for three Europeans to do so.”
“Now see here,” said Petrie. “I’ve entered many such villages in the course of my excavations and although I must admit that there is little to recommend them, I found the people to be generally willing to help in any matter so long as they are dealt with fairly and with respect.”
“Yes, but in your expeditions you were always accompanied by guides and hired guards,” said Brugsch.
“We do not require armed thugs,” said Lazarus. “Isn’t that right, Flinders?”
“What? Ah! Oh, yes…”
“Well are we going in or not?” Katarina asked.
“Gentlemen!” exclaimed Brugsch. “I must protest at the suggestion of bringing a lady into such a disease and poverty-stricken hell hole!”
“Are you going to accompany me or stop me, sir?” asked Katarina, her eyes daring the German to pick one of the two.
He lapsed into an embarrassed silence. Katarina turned to face the village. Lazarus led the way and the trio plodded off towards the cluster of mud brick hovels and cone-shaped grain silos that lay partly shaded by sprouting palms.
Chapter Seven
In which a village fights for its independence
A ‘disease and poverty-stricken hell hole’ was an apt term for the village. Children that looked like they had never had a bath in their lives capered about in the gutters, some of them with nasty eye infections which drew buzzing hordes of small flies. Haggard men, little more than skeletons, worked away in the irrigated fields and women in their black gowns plastered the houses and washed clothes out on the street. There were none of the water vendors, coffee sellers or shoeshine boys one saw in Cairo; a city that catered and profited from the needs of wealthy travelers. Here, all were engaged in a daily struggle for existence and the mere presence of travelers seemed to be a rare and unwelcome occasion.
“You’ve noticed that we’re being followed?” Petrie asked Lazarus. “Yes? That’s good.”
Lazarus had indeed become aware of the three young men who had been trailing behind them ever since they entered the village. They seemed to be carrying clubs of some sort.
A woman poked her head out from a nearby window and they saw her eyes widen as she noticed them. She shouted out something in Arabic, but Lazarus wasn’t quick enough to make out what she said or if it was directed at them. Somewhere else a window shutter slammed closed and there was the sound of bolts being drawn on the heavy wooden door. It had gone eerily quiet, and Lazarus hadn’t even noticed when all the children had vanished. He halted suddenly and muttered under his breath, “To hell with this,” and spun around to face the three men following them, his hand passing underneath the left breast of his jacket.
“Is there something we can do for you three?” he asked in Arabic.
They grinned at him and one of them spoke. “We wish to ask you the same question.”
“Why have you come to our village?” asked another.
“We’re looking for a man,” Lazarus explained. “Murad Yasin.”
“There is nobody here in Qurna by that name,” said the first man.
“He’s not from this village but he arrived here moments before we did. We wish to speak with this man.”
This seemed to confuse the three men. “Come with us,” said one of them.
They were led to one of the larger houses in the village. Most consisted of two rooms; one with a fireplace where the inhabitants shared space with their animals, and one for entertaining guests. This house had several rooms. They were plain and unfurnished, but the mere size of the dwelling hinted that its owners might be slightly better off than their neighbors. Inside, a woman was squatting on the floor kneading bread. A girl of five or six years sat watching her. Somewhere in the rear of the house they could hear the clucking of chickens.
“Sit, please,” said one of the men.
They sat down with the three men squatting near the door.
“My husband will not be home for some time,” said the woman through her veil. “Would you care for some water?”
“Yes, please,” answered Lazarus.
The woman ordered the girl to fetch it. She returned, struggling with a jug and three cups. They drank the water and watched the woman kneading her bread. The woman eyed them suspiciously, paying special attention to Katarina. When she had finished, she took the bread into the adjoining room and set it to rise by the fire.
“Who is the master of this house?” Lazarus asked one of the three men.
“My cousin, Ahmed,” replied one.
“And who is Ahmed?”
“He is a man who commands great respect in Qurna as well as the other villages nearby.”
“Like a chief?”
“Yes, like a chief.”
“Why are we here?”
“Because you entered his village.”
“Does he know Murad Yasin?”
There was no reply to this.
“I say, Lazarus,” said Petrie. “I don’t much like the look of this. Those three are sitting pretty close to the door. It’s almost as if we were being held under guard.”
“I think that’s exactly what’s happening,” Lazarus replied.
Darkness had fallen outside. The door opened and two men entered. Their khalats were dusty, as if they had been out in the desert all day. They eyed Lazarus and his companions carefully.
“What’s all this?” asked the older bearded one. Lazarus guessed this to be Ahmed.
His cousin explained the situation to him.
“I am Ahmed el-Rasoul,” said the bearded man, not extending his hand. “This is my brother Mohamed. You three are trespassers here.”
“We have no wish to trespass,” said Lazarus. “We are seeking a man, Murad Yasin. He came here only hours ago.”
“Why are you seeking this man?”
Lazarus chose his next words very carefully. “We wish to purchase items from him. Antiquities.”
“There are a hundred antiquity sellers in the streets of Cairo.”
“Ah, but these items are, shall we say, a little special.”
“Lies. You are working with the police and have been sent here to trick us.”
“We’re really not working with the police,” Lazarus assured him.
“And why would the police be interested in you anyway?” asked Katarina in faulty but coherent Arabic, showing that she had been following the conversation well enough. “Got something to hide?”
“Who is this woman who thinks she can talk to me?” Ahmed asked. “We do not like city people here. And we like tourists even less. And you three stink of wealth and corruption.”
He
beckoned his brother to follow him into the next room, leaving Lazarus and his companions to sit and stare into the grins of the three youths who guarded the door. Lazarus clicked the joints in the fingers and the wrist of his right hand, his mind on the revolver beneath his breast pocket. If they were going to have to fight their way out of here, he was going to have to draw fast.
There came the sound of arguing from the next room. Ahmed was shouting his brother down, who had apparently stepped out of line.
“Suppose that fellow means to kill us?” Petrie whispered to Lazarus. “And his brother dared to question him? It’s nice to have a vote of confidence in a situation like this but I don’t fancy his chances of winning the argument. Or ours of getting out of here in one piece.”
“Let’s not get carried away, Flinders,” said Lazarus. “They haven’t drawn knives on us yet. And we’re all armed, aren’t we?”
“What, even Miss Mikolavna?”
“I wouldn’t be much of an agent if I only carried a parasol to defend myself with now, would I?” Katarina said.
There came the sound of shouting, but from outside the house this time and from female throats. Ahmed and Mohamed rushed into the room and peered out into the street. Ahmed turned, his face livid in the lamplight.
“Lying dogs! Did I not say you were lying? Now your police friends are going from door to door, bullying my people and threatening to ransack their homes!”
“Oh, that foolish oaf!” Lazarus hissed. “Couldn’t he have waited until we reported back to him?”
Ahmed was shouting orders to the male members of his family who were dragging chests out into the center of the room and flipping the lids open. Martini Henry carbines were produced, and Colt revolvers. The family was turning out to be a regular militia. They filed out into the street and shots were instantly fired. Ahmed slung the six barreled hunk of a Gatling gun over one shoulder and shoved its tripod under the other arm before heading to the steps that led up onto the roof.
“Bloody hell!” Petrie exclaimed.
“That was a Gatling Jericho gun,” Lazarus remarked. “And those Colts—American gear.”
Silver Tomb (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 2) Page 6