The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (17 page)

Kenneth turned his attention to the street below. A snake charmer coaxed a slithering reptile from a basket. Performers with trained monkeys executed antics to the amused glee of an English boy and girl enthralled by the dark-skinned strangers. Their horrified parents appeared and hustled them away with angry admonitions.

Kenneth let a finger drift over his teacup’s rim. It was still the same Egypt. Yet different. He had never glimpsed this land through the eyes of an English noble before. Two worlds colliding. Egyptians who bowed and salaamed before stiff Englishmen who passed them by with indifference. Wily dark eyes looking for opportunities, dark-skinned hands stretched out in an endless plea for
baksheesh
. Disapproving, pale-faced Englishmen, noses tilted in the air, radiating contempt.

Hail Britannia! Allah-hu-Akbar!

Kenneth felt comfortable in neither world now. He glanced at the tea leaves puddling at the bottom of his cup and felt a sudden stab of longing for thick, rich, bitter Arabic coffee in small, handleless cups. Large chunks of date bread with almonds, drizzled with golden honey. His mouth watered.

He took another sip and swallowed his regrets. Once he had stayed here with Ramses when the Khamsin guardian came to Cairo to negotiate a sale of Arabian horses to a wealthy buyer. Kenneth had marveled with wide-eyed fascination at the sights. The snake charmer and the monkey owner appeared enchanting and delightful then. Now, he noticed the grime dusting the hems of their long
thobes,
the careworn wrinkles carved into their sun-darkened faces, their skeletal frames.

Dirty natives, the English called them.

British imperialism. Haughty, upper-class, stiff-upper-lip contempt for the "slovenly, lazy, and stupid Egyptians."

White-bellied fish, Ramses had laughingly called the English in return, a sneer in his voice, a curl to his lip.

Prejudice existed on both sides. Ramses himself had finally admitted his English half and embraced it. He’d married the daughter of an English earl. They were deeply in love. Could Egypt and England reconcile to each other as Ramses and Katherine had? Could the imperialistic blue blood running through Kenneth’s veins ever mix freely with hot-blooded sensuality learnt in the black tents?

Again, he felt like a skinned snake. Raw, inside out. Vulnerable and alone. Belonging to neither world.

"Do be careful with those trunks!"

His attention swung to a stern Englishwoman in a starched white gown with large, puffy sleeves, accompanied by three young, white-frocked girls trailing her and a dour-faced husband. Two exhausted-looking porters puffed behind the family and carted trunks up the steps of the verandah. Kenneth leaned back in his chair, watching with interest. And the English called the Egyptians lazy?

The matriarch paused in her ascent and surveyed the verandah like the captain of a frigate scanning a shoreline. Her gaze landed on Kenneth. She clasped her hands and burbled.

"Your Grace!"

The woman sailed toward him, skirts billowing in the wind, her charges dutifully skimming in her wake with the haggard husband. The tired porters set down the trunks with grateful sighs. She halted before him, dipped into a curtsy that made her corset stays creak, and hissed at her girls to do likewise. Rising, she beamed, showing yellowed teeth.

The Khamsin had gleaming white smiles, always chewing mint leaves to sweeten their breath and scrubbing their teeth with myrrh.

"Lady Stenson-Hines," she introduced herself. "My husband, Sir Walter Stenson-Hines. And these are my daughters, Iris, Rose and Hyacinth."

Kenneth did not stand. He accorded the woman and her English flower garden a polite nod. Lady Stenson-Hines gushed, "It is so good to see you here in Egypt! I was telling Walter the other day I absolutely could not wait to arrive at the Shepherd’s and mingle with civilized people. These natives ..." She wrinkled a bulbous nose. "Disgusting, the way they live. Greedy, unscrupulous and cowardly. Sly, lazy heathens. One must keep constant vigilance."

Sir Walter cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Felicity, my dear, I think the duke was raised ..."

Kenneth offered a thin smile. "Do not let me delay you, Lady Stenson-Hines. I’m certain you and your family are anxious to settle in—with the help of the assorted lazy heathens," he said dryly.

She gave a vigorous nod, his sarcasm soaring over her head like a flock of doves. "Perhaps later we shall see you in the lounge. Come along, girls!"

The matron and her flower garden traipsed off. The husband, twirling his waxed mustache, gave Kenneth an apologetic look and retreated.

Acid churned in Kenneth’s empty stomach. He signaled for a waiter and ordered a honeyed pastry. When it arrived, he bit into the flaky treat and swallowed disappointment. It tasted mediocre and not half as excellent as Khamsin cakes.

But disappointment was an emotion he’d learned to live with these days. Kenneth brushed crumbs off the table as he spotted his cousin snaking his way through the crush.

A wet cigar stump protruded from Victor’s lips, its glowing end punctuating a determined mouth. He carried a small leather valise, which he promptly set down by a chair. Kenneth stood and his cousin vigorously pumped his hand.

They settled into seats while Victor mopped his perspiring brow.

"Bloody heat," he complained. "Feels like sticking my body into an oven. Give me London’s winter any day."

"Ah, yes, the yellow fog and blackened skies from the factories. I relish the smell of sulfur in the morning," Kenneth remarked dryly.

Victor’s blue eyes, much like his own, searched the terrace. Kenneth’s second cousin owned a prosperous antiquities shop here in Cairo as well as the London store. He had built up a successful business trading in them. He was also closely connected to Kenneth’s affairs here, and the dig at Dashur.

