City of Jasmine Series, Book 2

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  “How wonderful to have a fresh face,” he said to me as we settled in at the table. “It is very nice.” His accent was distinctive, with a pronounced sibilance to his esses and a softness about some of the consonants as his v’s and w’s slurred into one another.

  In fact, I decided in short order that he was a darling—full of hilarious stories about various mishaps at other digs—and sweetly courteous, making quite certain my plate was full and my glass topped up throughout the evening. The Thurzós were the merest bit aloof, not pointedly so, but in that very correct way that most well-bred Continentals have with new acquaintances. Miss Green was tired after the long drive and said little apart from a brief argument she and Mr. Rowan had over the location of their efforts.

  “Three weeks and not a damned thing more interesting than a potsherd in the current spot,” he said bitterly. “I’ve a mind to shift the fellows down a bit, towards the south end of the site.”

  “To the storerooms?” Herr Doktor Schickfuss asked, his plump cheeks wobbling with excitement. He leaned to me. “There are lodgings behind that I believe may have belonged to someone of importance, perhaps even a local official who might have left some record of his time here.”

  “Anything written must first pass through our hands,” Countess Thurzó said sharply. “You know that, Herr Doktor.”

  His expression was a little wounded. “Of course, dear lady. It has never been said that I am not fully cooperative with my colleagues.”

  “Naturally,” Count Thurzó soothed. “Erzsébet did not mean to suggest otherwise, did you, sister?”

  She gave the German a thin smile. “Certainly not. But there was the little matter of the seal last month—”

  Herr Doktor flushed deeply and before he could open his mouth to remonstrate with her, Mr. Rowan held up a hand. “Enough, all of you. I won’t have bickering at dinner. Carry on outside if you must, but leave it there.”

  There were murmurs around the table, but the matter was dropped instantly, and if anyone thought it odd that Rowan, rather than Miss Green, had cracked the whip, they didn’t betray it. As she pushed her fork tiredly around her plate, Miss Green said, “You know, Rowan, I rather think it might be interesting to have a go at the castle itself. I realise it’s a ruin, but there might be some important things to be learned from it. For example, I don’t know if you’ve studied the engravings in the chapel—”

  “Banal in the extreme,” Mr. Rowan returned coldly. His smoked spectacles gave him an inscrutable look, and he turned to the Thurzós, who were both taking an avid interest in the conversation. “Besides, Miss Green, I don’t think I need remind you that we only have permission to excavate the caravansary. I doubt the authorities would look favourably on us pushing the limits of our permits.”

  “But surely—” she began.

  Suddenly, Rowan, stood, throwing his napkin down. “I am turning in. We will begin at the southern end of the site tomorrow.”

  He stalked out, as much as he could with his stooped posture, and it was as if someone had let the wind out of the room.

  Miss Green dropped her fork and pushed her plate away. She gave me an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind too much about Rowan. It’s quite normal for archaeologists to get like this in the middle of a season, particularly if things haven’t gone as well as we would have liked.”

  “Is it a poor season?” I asked.

  The Thurzós laughed and Count András explained. “For linguistics, no. There is ample carving on the lodgings and storerooms at the site. But as to significant artefacts, very little has been unearthed. Nothing but pots and beads, pots and beads, piles and piles of pots and beads.”

  “Those pots and beads tell us a very great deal about the day-to-day life of the people who once lived here,” Miss Green said wearily. “Now, if all you want is gold, you’d best take yourself off to Egypt.”

  “Egypt!” Herr Doktor scoffed. “There is nothing new to be found in Egypt. It has all been looted in antiquity. To think something wonderful might yet be found there is silliness.”

  Miss Green rubbed her face, and I wondered if she were dangerously close to weeping. There was something brittle about her mood, and the conversation had been thorny. I rose then.

  “I’m afraid I’m rather tired, Miss Green. Would you mind if I went to our tent?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. I’ll walk with you.” We bade the others good-night and she lit a pair of lanterns, handing one to me as we left the small building. In the distance, we could see the hunched form of Mr. Rowan as he made his rounds over the site.

