Treasures of Egypt Chapter 25: Warning Shadows, a phantom of the opera fanfic

Treasures of Egypt
Chapter 25
Warning Shadows

For every joy, there is a price to be paid.
~Ancient Egyptian Proverb

Asmari nervously made his way down a narrow back street. The hour was late and the night was moonless, making the path he was following murkier than usual. More than once, he stumbled over unseen obstacles, cursing repeatedly. In the distance, a dog brayed…or was that the howl of a jackal? Asmari swallowed hard. He was not normally a superstitious man, but jackals were often the harbingers of bad luck and that was the last thing he needed. Disoriented, he stopped to get his bearings and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. The idea of initiating a call upon one of Luxor's most powerful underworld figures was enough to make anyone ill at ease, but he reminded himself that if this meeting was successful, the rewards would be well worth the effort and any discomfort.

At last, he saw the house he was looking for. There was nothing to distinguish it from many another modest dwelling in the city. No colonial overlord lived here; the style bore little resemblance to the European mansions found in the wealthier part of town. It wasn't a hovel, either. No, it was the home of a well-off, but not flamboyant, "native."

Asmari knocked on the door and waited. There was no response. He shuffled his feet and knocked again, louder. He was determined to wait as long as necessary. Someone was home; he could see the dim light seeping out from between the cracks in the shutters that covered the windows. After several agonizingly slow moments, he heard the shuffling of footsteps. The knob turned and the door opened.

"What do you want, disturbing my master's household at this hour?" The servant who answered the door was sullen, obviously not appreciating being disturbed this late at night.

Asmari drew himself to his full height, which might have been more impressive if his burgeoning girth hadn't hung over his belt. He sneered. "Do as I say, you paid lackey. I must speak to your master. Now."

The servant did not budge. "The hour is late. My master has already retired for the night. Come back tomorrow." He made to shut the door, but the policeman stuck his foot out.

"Tell your master that Asmari is here with information he will want."

The servant did not respond immediately, his face inscrutable. Asmari was about the force his way past the man when the servant finally spoke. "Wait here," he said. The man turned his back to Asmari as if to walk away. Asmari started to follow him inside, but the servant quickly shut the door in his face, forcing Asmari to continue his wait outside. He satisfied himself by listening to the other walked away. He paced and huffed, only the silence keeping him company.

After a few minutes, the man returned. "Follow me," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, and escorted Asmari down a hallway and opened to door to a dimly lit room. "Master," the servant said, bowing deeply. "The man called Asmari to see you." He backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Asmari inhaled sharply when he heard the snick of a latch being drawn into place. He was locked inside the room, and he was not alone.

The room was filled with a hodgepodge of antiquities and rare books. Statues of Egyptian gods and goddesses rubbed elbows with Greek amphorae, while papyrus scrolls were dumped together with leather-bound tomes. There was a window, but the curtains were drawn. What little illumination there was in the room came from an alabaster oil lamp sitting in a far corner, the flickering light revealing a bull of a man sitting impassively, his arms crossed over his chest. The man might have been a wrestler; he had almost no neck, and even the traditional Egyptian robe he wore failed to disguise the hard, muscled arms and chest, nor the wicked sword he wore at his side. Asmari felt his stomach tighten – a bodyguard.

The sound of shuffling papers drew Asmari's attention away from the bodyguard to the oversized desk in front of him…and the tall man sitting in the shadows behind it. "What is so important that you must intrude upon my house and disturb my rest?" the man asked. He sneered down his nose at Asmari, who nervously rubbed his greasy palms together. Asmari smiled obsequiously, exposing a row of crooked, rotten teeth crowding out of his mouth.

"It is the English woman," he said without preamble. He waited for an invitation to be seated, but none came forth. He looked around for a chair to sit in, but saw there was none. This did not bode well. Asmari tried to calm his pounding heart. "She's been to Amarna with the Frenchman, Rien." He spat out the foreigner's name, failing to disguise his contempt for the man.

"Ah, Rien. A most interesting man." He tapped his fingertips together and spoke so softly Asmari had to strain to hear him.

Asmari snickered with scorn. "Keeps his face covered. Have you ever wondered why?"

"No doubt he has a face only his mother could love. However, I am not interested in what you think of a dealer of antiquities who does not curry favor with you. State your business."

