He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [70]
When we reached the Khan el Khalili we left the carriage and proceeded on foot through the tortuous lanes, with Daoud so close on our heels, I felt as if we were being followed by a moving mountain. Nefret was in a merry mood, laughing and chattering; at several places—a goldsmith’s, a seller of fine fabrics—she made me go on with Daoud and wait at a distance. I assumed she wanted to surprise me with a gift, so I amiably agreed.
“The Professor is always difficult,” she declared, after she had made a number of purchases. “I know! Let’s see if Aslimi has any interesting antiquities.”
“Huh,” said Daoud. “Stolen antiquities, you mean? Aslimi deals with thieves and tomb robbers.”
“All the more reason to rescue the objects from him,” Nefret said.
The setting sun cast slanting streaks of gold through the matting that roofed the narrow lanes. We passed the area devoted to dyers and fullers and finally reached Aslimi’s shop. It was larger than some of the others, which consisted only of a tiny cubicle with a mastaba bench where the customer sat while the proprietor showed him the merchandise. When we entered the showroom it appeared to be deserted. Nefret went to a shelf on which a row of painted pots was displayed and began examining them.
“You won’t find anything here except fakes,” I said. “Aslimi keeps his better objects hidden. Where is the rascal?”
The curtain at the back of the room was drawn aside; but the man who came through it was not Aslimi. He was tall and young and quite handsome, and when he spoke, it was in excellent English.
“You honor my poor establishment, noble ladies. What can I show you?”
“I had not heard that Aslimi had sold his shop,” I said, studying him curiously.
The young man’s teeth flashed in a smile. “I spoke amiss, honored lady, taking you for a stranger. My cousin Aslimi is ill. I am managing the business for him until he recovers.”
I doubted very much that he had been unaware of my identity. He had been watching us through the curtain for some time before he emerged, and we were known to everyone in Cairo. Certainly the combination of myself, Nefret, and Daoud was unmistakable.
“I am sorry to hear of his illness,” I said politely. “What is the matter with him?”
The youth placed his hands—smooth, long-fingered hands, adorned with several rings—on his flat stomach. “There is much pain when he eats. You are the Sitt Hakim—I know you now. You can tell me, no doubt, what medicines will relieve him.”
“Not without examining him,” I said dryly. “Nefret?”
She had turned, one of the pots in her hand. “Knowing Aslimi, it could be an ulcer. His nerves have always been bad.”
“Ah.” The young man straightened, throwing his shoulders back, and gave her a melting smile. Nefret had that effect on men, and this one obviously did not have a low opinion of himself. “What should we do for him, then?”
“Bland diet,” said Nefret. “No highly spiced foods, or liquids. It can’t hurt him, anyhow,” she added, glancing at me. “He should see a proper doctor, Mr.—what is your name?”
“Said al-Beitum, at your service. You are most gracious. Now, what can I show you? That pot is a forgery—as you know.”
“And not a very good one.” Nefret returned the object to the shelf. “Have you anything that might please the high standards of the Father of Curses?”
“Or the Brother of Demons?” Said grinned. “So quaint, these names—but suitable. Like yours, Nur Misur.”
“You did know us,” I said.
“Who does not? It is your holiday season, yes? You look for gifts for those you love. Be seated; I will give you tea and show you my finest things.”
Another decidedly possessive pronoun, I thought, settling onto the stool he indicated. Was this fellow Aslimi’s designated heir? I had never seen him before.
He knew something of antiquities, for the objects he produced from the back room were of good quality—and probably obtained illegally. In the end Nefret purchased several items: a string of carnelian beads, a heart scarab of serpentine framed in gold, and a fragment of carved and painted relief