The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [13]
The fishing must have been good, she concluded, because they began passing a number of boats carrying fishermen. She stayed at the railing, still searching for landmarks, returning the waves and smiles of the fishermen, reveling in just being strong enough to remain on her feet and feel the gentle breeze on her swollen face.
She was aware that a number of robed Arabic men had come and gone from the restaurant, and that each had stared at her, some with open hostility, some with semi-open lust, a couple with simple curiosity. None of them approached her, and she felt no urge to initiate contact. For all she knew, any one of them would betray her to the Mahdists. They might even be Mahdists. So she remained alone, content merely to stand by the rail and watch the Egyptian landscape pass by.
Another felluca approached, this one carrying two fishermen, one wearing a robe, the other in just a loincloth. Both wore turbans. The one in the loincloth called out a greeting in broken English.
“Hi, Missy!” he said, waving his hand at her. “You are most beautiful lady I see all month!”
“Thank you,” said Lara.
“You are English, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I have been to London,” said the man proudly. “London Bridge. Buckingham Palace. Piccadilly Circus.”
“And I have been to Cairo,” replied Lara. “The pyramids. The sphinx. The Mosque of Ibn Tulun.”
The man laughed. “You are good traveler, Missy.”
“A frequent traveler, anyway.”
“What happen to your face?” asked the man. “Your husband, he find you with another man?”
“I bumped into a door.”
The felluca drifted closer. “Very hard door,” said the man, peering at her blackened eyes. Suddenly he noticed her pistols. “Why you wear guns, Missy?” he asked. “You shoot Egyptian man if he get fresh?”
She smiled. “Get fresh and you’ll find out.”
“You are inviting me to get fresh?” he said, and broke into a little dance that almost cost him his balance.
She laughed in amusement. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she became aware of a flurry of motion at the other end of the felluca. While the man in the loincloth had been holding her attention, the one in the robe had withdrawn a gun and was aiming it at her.
She threw herself to the deck, drawing her Black Demons, and as his bullet bounced off the rusted rail, she snapped off five quick shots. The man clutched at his chest, then screamed once and fell overboard.
Lara turned back to the man in the loincloth. He had a dagger in his hand and was about to throw it when her bullet tore it from his grasp. He looked at his empty hand in disbelief, then turned to Lara.
“Come closer,” she said, both pistols trained on him. “I have some questions for you.”
The man opened his mouth as if to reply, but then Lara saw that he was gasping for breath, his eyes bulging, his face turning red, his tongue protruding as though ghostly fingers were squeezing his throat. Just like the men in the hospital, she thought as her assailant collapsed in the boat without a sound.
She got to her feet and turned around, wondering what kind of attention she’d attracted, but to her surprise, no one was approaching or threatening her. A number of robed men had emerged from the restaurant or their rooms and were looking at her curiously, some sullenly, but no one came toward her. They had their own business to tend to, probably illegal, and if hers required her to kill a couple of fishermen, that was no concern of theirs.
Mason was at her side a moment later.
“What the hell happened?” he asked, looking first at the felluca and then glaring at the few men at the back of the boat who were still watching Lara.
“Somebody knows we’re here,” she said as the men looked away uncomfortably. “They tried to kill me.”
“They?” he repeated. “There’s just one man in the boat.”
“The other’s in the river.”
He frowned. “Damn! I could have sworn no one saw us get on