Treasures of Egypt
Chapter 29
Into the Lion's Den

Copyright © 2008
HDKingsbury

"Come not between the dragon and his wrath."
~William Shakespeare, King Lear

When they left Asmari's house, it was already well past sunset. Most residents were in for the evening, leaving the streets empty and easy to navigate. The noxious smells of offal and urine mixed with the aroma of suppers being cooked as they passed through the poorer part of town. As they headed towards Erik's house, the smells of the inner city gave way to the fragrance of perfumed gardens.

A'aqil had expected them to immediately head for Qutaybah's place. Instead, they were returning home, which made no sense to him.

"I don't understand, Master. Shouldn't we be going to the police instead?"

"We have no time for the police to come to a decision. You know how they are. First, they'll debate as to whether a crime has actually taken place. They'll speculate that Elizabeth went of her own accord, perhaps even allege that since her husband abandoned her, she must be a wanton woman. They might even try to hold us for questioning in her disappearance. Also, we have no idea if Asmari is the only one on the take. No, we can't risk it. The delay might cost us her…might cost us dearly."

A'aqil nodded thoughtfully. "When you put it that way, it suppose it makes sense."

"Thank you," Erik replied, leaving A'aqil wondering whether or not he'd just been insulted.

They turned off the main street and onto the side street where the shop was located. They dismounted and tethered the horses by the front gate. The place was as they'd left it – empty – and they slipped in quickly.

"Wear dark colors," Erik instructed, and headed into his bedroom. When he came out, he was dressed in black from head to toe – from the turban that sat atop his head to the soft Moroccan boots that allowed him to tread softly. A'aqil, in turn, had attired himself in deep shades of midnight blues and darkest browns.

"We make a good looking pair," the servant said. "Like two ruffians looking for trouble."

"Isn't that what we are?" Erik asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The two of them headed into the study. There, Erik unlocked a standing cabinet. Inside were weapons that could be easily carried – knives and guns. Each man tucked a blade and a pistol into his sash, and shoved extra ammunition into his pockets.

"Anything else?" asked A'aqil.

Erik pointed towards the kitchen. "Yes. Down in the cellar."

-0-0-0-

"Master Erik, I can't believe you've had such an arsenal at the house all this time and I never knew it." A'aqil was carefully placing some Roman candles and firecrackers into a satchel. "And are you certain we will need these?" He pointed to several sticks of dynamite tucked safely into a storage crate. "What are you expecting, the entire Mahdi army?"

"Things haven't always been peaceful in this part of the world," said Erik. "It's only been…what, a year since General Gordon was killed down at Khartoum."

"But that is in the Sudan, Master. Have you been worried that the unrest would spread up here?"

"One never knows."

A'aqil looked around the cellar. There were several crates, the contents of which he decided he was better off not knowing. "You have enough equipment to arm a small insurrection."

Erik gave him a look. "Less talk and more attention to the task at hand. We don't need any accidents."

A'aqil grimaced. "I thought dynamite is stable, unlike nitroglycerine."

"Usually."

"Only…usually?"

Erik cracked a grin. "What can I say, my friend? There are no guarantees in life."

A'aqil let out a snort. "Thanks."

"Just be careful. I'd hate to have to break in a new servant, and I'm pretty sure Safa would be upset as well if I let something happen to you."

That got a small laugh from the Nubian. "Then again, she might thank you."

That Erik had a collection of weapons – mostly bladed implements – had never been a secret. These were the ones that were hung on a wall in the house and were primarily for decorative purposes, but what was down in the cellar was obviously meant for use in a crisis. "Where ever did you learn about such things as this, Master?" he asked, still amazed at the cache his master had accumulated.

"Here and there. I wandered the continent for years, and was once employed by the Shah-in-shah. I was the court magician."

"And this is how you made people disappear, by throwing sticks of dynamite at them?"

Erik chuckled. "You could say that."

Carefully, they placed several sticks of the explosive in a second satchel, protecting them as best they could. They were mounting their horses when A'aqil turned to Erik.

"Only two horses? Oh, I see. Mrs. Brackenstall will ride with you."

"Perhaps a bit uncomfortable, but necessary. Bringing along a third horse would be more trouble than it would be worth."

A'aqil hesitated before proceeding. "You care for her, don't you? A lot, I mean."

