City of Jasmine Series, Book 2

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  He held up a hand, his tone gentle. “Don’t scold, Evie. It was our best hope.” He got to his feet, wincing a little.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked him.

  “Like hellfire and I’m going to have a bruise akin to a mule kick.”

  “Then you ought to rest,” I told him, pushing him back.

  He swayed but kept his feet. “We have to get out of here. I don’t trust them not to come back.”

  I rolled my eyes, but there was no arguing with him in that mood. I picked up the goatskins of water and the packets of food and started off in the direction the Thurzós had taken.

  Gabriel’s sharp voice stopped me. “You can’t go that way.”

  “Why ever not? It’s the way to Damascus, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said, his tone exaggeratedly patient. “And that’s where the Thurzós are most likely headed. I’d rather not be headed the same direction, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Don’t you want to get the Cross back?”

  “Evie, what I want now is a hot meal and a hotter bath. The Cross is gone, and that’s unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  “Nothing we can do about it?” My voice rose, incredulous. “We can go after it. There are only half a dozen of them and from what I saw, the Thurzós don’t much care to get their hands dirty.”

  His jaw went slack as he listened. “You’re mad, do you know that? I thought people who flew aeroplanes understood about calculated risks.”

  I flapped a hand. “If we only took calculated risks no one would ever have had the nerve to get into one of the damned things in the first place. When you took that Cross from its hiding place, you took responsibility for it. And now that it’s fallen into nefarious hands, it’s your obligation to retrieve it. What’s the matter, Gabriel?” I taunted. “Lost your nerve?”

  He stepped close to me, so close I could see the dirt ground into his face, the brilliance of the blue irises in whites that were heavily shot with red. He was exhausted and battered and I had just shot him. It occurred to me I might have been a little more sympathetic, but I refused to back down. I stood toe-to-toe with him, lifting my chin and giving him a long, cool stare.

  After a moment, he eased away, giving a wheezy laugh. “Oh, you nearly had me. Not a bad strategy to bait me into doing what you want. A few years ago, I’d have fallen for that. But not anymore. I don’t give a sweet bloody damn about your approval, Evie. You can think I’m a coward or that I’ve lost my nerve—embroider it on a cushion to sleep with at night. But I’m not going after the Cross. I am getting you safely out of here and washing my hands of the whole affair. And you can argue all you like, but you’re doing things my way or, so help me God, I will truss you like a turkey and carry you over my shoulder all the way to Palmyra.”

  I blinked. “Palmyra?”

  The very mention of the broken-pillared ruin of Queen Zenobia’s desert city was enough to set the pulses racing. Nestled in the heart of the desert, the tumbled stones of the once-fabled city lay amid the sands, sad relics of what had once been the most vibrant and elegant city between Mesopotamia and the sea. It had controlled the silk route from India from its colonnaded streets, and over it all stood the great temple of Ba’al, where the stars were charted and now only the whispers of the jinn broke the silence of the sands.

  “Stop it,” Gabriel ordered.

  “Stop what?”

  “Romanticising the place. It’s a load of bloody great rocks in the middle of the desert. The only reason I’m heading there is because it’s precisely the opposite direction from Damascus.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And I suppose archaeology is all about broken pots and desiccated mummies for you? I’ve seen you light up like a little boy at Christmas when you see a particularly nice temple, Gabriel. There are a dozen other places that would serve just as well. You’re choosing Palmyra because you’re as smitten with it as you are with Saladin and Petra and the Dome of the Rock and everything else in this part of the world,” I finished, spreading my arms to encompass the barren landscape before us.

  “Don’t take this amiss, duck, but I’m hungry and thirsty and you just shot me. Quarrelling seems a bit of a waste of effort. Now, I’m going that way,” he said, nodding towards the north and east. “You’re welcome to join me. If not, have a nice life and mind the scorpions.”

  He strode off with a jaunty stride, and I muttered one of his favourite swear words under my breath as I followed.

  When I reached his side, he paused and gave me a penetrating look. “How much did you enjoy pulling that trigger at me?”

  I thought a moment. “Less than I expected but more than I should have.”

  He nodded. “That sounds about right.”

  Shortly after we left the oasis, Gabriel turned and made for a line of low hills perhaps a quarter of a mile distant. We had gone half the way when he whirled around. Behind us, a lone figure sat on horseback on a ridge, silhouetted by starlight. Horse and rider were motionless, but the rider seemed to be watching us. A low cloud obscured the figure a little, and it was impossible to see more.

  “Gabriel?”

  “I don’t know who it is, but I don’t like it. A friendly Bedouin would have made his presence known. He wouldn’t just sit there watching. Keep making for the hills,” he said, giving my bottom a shove. I didn’t even bother to slap him for it. I doubled my pace, and we pressed on. Gabriel turned every hundred steps or so to look behind, squinting into the shadows thrown by the starlight. Finally, when we had almost gained the hills, the night breeze gusted a little, blowing the cloud from the ridge. As the cloud lifted, the lopsided moon rose, silvering the desert landscape and illuminating the figure on horseback.

