Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [23]
He shook off the ugly memories and smiled at his wife. “Bassam’s it is.”
Bassam’s was not mentioned in Baedeker. It didn’t meet English standards of cleanliness, but then Ramses had always suspected the kitchens of the European-style restaurants wouldn’t have passed a close inspection either. The menu, which existed only in Bassam’s head and varied according to his whims, was primarily Egyptian. He was chef, headwaiter, proprietor, and, if necessary, bouncer. This situation seldom occurred, since no alcoholic beverages were served and drugs were not allowed, but now and then a drunken Tommy or hashish smoker wandered in by mistake.
He spotted them instantly and came rushing to greet them, the sleeves of his robe tucked up to bare brawny arms, his apron a rainbow medley of spattered food. One could almost guess at the menu by studying Bassam’s apron. Obviously that evening’s dishes made copious use of tomatoes.
After reproaching them for not having notified him in advance of their coming and asking why the elder Emersons were not with them, he showed them to a table in a prominent position, where they could be seen not only by the other patrons but by passersby. “The lady cat, she is not with you?” he asked, dusting off a chair with his apron.
“She had another engagement,” Nefret said.
Bassam nodded. The honorific had been his way of propitiating Seshat, who had sometimes dined with her owners. The Emersons’ cats had acquired a certain reputation among Cairenes. Large and well-muscled and strikingly similar in appearance, they did not resemble the spoiled pets of the harems nor the lean, feral scavengers of the streets. Ramses found them somewhat uncanny himself.
They had an excellent meal—with a lot of tomatoes—and relaxed over cups of Turkish coffee and a narghileh. The other patrons pretended not to notice Nefret’s enjoyment of the water pipe, just as they had pretended not to notice her, the only woman present. Egyptians had become accustomed to Nefret’s turning up in places where she wasn’t supposed to be. Like her mother-in-law, who had been doing the same thing for years, she was in a special category, obviously a woman but commanding the same respect as a man.
He couldn’t have said what alerted him. It might have been a flicker of surreptitious movement at the door, where the curtain was tied back to admit air into the smoke-filled room. It might have been that odd sixth sense, the feeling that someone was watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, but when he looked directly at the doorway, no one was there.
Nefret passed him the stem of the pipe. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
“Nothing.” Meeting her unblinking blue gaze, he acknowledged her right to a truthful answer. “Nothing I can put my finger on. Are you ready to go?”
The night air, though laden with the ineffable stenches of Cairo, was cool and comparatively clear. Beyond the light from the doorway behind them, the street was a tunnel of darkness. They were only a quarter of a mile from the square where they could expect to find a cab, and he knew every twist and turn of the path, but a quarter of a mile is a long way in the dark when your skin is prickling.
He reached into his pocket. “Take the torch, but don’t switch it on yet.”
“Right.” She smiled back at him. Her eyes were sparkling. Of all the people in the universe she was the last one he would have wanted with him if there was going to be trouble, but what an ally she was—quick and unafraid and unrestrained by silly notions of fair play. He didn’t have to tell her not to hang on to his arm. She wasn’t the clinging kind. Neither