The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [64]
An open shed roofed with bundles of reeds had once served as an animal shelter, to judge by the scattered straw and other evidence. A row of straggling, dusty tamarisk trees half-hid the back of the mansion. There was one other structure visible: a small, windowless building some ten feet square. Unlike the rest of the place, it showed signs of recent repair. There were no gaps in those walls; every chink had been filled with fresh plaster that showed pale against the older gray-brown surface. The flat roof was solid, not the usual covering of reeds overlaid with mortar.
Something of value must be within, or the owner of the property would not have taken such precautions. Hope renewed weakened my limbs; Abdullah gave a pained grunt as my weight pressed heavily on his hands. I was on the verge of completing the ascent, for exultation had momentarily overcome prudence, when a dampening thought occurred to me. Surely something so valuable would not be left unguarded? I could only see the back and one side of the building. There were no windows, but there must be a door on one of the walls I could not see.
I motioned to Abdullah to lower me. He was glad to do so, I believe. He was perspiring heavily, and not only from my weight; suspense gnawed at his vitals as it did at mine.
Quickly I described what I had seen. “We must assume there is a guard,” I whispered. “Can you move like a shadow, Abdullah?”
The old man’s hand went to the breast of his robe. “I will deal with the guard, Sitt.”
“No, no! Not unless we must. He may cry out and summon others. We will have to get on the roof. There is an opening of some kind there—”
“I will go first,” said Abdullah, his hand still at the breast of his robe.
This time I did not argue.
The evening breeze had arisen, rustling through the cane and stirring the leaves. The small sounds blended with the equally soft noises we could not avoid making, but they were few; for all his size Abdullah glided up the wall and over it like the shadow I had mentioned. He was waiting to lift me down when I reached the top; without pausing we crept toward the building. It was low—a kennel for a dog or some other beast. Abdullah lifted me up and followed me onto the roof. There was a guard. Silently though we had moved, something must have alerted him; I heard a mutter and the rustle of fabric as he rose and then the soft pad of bare feet. We flattened ourselves behind the low parapet and held our breaths. He went round the perimeter of the building, but it was a perfunctory performance and he did not look up; people seldom do when they are searching. Finally he settled down again and lit a cigarette. The smoke rose in a thin gray curl, wavering in the breeze like a writhing serpent. Then and only then did we dare crawl toward the opening. It was closed by a rusted grille whose crossbars were set so close together that a finger could barely be inserted in the gaps.
I have not described my sensations, nor will I attempt to do so. The greatest of literary giants could not begin to capture their intensity. I pressed my face to the rusty metal surface of the grille.
The interior of the place was not entirely dark. There was another opening, a narrow slit over the door on the wall opposite the one we had climbed. Through it enough light entered to enable me to see the interior of the reeking den. The walls were bare and windowless, the floor was of beaten earth. There was no rug or carpet, only a flat square shape that might have been a piece of matting. The furnishings consisted of a table holding a few jars and pots and other objects I could not identify, a single chair—shockingly out of place in that setting, for it was a comfortable armchair of European style, upholstered in red plush—and