Erik paused. "Is it so obvious?"

"Not to a blind man."

"You're right. I do care for her. She's…unique. God forgive me, but yes – I love her."

"Why do you say 'God forgive you'? Is it so wrong to love Mrs. Brackenstall? She is a good woman. Any man would be blessed to have a wife such as her."

"A woman like Mrs. Brackenstall deserves better, that's all."

"If you say so," replied A'aqil, not believing Erik for a moment.

With their weapons and their stock of explosives, they headed towards the house of Qutaybah, prepared to beard the lion in his den.

-0-0-0-

The two men dismounted more than a block from the house. They tied the horses, then made the rest of the way down the palm-tree lined street on foot, sticking to the shadows, alert for any movement.

The house was bigger than average with expansive, well-kept grounds. Lights showed through curtained windows, and occasionally a silhouetted figure could be seen scurrying about. The building was one story high, which was good. That meant they would not have to resort to scaling walls to reach second story rooms, if need be. There was another problem, however, in the form of a ten-foot tall brick fence that surrounded the vast grounds, with only one entrance – a gate where a pair of rather formidable looking men, both armed with rifles, stood on guard.

Using hand gestures rather than words to communicate, Erik and A'aqil made their way around the perimeter of the property, reconnoitering the situation in order to determine the best strategy. At one point, Erik grabbed A'aqil by the shoulder and pointed to a window. Through the translucent curtains, they could see a woman being led into a room by a tall, heavily built man.

It was Elizabeth.

They watched as the man unceremoniously shoved her into the room. Her captor pushed her forward and the two disappeared from their line of sight. When the man reappeared, he was alone. He headed for the door and then the lights went out.

Be brave, Elizabeth, Erik thought. I'm coming for you.

-0-0-0-

She lay on her side. Her hands were numb and her shoulders felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets, while the ropes around her ankles bit sharply into her flesh. Her range of motion was limited, and when she tried to move, waves of agony shot through her body. Behind her was a window.

She didn't know why she remembered something as inconsequential as a window, but found herself thankful that when Twar had forced her onto the cot, it was with her back to it. She didn't want to see it beckoning to her, taunting her, offering her freedom, not when she was like this – trussed up like a lamb to the slaughter. She began to tremble uncontrollably. How could something like this have happened? What had she done wrong? Tears filled her eyes and her vision blurred, but she refused to cry.

Was it only this morning that she'd been looking over fabrics, discussing the latest fashions? Choosing mourning clothes wasn't the cheeriest of activities, but with Mme Chrétien and Safa, the task had actually been pleasant. It had been a long time since she'd enjoyed the company of other women.

They'd made a morning of it, taking pleasure in tea and biscuits as they talked about "female things," those mysterious topics never spoken of in front of men – husbands (Mme Chrétien, it turned out, was also a widow but though she missed her late husband, she was enjoying her "new life" as she called it) and children (Mme Chrétien had a passel of them, all grown up and with children of their own) and weddings (Mme Chrétien admitted that she always cried at them).

Later, with Madame having returned to her shop to begin making dresses and Safa having excused herself to see to household tasks, Elizabeth had decided to stay in her room and read. The memoirs of the French composer Hector Berlioz looked intriguing, and soon she had lost herself in the story of the composer's fascinating life. She had been so caught up in the book that she hadn't realized someone else was in the room until hands had seized her from behind and forced a cloth, heavy with a sweet, sickly scent, over her face.

From that point on, her life had turned into a nightmare. She tried to blot out the memories of all that had happened since she'd woken up and forced herself to think of pleasant things – her doting father, spring in the Cotswolds, Christmas with her aunts – anything but what she was currently experiencing. Regardless, though, of how hard she tried to blot the memories out, the taste of Asmari's mouth on hers, the skin-crawling sensation of his hands as they had touched, groped and pawed her would not leave. She closed her eyes and his glazed, dead eyes stared at her.

You mustn't give in to despair.

Why not? No one knew where she was. How could they? And even if the police or Erik eventually discovered what had happened, by then she would be long gone, as she had no doubts that Qutaybah had not been making an idle threat when he'd said he would sell her to the highest bidder.

You're alive. No matter what has happened, you're alive – and as long as you're alive, there is hope.