  We readied ourselves for bed and doused the lanterns, and after a while I heard her heavy snores. I must have dozed, for I awoke some time later, after the moon had set and the darkness pressed against me.

  I could not say what had awakened me, but then I heard it, a faint noise, so slight I could almost imagine it. Gooseflesh raised on my arms and I realised what it was. Pan-pipes. Gabriel had loved all forms of music, but for a connoisseur he had had appallingly lowbrow tastes at times. He refused to appreciate my jazz, but he adored pan-pipes he’d played as a boy, and he often used them to relax.

  And now it crept into the tent, coaxing, luring. I fumbled with the fastenings, and it took several minutes before I freed them and emerged into the clear, cold desert air. The melody was faint and seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, no doubt a trick of the desert air. I peered into the flat darkness, thinking of the jinn, the malevolent spirits of desert folklore. They were particularly fond of travellers, I recalled with a shudder. And then I pinched myself hard, realising this was no doubt Gabriel’s attempt to signal to me. He might have chosen something less melodramatic, I fumed as I moved out from the cover of the tent, but then again he’d always had a flair for the dramatic, I thought bitterly.

  I saw a figure, white and shadowy, moving slowly towards the castle ruin. I set off after it, but I had not gone three feet before I tripped heavily over a rock and fell, cursing into the darkness.

  “Frau Starke, is that you?” Herr Doktor groped his way towards me, swinging a lantern high as he came near.

  “Yes, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.”

  He helped me to my feet. I looked towards the castle but the ghostly figure was gone, vanished into the night.

  “Disturb me? I am an old man, I do not sleep well and I am often restless,” he told me. “I too often rise in the night to attend to the demands of nature. But you must not wander about in the dark, my dear. It is dangerous in the desert.” As if on cue, a jackal chose that precise moment to howl, and I shuddered, the hair on my neck raising as the creature carried on its mournful cry. Herr Doktor patted my hand and walked me back to my tent, and I said nothing, grateful for his assumption I’d been answering a call of nature. It was as good an explanation as I could have thought of on my own.

  I thanked him and he waited until I was safely inside. I heard Miss Green’s healthy snores as I eased into bed. I lay in silence several minutes before I heard Herr Doktor walk slowly away. I strained my ears, but the melody did not come again, and after a long time, I slept.

  * * *

  I woke to a chilly, brilliant morning. The sun touched everything with its warm light, gilding the wrecked stones and huddled tents into a scene of actual beauty. Miss Green’s bed was empty and I hurried to wash and dress and present myself for breakfast. She was just coming to collect me with a clutch of boiled eggs and flatbread and a steaming mug of tea.

  “I’m afraid you’ve missed the proper cooked breakfast, but I didn’t like to wake you, you were sleeping so soundly,” she said by way of apology.

  “No matter,” I told her. “I had a restless night.”

  She nodded towards the tea. “That will soon sort you. The Hungarians complain to no end, but it’s bracing stuff.”

  She w
as not wrong. The cook had stewed it until it was thick with tea leaves and so heavily sweetened it made my teeth ache. But I was wide awake after drinking it, and she took me on a tour after I had eaten.

  We made our way down to the southern end of the site, away from the castle, and just as Gabriel—in his guise as Mr. Rowan—had instructed, the men were busy excavating the storerooms. There were a series of structures, some completely razed with nothing but a stone outline to show where they had once stood. Others were in better repair, with low walls and some even with lintels over the doorways. There were very clearly courtyards and even a few staircases.

  “For the rooftops,” Miss Green told me. “Very common in this part of the world. In hot weather, one might take meals or even sleep up there to take advantage of the cooling breezes.”

  She strode on, pointing out the most interesting bits and pieces until Daoud ran up to her, gesticulating wildly. She listened then turned to me, rolling her eyes.

