It was a different kind of Cairo surrounding them as Illya stepped out of the car and tapped his cane onto the concrete of the ground. The intimate scents and sounds were gone. There were just cars and car horns and sometimes voices that came and went with the footsteps that passed. The muezzins had fallen silent now, and Illya stood with his head cocked, listening, wondering if that were sand he could hear being scudded by the soft breeze. Perhaps that was a fantasy, because the cars made an ever-present noise, but it could be that it were true. Two years ago he wouldn't have imagined that a place could feel so different. He would have thought that the blind would get nothing from travel. Now he knew that to be wrong. Everything felt different, and it was so good to be here.

'My arm?' Napoleon offered gallantly, coming around to him. And then there were the voices of boys saying, 'I carry, please? I carry bags?'

Illya slipped his hand into his pocket and felt for the jumble of cash he had in there. None of the coins were worth very much, so he held out a selection in his hand at shoulder level and said, 'A boy who is tall enough to reach this is big enough to carry my bags. They're heavy.'

Hands jumbled at his, snatching at the coins, and there was laughter and he grinned, but he was glad when Napoleon stepped in to select a couple of boys to take the luggage.

Then a hand slipped into his and tugged it, and a boy said, 'Gentleman is blind? I lead. I lead.'

Illya sighed, because he trusted Napoleon's guidance and he trusted his cane, but he didn't really trust an eight year old little Egyptian boy who wanted to take his money. But then he smiled and said, 'You lead me carefully, then. Do you promise to lead me carefully?'

'Careful, careful,' the boy said enthusiastically. 'I am Ahmed. I lead you careful.'

Illya smiled. 'It's good to meet you, Ahmed. My name is Illya.'

And he listened to the boy tasting out the name, and then followed the small hand that was almost lost in his, but he used his cane too, and called back rather anxiously, 'Napoleon?'

'You're doing fine, IK,' Napoleon said in an amused voice. 'I'll be there in just a moment. I'm just sorting out this troop of monkeys with the luggage.'

'Ah, good,' Illya said rather dubiously, and the little boy jerked him forward and he followed and was amazed when the boy said solicitously, 'There are steps now. Nine steps,' before his cane had touched them. 'Take care,' the boy repeated at every step. 'Take care. Now a door. I open.'

And Illya reached out his hand and felt the glass and metal of a rather modern door that was swinging open at the boy's touch. He tapped his cane to the ground again and the floor sounded and felt like some kind of polished stone, cool and hard. It was a wide place, full of echoes and a soundscape of people's voices, footsteps moving, softening a little behind the shadows of objects in the way then coming more clearly as they moved past them. There was the ding of an elevator and the sliding of its doors some way away. He visualised a large lobby perhaps with seating areas or planting to break up the space, and he stood with his hand in the small boy's, waiting.

Then Napoleon was at his side again with the clamour of the other boys and the clatter of luggage being put down, and Illya said, 'Thank you, Ahmed. You were very helpful,' and he gave him a handful of coins. The boy crowed with delight and pressed his hand and said, 'You need me, I guide again,' and with Illya's promise that he could, he left.

And then they were alone, and Napoleon said close to his ear, 'Don't move, dear. There are cases all around you. Let me get us checked in.'

A moment later the cases were being whisked away by silent bellhops, and Illya stood there still, in the middle of this big space, until Napoleon came back to him and said, 'Hey, Illya, you wanted the pyramids. Come over here.'

And he led him through the cool, air conditioned space and took one of Illya's hands and Illya felt cool bronze under his fingertips. There was the Sphinx with the jagged wound where the Napoleonic troops had shot her nose from her face. He felt her paws and her smooth back, and he reached out tentatively with his other hand and found the rough stepped sides of the Great Pyramid of Giza where Cheops was entombed, and its smaller brothers not far away.

He remembered the last time he had been in Cairo, remembered the sun setting over the pyramids and the heat shimmering from the sand and the tourists gasping in awe, and how he and Napoleon had chased Sarraf for a mile darting in and out of the ruins, sand in their throats and dust in their lungs and the heat around them like an oppressive cloak. He laid his hands over that bronze model and just remembered. And then a voice said in agitation, 'Oh, no, sir, no touch, no touch,' and the man touched his arm, and he dropped his hands from the model as Napoleon tried to explain that Illya was blind. The man started saying, 'Oh, many apologies, many apologies. Yes, we make special case,' and he took Illya's arm by the wrist and plumped his hand back on the Sphinx's head and started to explain the history of the monument in broken English.

'Thank you, I know,' Illya said awkwardly, removing his hand again and clutching it around his cane. 'Thank you. Yes. If we could just go to our room? It's been a long journey.'