She lay silently on the cot, her emotions fluctuating between hope and despair. At last, the tears she had been fighting back broke loose and cascaded down her cheeks. She bit her lower lip, trying to choke back the sobs, and gave in to the hopelessness.

-0-0-0-

The commotion outside brought her out of her gloom. If the situation weren't so dire, she would almost have thought it amusing to hear people shooting off firecrackers down the street. At least someone was having a pleasant time of it tonight, she thought ironically. Then there were distant shouts in Arabic, something about prowlers seen lurking in the street. The firecrackers had the household upset. Footsteps scuttled down the hall as servants hurried about. Whatever was going on, it had the household on alert.

Outside her window, she heard noises. They weren't loud, more like someone scrambling quietly up the wall. It couldn't be Asmari sneaking back to her; he was dead, and good riddance, too. Was it Twar or Qutaybah? No, that wouldn't make sense. They'd just walk in the door. She swallowed hard.

What more could possibly happen?

She heard the window slide open and she froze. Someone was climbing in. Her first instinct was to scream, but what good would that do? The only ones who would answer her cries would be her captors. No, better to remain silent and let whatever was going to happen…happen.

She closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer.

For once, she was glad that the room was dark. Whoever was with her wouldn't be able to see her face, wouldn't be able to see that she was terrified and crying. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt someone approach from behind her. Her senses told her that it was a man. She gasped and a hand reached across and covered her mouth. Not harshly, but enough to let her know she must keep quiet.

"Elizabeth," a voice whispered. It was Erik!

Her heart leapt and she nodded to let him know that she understood.

He took his hand away and quickly untied her wrists and ankles. "Are you hurt?" he asked as he worked, keeping his voice low.

"No," she answered, likewise keeping her voice down.

Freed from her bonds, she let him help her to her feet. She turned to face him and knew that even in the faint light coming through the window, Erik could see the dried blood, her torn blouse, the bruises from being tossed about.

He looks like an avenging angel, she thought, taking in his appearance. From the turban on his head to the scarf that covered the lower half of his face, from his tunic and baggy pants to his boots, he was dressed in black, but it was his eyes that caught her attention. They flashed angrily – not at her, but at the idea that someone had hurt her.

"The blood is Asmari's," she said quickly, knowing what must be going through his mind.

"Did he…did he touch you?" he asked, afraid to say what he was really thinking.

"No, he didn't violate me," she answered, surprised at how calm she felt. "He didn't have time to finish what he started, but not for lack of wanting." She looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

"Where is he now?"

"Dead," was all she said, suddenly uncomfortable with saying more on the subject.

"Good," he said, silently relieved but not bothering to ask how it happened. There would be time for that later. "One less problem for me to take care of."

"But Asmari was not the only one here. There are two others and they are very much alive."

Erik made a grim face and gave their surroundings a quick visual inspection. "Then I suggest we move quickly." Silently, he crossed the room and bolted the door from the inside. He spied an old straight back chair and shoved it under the knob for good measure.

"We?" asked Elizabeth.

"A'aqil is with me."

She almost laughed, partly from a release of tension and partly from sheer joy.

"We're going out the window," he said. "Here, take this." He handed her his pistol. "Just in case. You said you knew how to fire one of these?"

"Yes." She allowed herself to finally smile. The weight of the gun felt good in her hands.

They went over to the window and Erik started to give her a boost up. "A'aqil is below."

Just then the doorknob turned. When it wouldn't open, the person on the other side roared with anger. It was Twar.

"Go, Elizabeth!" Erik shouted and saw her hesitate ever so briefly. "Now! Get as far away as possible. I'll take care of this and catch up with you."

"But…Erik! I can't leave you! He'll kill you!"

"Leave me!" He pushed her through the window while Twar threw all his weight against the door. The hinges creaked as the wood began to splinter. Another blow like that, and the door would give way.

She reached out and put her hand to his cheek. "Be careful! I...can't lose you, too."

There was a thunderous crash and door flew off its hinges. Twar barged into the room. Erik grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up to the window so that she could scramble out.

"Go, Elizabeth! Quickly!"

She gave him the briefest of looks. "I …," she started to say, but there wasn't time to finish the sentence. Instead, with Erik's help, she jumped out of the window and down to A'aqil's waiting arms – and freedom.

"I love you!" Erik said softly, then he turned to face Twar.

-0-0-0-