Yet, Kenneth felt reluctant to reveal what he’d discovered. Victor exhibited some of the same prejudices many Englishmen had toward Egyptians. If he knew Rashid, an Egyptian from the tribe that had raised Kenneth, was the thief, he would insist on calling in the Cairene authorities. The Khamsin would be disgraced. Honor would be irrevocably lost. This was a battle Kenneth intended to fight on his own. He would not shame the tribe that raised him.

"So, any news from Dashur?" Victor asked.

Kenneth examined the rim of his teacup. "De Morgan assures me they are making progress each day, and he expects to find the second necklace soon—and more jewelry, making it one of the season’s most spectacular hauls."

"I’m glad I can be of assistance to you," Victor commented. He gave Kenneth a steadying look. "I mean it."

"I appreciate your help, Victor. You’ve been invaluable."

His cousin tapped his cigar on his chair edge. Ash fell like dust onto the terrace. He reached down, fished in his valise and withdrew a thick, intimidating sheaf of papers.

"While you’re here, I have some documents for you to sign regarding the share of your proceeds from the shops."

The shops. Kenneth’s father had invested in Victor’s antiquities business and taken a cut of the profits as payment. Kenneth felt his chest tighten, wishing Zaid were here to decipher the documents. But the secretary had begged off for the afternoon. He took the pen his cousin proffered, pretended to scan the papers, and signed them.

He started to hand them back, then hesitated. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to have my secretary look these over, record the pertinent information. And seeing the shop in Cairo is half mine, I’d like a key," he said casually.

Victor’s eyes widened, and the cigar wobbled on his lips. Hard anger appeared for a moment, then he blinked, banishing the look. Kenneth’s dismay grew. What was his cousin hiding?

Victor dug into his waistcoat pocket and flipped a brass key over. "Shop’s quite dusty. I had an assistant, but had to dismiss him. Couldn’t quite trust him."

"Why not give me a tour right now?" Kenneth asked casually.

Color flooded Victor’s cheeks. "Now?"

"No time like the present. I need to depart afterward."

‘To the dig? Shall I accompany you?" Victor asked, puffing on his cigar as they scraped back their chairs.

"No. I’ve a small business matter to clear up first. I’ll meet you at Dashur." Kenneth thought of his next destination and swallowed hard. The journey would take all his strength to complete. He dreaded returning to the Khamsin camp, and to the sheikh he’d sworn to never see again.

"You promised to release her!"

"I lied."

Badra gathered her dignity about her like a warm cloak as she stood in the harem at the Pleasure Palace. The trip from England to Egypt had frayed her nerves like silk threads unraveling from a Persian carpet. Intensely worried about Jasmine, she’d delayed returning to the Khamsin camp, giving Rashid the excuse that she was shopping in Cairo for a day.

"You have your money. Give her to me," Badra said.

"Something happened while you were gone. Her value has increased. There is only one way she will leave here. You must take her place," Musad grunted.

Badra’s insides crumbled. She could not resort to becoming a concubine again. "Never. There must be another way."

"Perhaps. If we could get the next necklace ... We have a worker on the site who took the first one. But they are suspicious. They will not suspect a woman. Omar made arrangements with a high official on the dig site for you to be there as an artist. Find the second necklace of Princess Meret, bring it here and your daughter will go free."

"Omar wishes me to become his thief?"

"Or his whore. It is your choice."

Impotent rage coursed through Badra. She drew in a trembling breath and glanced at Jasmine sitting quietly with a woman on a divan at the room’s far end.

Musad caught her look. "I have a buyer."

Terror whipped through her. "You told me she was not to be sold! She is but seven years old!"

"Nearly eight. A European man liked her looks. He offered a good price for her contract and gave us money already. She will be sold when he returns in six weeks. As we speak, Jasmine is being instructed in her new duties to her future master."

Badra’s heart twisted as she looked at her daughter. Jasmine looked confused and her wide, dark eyes held fright.

Oh, dear God. How could she abandon her baby?

Badra returned to Musad. "If I do this thing for you, and bring you the second necklace, you will immediately release her to me. If not, I will tell the Duke of Caldwell exactly who is stealing from him." Her eyes hardened with resolve.

Musad’s nostrils flared. ‘Tell him and your brat gets sold tomorrow and you will never find her again."

Fighting fear, Badra locked gazes with him. "Are you familiar with
falaka
, eunuch?" The blood drained from his face. Satisfied, she leaned forward, and pressed her advantage. "Because if you do not free her once I return the necklace, I will lay responsibility for all this at your feet. The Duke of Caldwell will give you to the authorities to beat the soles of your feet to elicit a confession."

Musad grunted. "It is a bargain, then. Return with the necklace and she will be freed."

He added in a lower tone, "But if you do not bring back the necklace, you may only free her by remaining here, your contract sold each month to the highest bidder. That is a promise."

Badra drew in a trembling breath. Making such a dangerous offer to a cold-blooded reptile such as Musad was like dancing with a snake. But her love for Jasmine outweighed all the risks.

"May I have a moment alone with my daughter?" she asked.

He grunted again, but ordered the other woman to leave. Badra went to Jasmine and enfolded her in a tight hug. Twin emotions of gratitude and guilt pulled her. "I’ll take care of you, precious."

"Badra, I do not understand the things that woman told me. Why would a man want to do those things?" Jasmine asked, uncertainty and fear shadowing her sweet face.

"Forget them, my darling," Badra whispered, kissing her forehead. "Let them slip from your mind and think only of pretty, pleasant matters." She rocked her child in her arms and began singing an English lullaby she’d heard Elizabeth sing to her son.

A few minutes later, a guard appeared. ‘Time to leave."

Badra gave her daughter one last hug. A brave smile wobbled on her trembling lips.
Never again. My daughter will never suffer as I have. Even if I must take her place. But I will not fail.