'You are here for business? Pleasure?' the man asked, and Napoleon said, 'Er, just a spot of sightseeing,' and Illya snorted laughter at the irony.

((O))

They had hardly settled in the room before there was a knock on the door. Napoleon answered it and Illya paused in opening his case to listen as a very polished voice said, 'As a courtesy, for you and Mr Kuryakin, hoping that your stay is a pleasant one. Ah, Mr Kuryakin, if you please – '

Illya shut the case and turned, tentatively moving towards the door with his cane because he knew nothing more about this room yet than the route from the door to the case stand at the end of the bed. Napoleon came and took his elbow and led him safely to the door. Illya smelt an exotic blend of hair product and aftershave and tobacco and the man said, 'Mr Kuryakin, with courtesy to you, if there is anything that you need or any help we may offer, please telephone to reception, and someone will be very pleased to come immediately.'

And then his hand was being shaken and Illya returned the grip, feeling rather bemused, and said, 'Well, thank you. It's very much appreciated.'

And Napoleon added, 'We'll be sure to mention this if we have to recommend a hotel in Cairo. Thank you, Mr Koura.'

'Ah, you are very generous. Very generous. I hope that you enjoy your stay.'

And then the man was gone and Illya asked, 'Was he on the level? My radar's all off.'

'Mr Koura,' Napoleon mused. 'He's the manager of this hotel, and I think he was on the level. He also left this – ' And cellophane crackled.

'And this is?'

'A basket of sweetmeats, I think,' Napoleon said, and the cellophane crackled again. 'Wait, let me take a look at it. Come and sit down. I'll show you the room when we've investigated this.'

And he took Illya by the elbow again and Illya let him lead him to a low sofa. He reached out after he sat and felt a table in front of him that seemed to be made of metal and glass.

'Modern place, isn't it?' Illya commented. 'I bet there's a lot of orange in this room.'

Napoleon laughed. 'I don't think it existed this time last year. Now, let's have a look at this...'

'Be careful,' Illya couldn't help but say. He had always been the explosives expert.

'No, it's all right, Illya,' Napoleon murmured, and Illya listened to him deconstructing the package. 'It's what it seems to be. Mostly Turkish delight I think. Here, cast your nose over that.'

So Illya took a small, squashy cube between his fingertips and inhaled the rose scent, and then took a tiny bite.

'Seems fine,' he shrugged. 'Looks like the manager was just extending courtesy to his handicapped guest.'

He gave a crooked little smile, and Napoleon nudged against his shoulder warmly.

'You're here because you're able, Illya, not disabled.'

Illya smiled properly then. It was hard to believe he was really here, in this modern, air conditioned, sterile room. It was hardly a romantic little ramshackle place with a flavour of Egypt, but he was here.

'Do the windows open?' he asked.

'Better than that – there's a balcony,' Napoleon said crossing the room and opening the doors. 'Come over here. There's nothing in your way.'

So Illya crossed the room and his cane bumped on the little sill, and he stepped out onto a tiled balcony with a metal railing around the edge, and let the heat and sounds rise around him. He really was here. He could feel it all around him, feel it in the warm air. Napoleon slipped an arm around his waist and took his hand with his other arm and pointed with it and said, 'Now I can see the Sphinx and the pyramids, just over there, and the sun isn't setting behind them but they do look like they're made of gold because the sun's low in the sky. But there are still people out there. They look like ants churning around the base.' Then he laughed and said, 'And I think I can see a camel, too.'

So Illya smiled and leant his head back against Napoleon's shoulder and said, 'Thank you, Napoleon. Thank you for the Sphinx and the pyramids and the camel, and thank you for trusting in me.'

((O))

Later they walked through narrow streets and Illya held his cane loosely and mostly just relied on Napoleon to guide him through the hustling pedestrians and around hazards. The light was dim in his eyes now but the air was still warm and filled with those scents of food and smoke. He heard beggars calling out and children tagged on in their path and sometimes Napoleon flipped them a coin and sometimes he ignored them. Illya just felt entranced to be here. For this first evening there were no duties to perform. Later Napoleon would have to go out to set the bugs, but for now they had their leisure to get over the achingly long trip and just relax.

'Do you know where we're going, Napoleon?' he asked as they walked along an uneven pavement and voices rose around them, trying to sell them wares.

'Humph,' Napoleon said. 'Anyone would think I have a bad sense of direction.'

'You remember Sicily?' Illya asked him archly. 'You remember trying to find that restaurant in Rome?'

'I'd like to see you find us somewhere to eat.'

Illya snorted. 'Simple,' he said. 'I would just follow my nose.'

'Don't make me make you try,' Napoleon warned him, then his voice turned away and he said, 'No, no, thank you. I have enough brass pots at home, thank you. Many brass pots.'