  “Problem with the men and, wouldn’t you know, Rowan is too busy drawing the map to take them in hand. I’ll sort it out and be back in a tick.”

  She walked away with Daoud, leaving me on my own to explore the site, but I hadn’t gone a few steps before András Thurzó appeared.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Starke,” he said, inclining his head in a courtly gesture.

  I smiled. “Your Continental manners put the fellows I know to shame, Count.”

  “I am delighted you find it so. How do you like our little dig, madame?”

  “Very interesting, at least the bit I’ve seen.”

  He held out his arm. “Then it must be my privilege to escort you to what you have not seen.”

  I hesitated. “I was waiting for Miss Green.”

  “Then we must hurry if we are going to miss her,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. I laughed and took his arm.

  “Count, I think you might be a scoundrel,” I said as he led me into the depths of the caravansary. I glanced back to see Erzsébet Thurzó watching us closely as we went. I smiled, but she merely turned her head and went back to her work.

  We walked for some time and the count explained the site thoroughly, but always with a few interesting details thrown in to keep my attention. Between the courtly gestures and his insistence on being alone, I had expected him to try something and steeled myself to give him a good shove if he needed it. But as the morning wore on and we covered more ground, he showed no signs of playing the lover. Occasionally his hand lingered a moment too long on my back as he guided me, but otherwise his manner was perfectly correct—slightly nervous even, and he seemed distracted, checking his watch every quarter hour or so. He was serious as the grave, and although he did toss in a few complimentary phrases now and then, each time he did, I had the oddest feeling he was merely conversing by rote, saying things he felt he ought to say rather than things he actually meant.

  I wondered exactly what he was up to, but listening to him drone on about substrata wasn’t going to tell me anything. So I batted my lashes and kept touching his arm, and when I put a finger into the cleft in his chin and he shied like a pony, I knew. He was keeping me busy for some purpose of his own. It obviously wasn’t seduction and I couldn’t imagine what it might be, but I was getting a little tired of wandering around in the sun. The shadows had shortened considerably, and it was drawing close to time for luncheon. I sat on one of the low walls and patted my face with a handkerchief.

  “Are you too warm, Mrs. Starke? Please, allow me to offer you some water,” he said quickly, obviously glad of something to do. He knelt in front of me to open the flask and pour out a little water, and as he did so, I happened to glance at a scribble chalked onto the wall beside me. It was faint, almost illegible, but I could make out two words: REAPERS HOME. Next to them was a series of letters. XIIA.

  I stared at them a long moment, then jerked my head back as the count handed me the cup, but his eyes had drifted to the chalked markings. I smiled and took a long sip. I held it out for more and when he had refilled it, I jostled my own hand, spilling water on the chalk.

  “Oh, how clumsy of me!” I said, righting the cup. But the job was done. The words were obliterated instantly. I smiled at him. “I do hope I haven’t been very stupid and damaged something of value,” I told him.

  He returned the smile, but thinly, and when he spoke, it was with scarcely veiled irritation. “On the contrary, Mrs. Starke. These stone walls have stood for many centuries. A little water cannot possibly harm them.”

  “I am glad to know it.” I batted my lashes some more, and he dove for his watch. Whatever he had been waiting for, it was apparently finished. His expression relaxed instantly and he rose, replacing the cap on his flask.

  “It’s very nearly time for luncheon. We must go.”

  I followed obediently to where the rest of the party were finishing up the morning’s work. Apparently there had been a find of some value and the atmosphere was buzzing. Miss Green waved me over to show me the goods. It was a cache of modest jewellery, wrapped in a rotting piece of fabric. There were bracelets and clasps and a particularly nice necklace in a Roman style. The workmen were round-eyed with excitement, clapping the fellow who had found it on the back as he accepted the congratulations of the staff.

  Miss Green turned to me. “He’s right to be happy. He’ll get a reward exactly commensurate with the value of the find. Standard practise to encourage the men not to steal from the site,” she explained.