"I know that you are curious about the Brackenstalls. You will be interested to learn that Mr. Brackenstall has been missing for several weeks. Only yesterday, his wife returned from a trip to Amarna, where she went searching for him with the firanji, the Frenchman."

"And?" the man behind the desk prompted.

"They found him."

An eyebrow shot up, but that was the only reaction Asmari got to his announcement. "He's dead," he said, frustration in his voice. "But I suspect you already knew that." He watched the other's reaction. This time, he was pleased to see that his comment struck a nerve. "Rien and the lady came to my office to make an official report of the English pig's death. I'm told that the body was in such bad condition that it was almost impossible to say how he died."

"Almost? They must have formed some idea."

"Their official story is that Mr. Leonidas Brackenstall died as a result of an unfortunate accident."

The man behind the desk steepled his fingers and proceeded to look bored. "Sad, but what does this have to do with me?"

Asmari smirked. Two could play these games. "Come. Do not play me for a fool. You and I, we have done business together before. We both know you've had dealings with Brackenstall in the past. In fact, I'm the one who directed him to you. A rich, foolish foreigner with dreams of grandeur, ripe for the picking. I've never steered you wrong in the past, have I? No, and I am not doing so now. I came as soon as I could because I knew this news was important to you. The Englishwoman and the firanji may be saying publicly that they believe Brackenstall's death was an accident, but is that what they are saying…privately?"

"Continue," the other man said, waiting for Asmari to continue. "What else are they saying…privately?"

"They didn't say, but I could see that they were hiding something. The man hid his emotions well, but the woman? It was obvious that she thinks there has been foul play."

"Did they indicate what they are planning to do next?"

"No. They left without saying more."

The other man paused as he considered his next question. "Did either of them mention a map?"

"What kind of map?"

The man gave a vague reply. "A map. You know, X marks the spot? No? Then this is your assignment. Keep your eyes and ears open. Watch them. Observe them. Let me know what they do, where they go." He passed an envelope across the desk to Asmari. Asmari snatched it up and opened it, counted its contents and was satisfied with the sum. "Where is the lady staying? At the Winter Palace?"

"No. I followed them. She is staying with Rien."

"That is useful information. Thank you."

"How shall I reach you with my reports?"

"The usual method."

Asmari recognized that the interview was over and was about to leave when the man at the desk added, "And do not think to double cross me." He nodded to the bodyguard, who glared menacingly at Asmari.

The burly man stood up. Not as tall as Asmari, but powerfully built, he glared menacingly at the quivering cop. He wagged his tongue in Amari's face, a gesture that conveyed a sordid, unspoken threat of the basest kind. Asmari felt his knees shaking.

"I w-wouldn't d-dream of doing so," he stammered.

"Then we understand each other."

Asmari left the house, wishing he didn't understand the other man quite as well as he did.

-0-0-0-

Somewhere in a garden, birds twittered. Elizabeth lay in bed, listening to the birdsong after spending a night luxuriating in a real bed with a real mattress and real pillows. She hadn't enjoyed such comforts since coming to Luxor for the winter dig season with Leo. A sense of peace and calm had suffused her, but that feeling disappeared with the intrusion of Leo into her thoughts, to be replaced by pangs of guilt and confusion that knifed through her. She berated herself. How dare she be laying here, enjoying the extravagance provided by a man she hadn't even known a month ago while Leo lay dead, his body moldering in a makeshift grave at Amarna?

But Leo left you almost a month ago, without even a good-bye.

Yes, she argued back with herself. But he meant well.

But if that had been the case, why couldn't he have been more attentive? Why couldn't he have…? She forced herself to stop dwelling further on the matter. Nothing could change the past. What was done was done. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to get out of bed and then wondered why. It wasn't as if she were expected to help with household chores. In fact, she wasn't certain exactly what she was expected to do, but doing something was better than being a slug-a-bed.

At that moment, there was a faint knock. "Are you awake, Sitt?"

Elizabeth smiled. It was Safa.

"It's almost eight o'clock," the young servant girl announced from the other side of the door. "You're normally up and about by this time. I was concerned. Did you sleep well?"

Elizabeth stretched and yawned, mumbled an acknowledgement and invited the girl in. She watched as Safa waltzed into the room, all sunshine and bright smiles. "Shall I draw a bath for you?" Safa asked.

