Author's notes: Thanks to all who have stuck with me so far, and everyone who reviewed, especially Buffelyn, for the beta, and Nefret, who keeps predicting the plot! ;)
6.
"A woman's instinct, I always feel, supercedes logic."
~
Jonathan's "friends" at the various local watering holes were even less help than I expected. A bunch of broke, horse-faced, dissipated Brits who wouldn't tell me anything unless I bought them drinks, sucking up to rich, horse-faced, dissipated Brits who were spreading their dough around. Jonathan had gone from one group to the other since we'd come back from Hamunaptra, so he was a popular guy these days. Everyone had something nice to say about him, provided I could pay the fare. I figured when I ran out of money, I would probably have to punch a few people. But I'd burn that bridge when I came to it.
Somewhere around the fourth bar I visited, I asked if Jonathan had been up to anything in recent weeks that might have gotten him into trouble.
"Yars," said one particular horse-faced, dissipated Brit, Sir Hugo Whatever-Whatever (they all had hyphenated names, I lost track after a while). "Yars. Jonny always had his thumb in some pie or other. Bloody little Jack Horner, eh, what?"
"Uh, right." I slapped down enough money for another round, and Sir Hugo's broke friends clustered around, faking sympathy. "Anything in particular he was into recently?" I asked the group.
"Since he came back from his little desert excursion, you mean?" Sir Hugo smiled. His teeth and face were similar shades of yellow, and both seemed to be slowly rotting. "I should say not."
"Went straight, our Jonny did--though probably not for long, old chap," someone else commented. There were noises of agreement from around the table, and pointed looks at empty glasses.
They didn't know anything about the necklace, other than what Jonathan himself had told them: he'd won it in a card game, "nicked" a pretty sheet of paper to wrap it in, and given it to his sister as a wedding present. I guess "going straight" for Jonathan didn't include retiring his sticky fingers.
One guy wondered aloud "what sort of whopping bare-faced lie Jonathan would have to tell, to convince some damn fool to marry his crackpot sister." I decided I had more important things to do than smashing his face in, but I got his name and the name of his hotel, in case I had any free time before we left Cairo.
Now, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I would have to have been blind and stupid to miss the kid that was following me as I left in search of the fifth bar. Even in the dimly-lit, crowded streets, he stuck out like a sore thumb, between the second-hand suit and the crooked way he walked. His technique wasn't exactly subtle, either: when I crossed the street, he crossed the street. When I made a complete circle around the block, he was there every step of the way, at my heels like a little dog. Just goes to show what happens when you send a boy to do a man's job, I thought grimly. I rounded a corner and slowed down, waiting for him to catch up, prepared to knock him into next week as soon as he did. I reached out and snagged him by the lapel as soon as he trotted past, yanking him around to look up at me. Thought I'd put a good scare into him that way. Well, I guess it worked okay. The face that peered up at me from under the broad-brimmed hat, however, could not possibly have been more shocked than mine.
"Evelyn, what the hell--?!"
I didn't get any farther than that before she clamped a hand over my mouth, shushing me. Those tiny fingers were surprisingly strong. "Don't be cross," she whispered.
"Mmph," I said.
"I had to talk to you, and I didn't want to take any chances."
"Mmph!" I said again.
She let go of my face. "Watch your language," she told me primly. (How did she know, anyhow?) I elected not to mention that she'd called me a bastard about an hour ago. She tends to have a selective memory about stuff like that.
"You look really dumb," I told her. "And I spotted you a mile off."
"Then why didn't you bloody slow down?!" she demanded, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from some inner pocket. "I've been chasing you for bloody ages!" The borrowed suit seemed to be having a noticeable effect on her way of talking. It was Jonathan's, of course, I could see that now. "I couldn't exactly call after you, could I?"
"But why all the..." I gestured to the clothes. I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer to that one. A woman, after dark, in the kinds of places Jonathan frequented, was a target. Which meant she intended to come with me. Which meant she was coming.
She ignored me and shoved the piece of paper in my face. "Look here; after you left, someone threw this through the window."