  “They will have half a day’s holiday tomorrow, as well,” Count Thurzó stated. “Although that is a touch generous for such a modest find.”

  Miss Green turned on him. “What did you expect, Count? The crown jewels? It is a perfectly exciting find. Why, look here—” She went off on a highly technical explanation of why the necklace was significant. I thought I was the only one not following, but the count held up his hands with a smile.

  “You ladies and your jewellery!” He clearly intended the mockery to be in good fun, but Miss Green took offence.

  “Now see here, Thurzó—” She was clearly building up a head of steam, so I slipped to the edge of the crowd and thought of the message on the wall. Gabriel wanted me to meet him at twelve—midnight to be precise since he had chalked an A after the numerals. Where, he hadn’t indicated, and it occurred to me the best I could do was stay awake and wait for his signal.

  Gabriel appeared then to inspect the find, and amid much celebrating and shouting, made the proper noises and paid out the finder’s fee. The men were to be given an early luncheon, and as the crowd moved away, he flicked a glance at me, his brows lifted. He didn’t need to speak for me to understand the question. Did you get the message? I gave him a single nod in reply and he blinked once before turning away. The entire exchange could not have lasted more than a few seconds, and anyone who had not been looking for it would not have noticed.

  But as Gabriel walked away, I looked up to find Herr Doktor watching us both, a small smile playing about his lips.

  * * *

  The celebratory luncheon was a lengthy affair with several courses of rustic food and much telling of stories, although the mood varied wildly depending upon where one ate. The workmen sat in the shade of the castle keep, eating apart from the staff and sharing what sounded like ribald jokes. The staff were much quieter, and an odd atmosphere seemed to have settled upon them. As Mr. Rowan, Gabriel said almost nothing, ate swiftly and was off again minutes after he joined us, but the rest showed an inclination to linger.

  We began by talking of the state of archaeology after the war and this rather naturally led to a discussion of what it had been like during those tumultuous years.

  “Awful,” Miss Green said mournfully. “It was the purest form of agony not being able to get here to dig and having no idea what was happening to our sites.”

  “Had you been diggin
g here before the war?” I asked, idly toying with a bit of flatbread.

  “We had all been here at various sites,” Countess Thurzó put in. I noticed that Herr Doktor had fallen silent and seemed a little morose. No doubt talk of the war was a difficult thing for a man who had been on the wrong side of it. I asked him what he thought of the location and he nodded slowly.

  “Yes, there is no better spot on earth than the Badiyat ash-Sham for excavation,” he said.

  “Really? You surprise me, Herr Doktor. I would have thought Egypt—” Before I could finish, he waved his hands.

  “Not at all, Frau Starke! Oh, the Egyptians have their ancient kings, but this is all. If you peel away the Greco-Roman influence, what is there? Uninteresting people doing uninteresting things in rock tombs. But here!” He opened his arms expansively. “Here the whole world was at a crossroads. This is the Silk Road, madame, and it is here that merchants came from as far away as China and Persia, winding down the Tian Shan mountains, crossing vast expanses of steppes to bring silks and spices. They came from India, from Nepal, out of the Hindu Kush they came, carrying with them all the secrets of the east in their camel caravans from Baghdad to Palmyra to Damascus. And from Europe we went out to meet them, bringing our God and our gold. We traded philosophies, and music and dance, and when our Crusader knights came to these lands, they collected these things and took them back to Europe.”

  His bright blue eyes were shining as he talked, painting a vivid picture of life as it had once been.

  “Imagine it, dear lady, when the camel caravans walked these stony hills, laden with their perfumes and silks, the fat merchants and the wily thieves who preyed upon them. For they were vulnerable, these rich men who came bearing goods from the mountains across the plains. The desert tribes learned to attack them and carry off their treasures on swift horses. But still they came, for the trading was too good, and in this way everyone profited.”

  “You make it all sound quite romantic, Herr Doktor,” I told him.