  I sucked in my breath and Gabriel reached for my pistol. He fired once into the air. The horse was well-trained. It did not move, but the figure on its back did. It raised a hand in a gesture of goodwill and bowed from the waist. We hurried forward into the hills, but still he sat, sinister and silent. And as we scrambled over rocks and thornbushes, I wondered how on earth Herr Doktor Schickfuss had found us.

  After twisting our way through the hills for what seemed like hours, Gabriel eventually settled on a quiet little cave tucked so far into the earth even a fox would have had trouble finding it. He shoved me far into its depths, and we collapsed onto the dirt floor.

  “How did he find us?”

  “Bugger me if I know,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “But at least he knows we’re armed and he won’t dare these canyons on horseback in the dark. We’ll be safe until morning.”

  “Why don’t you have your own gun? It seems that someone in your business ought to carry some sort of protection.”

  “A gun is simply an invitation for another fellow to shoot you,” he said sleepily. “Besides, you don’t know what my business is. Who says it’s dangerous?”

  “Gabriel—” I began.

  He held up a hand that was covered in dirt and blood and deep scratches. “I can’t, Evie. Just let me rest now. You’re welcome to abuse me later.”

  He held up the end of his belt with a cynical smile and I grasped it, too tired to buckle it properly.

  I was too restless to sleep, and I kept reliving the moment when I had pulled the trigger. It might so easily have gone wrong. I might have missed or the tin box might not have been strong enough to stop the bullet. I could so easily have killed him but that didn’t seem to trouble him at all, and I began to worry if he had something of a death wish.

  “Gabriel?”

  He was slow to answer, but I knew he had not been asleep. “Hmm?”

  “Do you want to die?”

  “Perhaps,” he said with a mocking light in his eyes. “After all, ‘to die would be an awfully big adventure.’”

  “Stop quoting Peter P
an and answer the question,” I told him irritably.

  He gave a low laugh. “I won’t. It’s absurd.”

  “It isn’t, not really. You did let me shoot you,” I reminded him.

  “To avoid being shot by András Thurzó,” he returned. “I saw his gun and yours and chose the better odds. Nothing more.”

  “And you talked in Damascus about making amends. Atonement, I think you said. Those are words men use when they’re thinking they won’t be around much longer.”

  “Planning my next funeral, love?” His tone was amused. “Might be easier for you this time with an actual body to bury.”

  I turned away from him, coldly furious. “How very like you to make a joke about one of the most wretched days of my entire life.”

  He said nothing, and the silence fell heavily between us.

  “I shouldn’t have said it was like you to make a joke,” I told him. “I’ve come to understand that I don’t know what’s like you and what isn’t. I thought I did once—when I married you. At least before you changed. Or perhaps you didn’t change. Perhaps that cold stranger I found myself married to in China was the real Gabriel Starke all along.”

  “Perhaps the façade is what you married,” he said quietly.

  “I think it must have been. But he was a hell of a façade. He was everything a girl dreams of, but I daresay you know that if you created him. You didn’t miss a trick, did you? You thought of every detail—the beautiful clothes and the elegant manners, the fast car and the penchant for poetry.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said in the same soft tone. “Which one did I use on you that first evening we met? Now I remember. Donne, wasn’t it? ‘License my roving hands, and let them go…before, behind, between, above, below.’ I must say, I never expected you to take me so literally. Your enthusiasm was most gratifying.”

  Something in my face stopped him. He didn’t say another word on the subject but swore viciously under his breath as I turned away from him and curled up, miserable as I hadn’t been for a very long time. I slept, and when I slept, I dreamed he had left with the Cross and I was left alone with a grinning pile of bones in the corner of the cave. The bones rose up and came together to form Herr Doktor Schickfuss and he smiled as he came near me, holding out the long bones of his fingers to touch me.

  “Evie, for God’s sake, wake up.” Gabriel shoved me hard and I woke to find him looming over me, buckling his belt back into place.

  I scrambled to my feet. “Bad dream,” I told him, a trifle unnecessarily. “What do you think Herr Doktor is after? Could he know about the Cross?”

  He shrugged. “Hell if I know. There’s no telling how many people Daoud took into his confidence. But we must try to slip out of here without him seeing us. I know a track out of these hills that’s as obscure as you can get, and with any luck we’ll run across some friendly Bedu who can help get us to Palmyra.”

  “With any luck? Gabriel, has that been your plan all along? I thought you were some sort of criminal mastermind and that leaving the car in the desert was part of some grand strategy, but it appears you’ve been making it all up as you go along.”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward and dropped his hands. “There isn’t a manual for this sort of thing, you know. You assess the situation and follow your gut and do your best. And sometimes luck plays a bloody great hand in it all. So, yes, I am very much making it up as I go along, and right now, we are going to eat something and get the hell out of these hills in case Herr Doktor or the Thurzós are lying in wait outside preparing to put a bullet in my brain.”

  He snapped his mouth shut, but not before I realised what he had said. “The Thurzós? Why should they come back? They have what they want.” His gaze drifted, so I leaned into his line of vision. “Gabriel? They have what they want, don’t they?”

  “Not entirely.”