'In fact, you're saying that you're potty,' Illya commented.

'Watch it, shorty,' Napoleon grumbled, but Illya felt insanely happy to be walking like this with his arm linked in Napoleon's, in this warmth, in this noisy, claustrophobic, life-filled place. The world seemed alive with scents and sounds, and he wished he could see the street around him, but the richness of what he could sense was really enough. Napoleon kept murmuring to him about what he could see, and he built up his own picture.

Napoleon took him into a cramped-seeming restaurant filled with music and voices and led him to a table and a low, sofa-like seat. Illya sat back just listening to his surroundings while Napoleon spent some time puzzling over the menu, which was only in Arabic. Illya itched to be able to glance at the words and see what he could pick out and for a moment he scratched his fingertips along the edge of the table in frustration, but then a waiter brought them a menu in English and Napoleon read out the dishes. Illya settled for dolma, while Napoleon ordered moussaka, and they sat sipping thick mango juice while they waited for their food.

It felt slightly unreal to Illya. He had spent so long barely venturing away from New York City, apart from a few snatched weekends with Napoleon in places close enough to drive. He treasured those weekends, but they had still been in America, in little guest houses or rented cottages, and that had been a long way from the life he had been used to. Sometimes in the past he had visited as many as four continents in one week. They had spoken about taking a trip abroad, but somehow it had just never happened, not with Napoleon's job still so fluctuating and varied.

In the early days he had barely been able to imagine stirring from the apartment. It had been hard enough just getting to know his way around Napoleon's place, which was familiar but not as intimately familiar as his own apartment. His bedroom was a haven, because Napoleon had gone to enormous lengths to make it familiar, taking photographs and making sure the movers replicated the room perfectly in Napoleon's old study. But as for the rest of the apartment, with the added influx of his own possessions and some treasured items of furniture, he had spent days learning where everything was and gathering bruises every time he got it wrong. He hadn't been able to face the idea of going to new places, even to go out with Napoleon to the store when he urged him to come, or to take a walk around the block. It had all seemed so terrible, so wrong. He hadn't wanted to be seen, and he had been glad that the blurred white glare of his sight gave him the excuse to wear sunglasses, because he knew his eyes looked different and he didn't want anyone to see them.

The first time he agreed to walk outside with Napoleon he had felt terrible, so conspicuous, so incapable. He had clung to his arm and stumbled and the city sounds had been a confusing jangle in his ears, and after a few hundred yards he had said, 'Please take me home, Napoleon. Take me home.' He couldn't stand it, and he had got back to the safety of the apartment and then smashed his hand so hard into his bedroom door that the dents in the wood were still there. He had screamed and raged at Napoleon, and Napoleon had taken his anger, let it fall off him and run away, and then Illya had cried again and Napoleon had held him as he stood there shaking, so scared of what the future held. And then Napoleon had finally managed to persuade him to enrol in the rehabilitation school, and everything had started to change.

He sat here now in this busy little restaurant with the light flickering across his eyes, and he held out his hand and felt the heat of a lit candle in the centre of the table. There must be candles on most of the tables, and perhaps in other places, because the whole place seemed to be aflicker. And he listened to Napoleon's chatter and had no problem separating it from all the other voices as he had used to. He could hear the sizzling and clashing and raised voices from the kitchen and smell so many different foods and spices in the air and hear the continual murmur of the other patrons, and he listened to Napoleon's voice as if it were the only thing that mattered.

'I'll slip out later,' Napoleon was saying, 'and I'll get everything into place, and that leaves you free to start the monitoring tomorrow. But to all intents and purposes we're just friends on vacation, and we need to keep playing that part. I'll have to keep taking you out to dinner and sharing long strolls in the evening, I'm afraid,' he said with mock ruefulness.

Illya smiled, sitting there and tracing his fingers over the edge of the table and the fabric of the seat cushion. There were so many different textures right here.

'It is a hard life,' he said.

And then the plates were being put down before them and Napoleon leant forward and made sure Illya could find his cutlery and said, 'I'd use the clock system but it's not exactly meat and two veg, so you'd best just dig in.'

It was good. It was wonderful. There was enough exotic food for the finding in New York City, but it was so good to be in another country again and with the thrill of an imminent mission running through his veins. They ate and then they walked back along the evening streets, and went in to the bar at the hotel and enjoyed a couple of drinks, and Illya felt so happy as he followed Napoleon's arm back up to the room. It was such a modern, well-appointed place that there were twin beds, not a cosy little double, but that was all right. They slipped together into Illya's bed and Illya entwined himself around Napoleon and made love with him, and it all felt perfect.