The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [29]
“That is a very reasonable compromise,” I said. “As always, Emerson, I submit to your judgment.”
There are worse ways of passing an hour than on Shepheard’s terrace. We sat at a table near the railing, sipping our coffee and watching the passerby, for people keep late hours in the balmy clime of Egypt. The stars, thickly clustered, hung so low they appeared to be tangled in the branches of the trees, and they gave a light almost as bright as day. Flower sellers offered their wares—necklaces of jasmine, bouquets of rosebuds tied with bright ribbons. The scent of the flowers hung heavy and intoxicating in the warm night air. Emerson presented me with a nosegay and squeezed my hand. With the warm pressure of his fingers on mine, and his eyes speaking sentiments that required no words of ordinary speech; with the seductive breeze caressing my cheek and the scent of roses perfuming the night—I almost forgot my purpose.
But hark—what was that? High and clear above the moonlit cupolas, rising and falling in musical appeal—the cry of the muezzin! “Allâhu akbar, allâhu akbar—lâilâha illa’llâh!” God is great, God is great; there is no God but God.
I sprang to my feet. “I knew it! Quickly, Emerson, let us be off.”
“Curse it,” said Emerson. “Very well, Amelia. But when I get my hands on that fat villain he will be sorry he suggested this.”
We had, of course, changed into our working attire before coming down to the terrace. Emerson changed because he hated evening dress; I changed because I had been certain all along we would be going to the Khan el Khaleel. And, as events proved, I was right. Emerson insists to this day that Abd el Atti never meant us to come, and that the spontaneous exclamation of the muezzin that night was pure coincidence. The absurdity of this should be readily apparent.
Be that as it may, we were on our way before the last testimonial of the religious person had faded into silence. We went on foot; it would have been inapropos to take a carriage to a secret rendezvous, and, in any case, no wheeled vehicle could have entered the narrow alleys of the Khan el Khaleel. Emerson set a rapid pace. He was eager to have the business over and done with. I was eager to reach the shop and learn what deadly secret threatened my old friend. For I had a certain fondness for Abd el Atti. He might be a scoundrel, but he was an engaging scoundrel.
After we had turned from the Muski into the narrower ways of the bazaar, the starlight was cut off by the houses looming high on either hand, and the farther we penetrated into the heart of the maze, the darker it became. The protruding balconies with their latticed wooden shutters jutted into the street, almost meeting overhead. Occasionally a lighted window spilled a golden glimmer onto the pathway, but most of the windows were dark. Parallel slits of light marked closed shutters. The darkness teemed with foul movement; rats glided behind heaps of refuse; lean, vicious stray dogs slunk into even narrower passageways as we approached. The rank stench of rotting fruit, human waste and infected air filled the tunnel-like street like a palpable liquid, clogging the nostrils and the lungs.
Emerson plunged on, splashing through puddles of unspeakable stuff and sometimes slipping on a melon rind or rotten orange. I stayed close behind him. This was the first time I had been in the old city at night without a servant carrying a torch. I am not easily daunted. Danger I can face unafraid, enemies I have confronted without losing my calm; but the stealthy, stinking silence began to overpower my mind. I was glad Emerson was with me, and even happier that he had not suggested I remain behind. In this, as in all our adventures, we were equal partners. Few men could have accepted that arrangement. Emerson is a remarkable man. But then, if he had not been a remarkable man, I would not have married him.
Except for the soft, sinister movements of the predators of the night, the silence was complete. In the modern street, where the tourists and those who catered to their