"Really, there's no need for you to be waiting on me like this. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"I am only following Master Erik's instructions, and even if I weren't, I'd do it anyway. You are an honored guest. It is right to attend you." She ignored Elizabeth's protestations and went into the bathroom, setting out towels and perfumed oils so that the honored guest could make her toilet. When she finished with that, she asked what Elizabeth would like for breakfast.

"Whatever Mr. Rien is having will be fine. Don't go to any trouble on my account."

"But Master Erik is gone. He rarely eats breakfast, and anyway, it's no trouble. Grandmother Talibah has taken over cooking duties. She is very grateful to have gotten out of that village and has told me that she will be happy to make you whatever you'd like."

The idea of a real breakfast was as alluring as sleeping in a real bed had been. What hadn't she had in a long time? "Eggs?" she asked, her mouth watering at the mere thought of fresh eggs. "Soft boiled eggs, maybe? Oh, and some toast and a cup of Earl Grey tea. With sugar and cream." She stopped to think. "Your master has tea in the house, hasn't he?"

Safa nodded. "He often takes iced tea in the warm afternoons."

Elizabeth looked at her meager wardrobe, trying to decide what she should wear today. "Where did Erik, I mean, Mr. Rien go?" she asked, not happy with the choices available to her.

Safa shrugged. "I'm not sure. He said he had a number of errands to run. He took Ra'id with him. I think they were going to make arrangements to bring your husband back. Forgive me, Sitt. I should not speak so carelessly in front of you."

"It's all right, Safa. You said nothing wrong. But I am wondering…. After breakfast, I would like to visit the bazaars. I need to find some more appropriate clothing. Mourning clothes."

"Oh, no. You're not to leave the house. At least, not alone, not without one of the men accompanying you. Master's orders."

"What?" Elizabeth sputtered. "Who does he…?" Then she recalled the conversation from the previous day and Erik's suspicions about Leo's death. "Very well. I'll wait for Mr. Rien to return. Perhaps I should ask him to take me to the bazaars."

Safa grinned. "Will serve my master right for leaving you alone," she said with a wink.

-0-0-0-

"It is very generous of you to offer to go to Amarna and retrieve Mrs. Brackenstall's husband." Erik indicated the lead-lined casket. 'I understand that touching the dead goes against the customs of your people.'"

"I feel it is my duty both to Mr. Leonidas and Mistress Brackenstall. We will say prayers over his body as we bring him home," said Ra'id. "Mr. Leo was a good man to work for. He never cheated the men, never worked them hard like other Europeans have. In these things, he was an honorable man. If I had any complaint against him, it was the way he took his lady for granted."

Erik made a grimace. "I still think I should accompany you. Captain Hassan says he can leave tomorrow. I have agreed to pay twice his usual rate if he can get you to Amarna and back in less than two weeks."

"No, Effendi. If what you say is true, that Mr. Leo's death was not an accident, it is better that you remain here to protect my mistress."

Erik was torn. His first instinct was to stay and protect Elizabeth, but he also felt duty bound to go back to Amarna. Ra'id pointed out that they still did not know if Leo's murder was an isolated incident, or whether the peril was still present.

"What makes you think the danger isn't confined to Amarna? What if the cutthroats were merely locals who took advantage of an Englishman who had dropped his guard?"

"Remember your shop," said Ra'id. "And I am not going unprepared." He pulled his robe aside to reveal an oversized pistol tucked into his sash. "I will also be taking men I have worked with before, men I know and trust."

Erik eyed the firearm, its metal glinting in the morning sun. "Impressive."

"And I know how to use it," Ra'id added proudly.

Erik gave in. Ra'id was an honorable and dependable man. "Very well, I shall leave you to work out the details of the trip with Captain Hassan. See me in the morning before you leave. I'll give you enough money to cover any unexpected expenses."

With that, Erik headed off to take care of his next chore – paying a call on The German. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Asmari lurking in the background. Amateur, he snarled inwardly as Asmari's head bobbed conspicuously among the crowd.

-0-0-0-

Ehrhart Riemenschneider was surprised when Erik called upon him. At least, he acted surprised. "I didn't realize you were back in town," he said jovially, giving Erik a friendly slap across the back.