  I felt a chill whisper in my blood. “What did you do?”

  He hesitated then leaned over to the dirt floor of the cave, sketching quickly with a finger. “This is the basic structure of the Cross after it was reset by the monks. It’s gold, set with some precious stones—cabochon, of course. It was fashioned before jewellers learned to cut proper facets.”

  He pointed out the location of the main jewels with his fingertip and I groaned.

  “You’ve taken the jewels.”

  “Not the jewels,” he said quickly.

  “What then? The Cross is only valuable because of the jewels and the—” I gave a little shriek of horror. “You didn’t! Oh, Gabriel, how could you?”

  “The crystal heart holding the wood from the Holy Cross is the most valuable part of the thing,” he protested. “When I found the Cross I couldn’t very well leave it where it was, but I couldn’t come into the camp with a stinking great bit of gold, either. You’ve seen the camp—it’s as busy as Victoria Station and there are few secrets. The best I could do was separate the two parts and stash the gold in the well at the dry oasis.”

  “What did you do with the crystal?”

  “Put it in a safe place,” he assured me. “It is still a tremendous find.”

  “But not nearly as significant as it would be with the gold of the original Cross of Acre surrounding it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re thinking. The answer is no.”

  “Gabriel, I realise the crystal centrepiece is a find, possibly a significant one, but in order to be truly meaningful, it must be reunited with the Cross. They are two halves of the same coin.”

  “Evie—”

  I knew he wanted me to let him off the hook, to say I understood it was too dangerous, to give it all up and go back to Damascus and leave the adventure when it had only just begun. And something within me rebelled at the thought of surrendering, of letting go of what we had started. But even more than that, I knew if I let him go now, he would never buckle down and see anything through in his life. It was time, once and for all, for him to seize the chance to do the right thing and give up his adolescent ideas.

  I fixed him with a scathing look. “We cannot give up on it, particularly now that the Thurzós have it. They’ll sell it to a private collector and it will disappear. No one will dare exhibit it outright, and that piece of history will be lost. It belongs in a museum and honestly, I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss about going after it.”

  He spluttered in disbelief. “A fuss? Have you forgot they made you shoot me?”

  I flapped a hand. “It all turned out fine. You weren’t actually hurt, after all.”

  He gave me a wounded look. “It is bruising spectacularly, I’ll have you know. And they won’t be half so cordial the next time, I promise you.”

  “Ah, but the next time will be on our terms,” I assured him. “Just wait and see.”

  Once more we argued at length, and once more Gabriel gave in with bad grace and a good deal of very fluent profanity. He shoved some food and water at me, and we ate and drank a sparse meal before we gathered up our things. He had roughed a map of the desert onto the cave floor and we discussed the best route for intercepting the Thurzós. We had assumed they would head straight for Damascus, but I raised the point they might just as easily be making for Baghdad to the east.

  “But Baghdad means crossing into British Mesopotamia, and I’m not sure they’d want their presence noted at the border,” he mused. “If they were smart, they would indeed head straight for Damascus as we’d anticipated and then out again as quickly as possible.”

  “Wouldn’t they want to stay in Damascus to find a buyer?” I questioned.

  “Not with you still on the loose.” He smiled thinly. “They would have to hedge their bets that you might just possibly survive to make your own way to Damascus. Far safer for them to head to Beirut and then Europe and get rid of the Cross there, most likely to an unscrupulous private buyer.” />
  “Would they know how to find one?”

  He shrugged. “Probably. The countess mentioned the complexities of securing a buyer, but it’s rather easy for an archaeologist to find a collector who is avaricious without being terribly concerned with provenance. They won’t get as much for it, of course, as if they’d been able to put it up at auction and let the great museums fight it out at the bidding, but it would still be enough to make it worth their while—if they get out of the desert alive.”

  I blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t much like the look of their friends. Daoud’s nothing to write home about, but the others with them were from the south, renegade Bedouins who have been cast out of their own tribes for any variety of offences. They’ve got damned little to lose, and the Thurzós aren’t exactly hardened criminals. A bit of mutiny in the ranks wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

  “Do you think this is the first time they’ve turned their hand to serious crime?”

  “I should say so. Oh, I’ve no doubt they did a few unsavoury things in the war—most of us did. But they made several crucial mistakes for real criminals.”

  “You ought to know,” I muttered. He carried on as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “They didn’t inspect the Cross when they took it. They didn’t make sure you’d killed me. They didn’t even take your water away from you to ensure you’d die of thirst. Mark my words, this won’t end well for them unless they have bloody good beginners’ luck. They’re soft, and softness is a liability in this sort of game. If one intends to have any success as a criminal, one must harden oneself up. I don’t approve of bloodshed, but those two will have to learn to like it if they mean to make anything of themselves as villains.”

  He left me to meditate on that while he packed up our meagre gear. I slung my goatskin on my back and followed him out the mouth of the cave.

  The first shot at us went wide, chipping stone off the edge of the rock. Before the echoes had even died away, I was flung to the ground with Gabriel on top of me. A sharp pain throbbed in my back, and Gabriel’s dead weight did nothing to improve it.