I grabbed it from her. "What were you doing with the window open?" I demanded. "I thought you had more sense than--"
"Ooooooh. Someone threw it through the window. Attached to a brick."
"Oh. You okay?" She didn't look like she was cut anywhere, but with Evelyn you just never knew. With her luck, she'd probably sat on a big chunk of glass.
She waggled her fingers, and I saw that three of them and both her thumbs were bandaged. "This is the worst of it, fortunately. Just read the note."
I turned my attention to the paper in my hand. It was an illegible scribble; I managed to pick out the words "house", "train", and "terrace". "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, that's not it." Evelyn snatched the note away and started turning out her pockets. "This must be the jacket Jonathan was wearing yesterday, when I sent him to--ah-ha!" She came up with an even more mangled piece of paper. "Here."
Mr Carnahan has been verry helpful, the new note read, but he does not hav what we desire. Plez collect him by midnight or he will be kilt. There was an address written below.
I shook my head. "It's gotta be a trap."
"Well, of course it's a trap," Evelyn shot back impatiently. "But we have to go anyway."
"Excuse me, we do?"
"Yes. We do."
"I thought we agreed that you were going to stay at the hotel," I said.
"No, you agreed to that. I agreed to no such thing."
She would have stalked off, but I clamped a hand down on the collar of her brother's suit jacket. It was force of habit, mostly. Evelyn yelped, not being as accustomed to that kind of attention from me as Jonathan was. "Did that brick hit you in the head or something?" I demanded.
She glared. "Unhand me, please," she said, each word dripping with icy dignity. When I didn't, she slipped out of the jacket and stood looking up at me in triumph. I couldn't stop her, and we both knew it.
I tried to rub away the dull ache at the bridge of my nose. Arguing with Evelyn tends to have that effect on me. "Evelyn, this place--if the address isn't phony--is in a really bad part of town."
"Is there a 'good part of town' in Cairo?"
"For you, anywhere there's lots of light and plenty of English soldiers. And that's where I want you to stay." Seeing her face get pink, I stopped her before she could really chew me out by adding, "Please."
She didn't say a word, just looked up at me.
"Pretty please?"
Nothing.
I sighed. "Did you bring your gun?"
"It's in my pocket."
"Is it loaded? Is the safety on?"
"I'm not an idiot, Rick."
I smiled down at her. "I know you're not, honey. But you better ditch that getup. Anyone with half a brain can tell you're a girl." I reached around and gently tugged on one of the curls that was falling down out of her hat.
She scowled. "What am I supposed to wear, then?"
In the end, she just marched up to a couple of young Egyptian men in the street and politely asked them for their clothes. They obviously thought she was joking, even when she pulled out a gold-plated cigarette lighter and proposed a trade. It must have been Jonathan's, since I knew for a fact that she didn't smoke.
You know, when I first met Jonathan and Evelyn Carnahan, what I couldn't figure out was how two people raised by the same parents could have turned out so different. Evelyn was overly principled, to put it mildly, while Jonathan seemed to have been born without a conscience. He'd do anything to get what he wanted. What I didn't realize at the time was that, in that respect at least, he and his sister were exactly alike: once Evie had her heart set on something, nothing in this world or the next was going to stop her until she found a way to get it.
I was damn near certain it wouldn't work, but figured I might as well let her give it a shot. You know, just so she could see that life wasn't always like her books and moving pictures. The two guys weren't sure what to make of her. I guess in the end they decided she could afford to be crazy. They stripped down to their drawers and handed her everything, then walked away, shaking their heads and muttering about the strangeness of English women.
The proud smile she flashed me as she presented me with the larger of the blue-and-white striped robes reminded me why I fell in love with the little crackpot in the first place.