Erik replied with a sneer. "Don't try to lie to me, Ehrhart," he said. "We both know your spies promptly informed you the moment the Eye of Horus put into harbor."

The German grinned and instructed a servant to bring them something cool to drink. "Some iced tea for my abstemious friend here and the usual for me. Now then," he said, turning his attention back to Erik. "How may I help you?"

"I wanted to thank you for keeping watch over my property while I was gone. I am impressed that none of my inventory mysteriously disappeared during my absence."

Riemenschneider gave a shrug. "What can I say? Crime's gone down in Luxor."

"Too bad the same cannot be said for Amarna."

The German cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? Did something happen? I was curious when I learned that Mr. Brackenstall did not come back with you. Did he decide to stay behind, protect whatever new site he's discovered?"

"Leonidas Brackenstall is dead."

"Oh dear. That's not good." He took out his cigarette case, placed one in the ivory holder he used, and lit it. "And now the lovely Elizabeth Brackenstall is a widow. How is she holding up?"

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances."

"What circumstances are those? What, you're not going to tell me? Could it be…Yes, that's it! You have set yourself up as the lady's protector!" He slapped his thigh and barked out a laugh. "Her knight in slightly tarnished armor! This is quite precious – the mysterious and enigmatic Erik Rien is smitten with the cold Englishwoman. So, tell your old friend, what happened at Amarna? Did you warm the cockles of her cold, cold heart? That's not all you warmed, is it?" He gave a conspiratorial wink. "Her bed, perhaps?"

Erik bristled. The murderous glint in his steely eyes warned the German off. "Whatever reputation I have is well earned, Riemenschneider, and don't you forget it. Mrs. Brackenstall is beyond reproach, especially from the likes of you."

"Oh, my dear man, you've…." He laughed some more. "Oh…I see. She's a true and proper lady, and she'll have nothing to do with you."

Erik concealed the fact that this harsh reality stabbed him in the heart, but he believed it to be true. "She loved her husband. She is grieving. Can you not leave it at that?" He stared coldly at Riemenschneider. "To suggest otherwise is beneath contempt. Only a Hun would make such a base implication."

"A Hun, is it?" Riemenschneider snickered. "My dear man, you really are head over heels. But out of consideration for the lady's sensitivities, we'll leave her out of it. I seem to have overstepped my bounds. Now, tell your good friend Ehrhart why you really came here."

Erik lifted his keffiyeh and took a sip of iced tea. The German had rattled his composure with his comments about Beth. He didn't need to let that come through. "Yes…my friend. I have another reason for calling on you."

The German chuckled. "I thought as much."

"I need information."

"What? Again? How often must I perform these services for you?"

"As often as I ask. That is, of course, unless you would prefer that I not direct sellers of excellent antiques at extremely low prices your way. Your network of observers is far more efficient than anything I could cobble together on the spur of the moment." He cocked his head to one side, conceding Reimenschneider's current superiority in such matters.

The German made a production out of sighing deeply. "This is true." He blew out a smoke ring and watched it drift lazily towards the ceiling as it slowly expanded and finally disappeared. "I like doing business with you, Rien. You amuse me."

Erik sat silent, resolute, while Riemenschneider considered whether to give him the information he sought

"So, tell me, Rien. What do you want to know?"

"What's Asmari up to these days?"

"Oh, the usual. Why, just yesterday he came by wanting to sell me information."

"About what?"

"About you."

"Why would you be buying information about me?"

"Oh, come now. Don't play coy. You know I collect all manner of things – antiques, information – by and about everyone. Even you. But I'm afraid Asmari had nothing I didn't already know. He said you'd gone to Amarna with your ladylove to search for said lady's husband. I already knew that. You'd asked me to watch your property, remember?"

"As I recall, you volunteered."

"Ahh…yes. This is so. He then said that you'd returned, without the husband. I knew that, too. Yes, you caught me in a little fib when I said I hadn't known you'd returned. Asmari seemed to think that I was somehow involved in the gentleman's disappearance. I wasn't. That's all. End of story."

"Have you heard of anyone else Asmari would be selling information to? He thinks he is being clever, but I've noticed him following me all day. Even if you don't care what I'm up to, somebody does."

The German rose from his chair and quietly paced. "There is somebody. You may recall my telling you about someone new in town? Whoever he is – and I'm afraid I know little more than I did the last time you called upon me – he is making a number of people nervous. Apparently his tactics are not as…discreet as mine."

"A thug?"

"Perhaps not personally but he's been known to employ them."

"What is he looking for?"

"Something about a map. Rumor has it that Brackenstall 'borrowed' one from our mystery man."

"Do rumors say what this map leads to?"

"Why, what else? Treasure!"

Erik let out a snort of disdain. This would have been just like Brackenstall to fall for a treasure map scheme. Is this why he died? Erik's forehead crinkled as he considered this possibility. The more he was learning about the late Leonidas Brackenstall, the more Erik was certain that he had been a first rate fool. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"I'm not sure. When you found Brackenstall, did you happen to find a map?"

"No," said Erik. He saw the distrust on Riemenschneider's face. "Cross my heart," he added, placing his right hand over his heart.

"Very amusing," replied Riemenschneider, without a trace of a smile.

"Here," Erik said, tossing a box to the German.

Riemenschneider opened the small package. Inside, nestled in cotton batting, was a bust of the heretic pharaoh, Khuenaten. "What's this?"

"Think of it as reimbursement for any trouble my requests may have put you through."

The German carefully picked up the statue and examined it. "Ugly fellow," he remarked, but his expression said that he was impressed.

"Don't worry, Ehrhart; it's genuine. I found it while we were camped near Amarna."

The German beamed with genuine pleasure. "Why, thank you, Rien. I didn't know you cared."

Erik replied with a devious grin. "Who says I do?"

-0-0-0-

On leaving the German's house, Erik headed to the bazaars. He needed to do something to get rid the bad taste Riemenschneider always left him with. He had no idea how far to trust Riemenschneider, but under the current circumstances, a man had to start somewhere. Giving him the Khuenaten statue had hurt more than the German would ever know. When Erik had initially found it, he'd set it aside with the idea of one day giving it to Beth. She, at least, would appreciate it for its true worth. To her, it would be more than just another bit of rare art to add to her collection. But he had needed to make an overture to guarantee the German's cooperation. So, the statue it was. Now, however, Erik needed to make up for the loss of the figure…even if he was the only one who understood the reason for doing so.

He found his way to the booksellers' stalls and browsed through numerous volumes. His first thought was to buy her a couple of books on Egyptology, but then dismissed the idea. Her father was an Egyptologist and had been for years. She, too, was an Egyptologist. Anything he bought, she would probably already have or would already have read.

Should he get her a novel? If so, what? He found a couple of books by Jane Austen. Did she care for tales of romance or was she the sort who enjoyed tales of adventure or speculative fiction? Did she care for fiction at all or was she the practical type who preferred her reading material to be rooted in reality? He sighed and set aside the Austen.

What were her interests besides Egyptology? He tried to remember things she'd told him, and then it struck him. Music. Last night, she had been drawn to the music. Very well, that's what he would seek. Erik asked the bookseller, an elderly man with an oversized graying mustache, if he had any books about classical composers, preferably in English.

"Yes," the merchant replied. "You're in luck." The man ducked inside the building behind his stall and came out with an armful of books. "A few weeks ago, an English family was leaving Luxor and did not want to take all their books back with them. Too much trouble packing, I suppose. I got these at a good price, which I am willing to pass on to you."

Erik looked through them. Among them were the memoirs of Hector Berlioz as well as biographies of Ludwig von Beethoven and Robert Schumann. "How much?"

The two men bartered. A price was agreed upon, and the bookseller neatly wrapped the volumes in brown paper and tied it with string.

"Here you are, sir. I am sure you will find them well worth the price. Do come again."

Erik smiled, accepting the package. "I'm sure I shall." He walked away, annoyed to see Asmari failing to hide among the crowd of shoppers. He wished that the man weren't quite so inept when it came to trailing someone. It would be far more interesting if he were better at this game…a game Erik knew only too well.

-0-0-0-

Note:

Firanji – Egyptian slang for Europeans, derived from "frank"—essentially, "Frenchy."

Effendi - An educated or well-respected man in an eastern Mediterranean or Arab country; often used as a title of respect or courtesy in Turkey or a former Ottoman territory, which would describe Egypt at this time.