Evelyn slipped her robe on overtop of the borrowed suit, making a few disgusted noises while she did. The previous owner hadn't exactly been a poster boy for personal hygiene. Once she had it on, she pinned her hair back up and I wound the turban tightly round her head. Even with two layers of clothing on, she didn't make a very convincing man. At best, she looked like a very pretty, very European boy playing dress-up. At worst, she was almost painfully feminine, tiny hands and feet peeping out from folds of ragged cotton. Still, she tried, even smearing dirt on her face to darken it up a little. I didn't bother to go that far. I'm not what you'd call an inconspicuous person to begin with. But lots of white guys wore Egyptian clothes--going native, they used to call it. Only sensible thing to wear in the summer, really; kept you cool during the day and warm at night.
"Keep your head down," I told her. "Don't talk. And stick close."
She did as I asked, lifting her robe daintily as she minced along in front of me. Great. Why didn't she just wear a sign?
"It's not a skirt," I said. "Hide your hands in your sleeves. And try to take bigger steps."
She let the fabric fall without comment, but as we crossed the street, I noticed that she was walking funny. It was hard to tell, but it looked like she was favouring one leg.
"Why are you walking like that?" I demanded.
She gave me a look, but said nothing.
"Did you hurt your foot or something?"
She looked up at me, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. A sure sign that she knew exactly what I meant, but wasn't going to admit it.
"Come on, Evie, what's wrong?"
She'd probably stepped on a piece of glass back at the hotel, but of course she was too stubborn to let that stop her. I was ready to bet even money that her foot was a bloody mess of bandages. Typical.
Exasperated, I growled, "Answer me, dammit!"
"You told me not to talk," she retorted.
Smartass.
"Why were you limping?"
"I wasn't limping."
"Yeah, you were. You still are," I pointed out. "Take your boots off. We're not going anywhere until you prove that you still have all your toes."
"We haven't time for this now," she huffed, shuffling on ahead of me.
I could feel the knot at the bridge of my nose tighten.
The address in the note turned out to be a house--one of a cluster of tumbledown one-room shacks that leaned drunkenly against each other for support. We had to find it by counting, since there weren't any numbers on the doors. Evelyn fought me on it, claiming I'd miscounted, and would have gone back to double-check if I hadn't stood on the hem of her robe. I didn't want her out of arm's reach. The street was deserted, and even the usual low murmur of city-noise seemed somehow muffled. There were no lights in any of the windows. If we yelled for help now, no one would hear. And even if they did, they wouldn't come.
I could feel it now--a snap, like a key turning in a lock somewhere inside me. My instincts were kicking in. My heart started to race, and I felt a surge of energy. Usually, in a situation like this, I acted without thinking, relying on my senses to tell me what I needed. If I was on my own, I'd just kick in the door, figure out where Jonathan was, and shoot anyone who tried to get between me and him. If it turned out to be a trap, I'd shoot a lot more people and get the hell out of there.
But I wasn't on my own.
I thought of telling Evelyn to stay outside and keep watch, but we both knew that wouldn't work. I'd be distracted waiting for her to turn up--which she would, at the worst possible moment. So instead, I turned to her and made a gun out of my thumb and forefinger, motioning for her to pull out her pistol. I readied both of mine, then waited impatiently while she searched the folds of her robe before coming up with her own. She held it with both hands, pointing it away from herself, like I'd showed her before. She was shaking all over.
"Ready?" I whispered.
Evelyn nodded. Her eyes were round, her face pinched and pale under its coating of dust. She motioned for me to go first. I touched her shoulder, then leaned in and kissed her cheek, regretting it when I tasted dirt.
It turned out I didn't even have to kick the door; it fell inward the moment my foot touched it. Inside was pitch black. I peered in, guns ready, waiting for my eyes to adjust--and then, suddenly, the room was illuminated. I tensed, ready to spring into action, but the place was empty. Just a pile of rags in one corner of the room, a bucket in the other, and some papers and junk strewn across the floor. But someone had been here, and recently--there were foot tracks in the dust on the floor. And ominous dark stains.
I turned to face the source of the light--and there was Evelyn, holding up the gold-plated cigarette lighter. Gotta give the girl credit, although having a pickpocket for a brother must have helped. The flickering flame made the smudges under her eyes into hollows.
"Where is he?" she asked softly. Like I could just snap my fingers and make him appear, or something. "He's got to be here."
I shook my head. "They were messing with us."
"We're in the wrong house, aren't we?" she demanded. "Ooooh, I knew it! You--"
Then the pile of rags moved--and moaned.
"Evie...?"
"Jonathan!" she shrieked, dropping the lighter and running full tilt across the room. Of course, as soon as the lighter hit the ground, I couldn't see a damn thing. Rather than feeling around on the ground like an idiot, I dug around in my pockets for a match.
Once I had light again, I saw, to my surprise, that Evelyn had made it over to where her brother lay without falling over even once. She'd surprised me yet again--the girl must have had eyes like an owl! I heaved a sigh of relief. I would never have thought in a million years that I'd have been that glad to see my future brother-in-law.
He'd been lying next to the wall with his back to us, which was probably how we'd missed him the first time. His silk pajamas were dirty and torn--and bloody, in places. The same went for the skin underneath. He'd definitely put up a good fight.
"Oh, Jon, what have they done to you?" asked Evelyn. She was trying to hold him still long enough to get a good look at his injuries, but he kept flopping around. It was almost funny to watch them. She was practically sitting on him once she'd ascertained that his legs were all right. She unwound her turban and tried to use it to tend to the ugly welt on the side of his head, but he wasn't having it. "Will you hold still, you silly man... I'm trying to help you, Jonathan, do stop writhing about."
Jonathan didn't seem happy to see her at all. In fact, he was almost in hysterics. "Evie, you've got to run, you've got to get out of here before they come ba--AAAAGH!" He flinched, then slumped forward, and I turned on my heel, prepared to fight--only there was no one there.
"He's fainted!" Evelyn called from behind me. "Rick, help."
I slid one arm around Jonathan and pulled him to his feet, his head lolling against my shoulder. It was a move I was familiar with, by now; more than once, I'd been sent by Evelyn to "fetch" him from this bar or that card game before he got himself into trouble.
"It was you," she told me, going around to the other side of him and propping him up. Now that he'd stopped squirming, Evelyn was able to bandage his head properly and make sure he wasn't seriously injured anywhere else. "He saw you, and then he screamed."
"Maybe it was something I said," I grunted, handing her the lighter. "Hold this." I threw Jonathan over my shoulder. That way, if we had to run, we weren't struggling to carry him between the two of us.
I got as far as the door before a sharp crack! made me shove Evelyn to one side and dive for cover. Everything happened in an eyeblink after that. The light went out. A bullet whined past, punching a hole in the far wall. I could barely make out her shape in the dim light, pasting herself to the wall right of the door. I flattened myself against the wall on the other side. There was nothing in the room that could provide adequate cover if anyone came in after us. And there was nowhere to run.
I laid Jonathan on his side, as gently as I could, and reached for my guns. I squinted at Evelyn in the darkness; it was impossible to tell whether she had even managed to hang on to hers in all the scuffling with her brother. I hoped to hell she was armed. If anything happened, I'd never be able to get to her in time--and even if I could, she'd kill me for abandoning Jonathan.
A second bullet ripped through the wall and winged my shoulder. I could feel a familiar sticky wetness trickling down my arm. I grunted, but shook the pain off almost immediately. I'd deal with it later.
I heard Evelyn give a sharp little cry. She must have seen me take the shot.
"Quiet!" I hissed. If we were lucky, they hadn't seen her. No point in giving both our locations away. After a moment, I added, "I'm fine, it's nothing."
There were a few more shots, but none of them came close to either of us. Then, from outside, a chorus of voices started yelling in Arabic. There were at least five of them. When I realized what they were saying, I felt a seeping cold work its way through me. My brain suddenly turned to a lump of lead. I couldn't think, I couldn't plan. But I had to.
"What are they after?" whispered Evelyn, whose Arabic was limited primarily to 'I am sorry for the mess I have made of your shop'.
"I said quiet!" I snapped back. But I knew it was too late--they already knew she was there.
Give us the girl, they were saying. We only want the girl.
Well, they'd have to get through me first.