Touchstone (Meridian Series) (25 page)

       “Oh,
don’t be silly. Use your head, man! The tampering occurred in the year 2010,
Robert. Remember, he would be privy to any transformation of the
Meridian
between our lifetime and his. He said it himself—it’s all
history to him. He should have
known
that the site was tampered with,
and the DVD was found by other means—yet he feigned ignorance of the whole
matter.”

       Nordhausen
scratched his head. “Good heavens. Now I am confused.”

       “Think
of it this way,” Maeve explained, “the fact that Kelly remained substantial
after the tampering means that something was done to preserve the DVD
record—and it was found. LeGrand told us the story he thought we would believe.
He’s a liar.”

       “I
see,” said Robert. “This is becoming more complicated than I imagined. This
temporal logic is confounding. How do we know that the whole matter isn’t
undone by some other operation—something that prevents the tampering with
Kelly’s memorial site, just as we prevented
Palma
?”

       “We
don’t know,” said Maeve. “But the facts, as they stand now, reveal LeGrand to be…
insincere, to say the least, and devious, to say more. I’ll tell you something
else that you might have missed: LeGrand said the perfect time for an operation
against the stone would be somewhere on the road between here and
Cairo
.”

       “Well…
That seems logical enough.”

       “Oh,
it would be,” Maeve said quickly. “Only the stone was not transported to
Cairo
by road. All that talk about the French commandeering the good riding stock was
bogus. Do you realize how heavy that thing is? Really, Robert, you should have
researched this mission if you were so damn set on it. They moved the stone
by
river.
They barged it up the
Nile
to
Cairo
, and so LeGrand was just trying to put us
off the scent with his clever little scenario about a roadside ambush.”

       Nordhausen
scratched his head, amazed that Maeve had been so perceptive. “Well,” he said
at last. “I suppose I understand your hostility toward the man now.”

       “Right,”
Maeve agreed quickly. “We must act as though he were a potential contagion to
the
Meridian
, Robert. He is not our friend. He was sent
to intercept us—with foreknowledge of our exact arrival time and location. This
Order he speaks of is aware of our operation here, as they are doubtless aware
of our intention to prevent their tampering. Again—everything we do is history
to them—at least the outcome of our actions. In that case, we become obstacles
to their plans as well—Founders and Prime Movers all.”

       “You
mean to say you think they would conspire against
us?”

       “Why
not? LeGrand has revealed that we have already overturned their assassination
plot against Reginald. Lord… we’ve said entirely too much to that man. Telling
him that the incident in Wadi Rumm was mere happenstance was not good.
Translating the message you read on Rasil’s scroll, as you were about to do,
would have been worse. Remember what Paul said about security. We’ve been very
sloppy this time—myself included. I was thoughtless in taking that note back in
my purse. If you must know, I simply forgot it was there, but that’s no excuse.
I practically stripped myself naked the first time I went through the Arch. I
was careless, and I put them on to us.”

       Nordhausen
nodded. “All is forgiven,” he said, then grew very quiet. After a moment he
looked at her with a searching expression. “Maeve, can you possibly forgive me
for… for what I did in using the Arch? I was on to something—taken up with the
hunt, as it were. I wanted to have a look at artifacts, yes, I’ll admit it: I
choose London because I have always loved that time. And when I met Wilde and
all I…”

       “Say
no more,” said Maeve. “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook on the condition that
you behave yourself for the rest of this mission.” She smiled, and the mood
between them lightened.

       “We
had better get into town and find some new accommodations,” said Robert. “I
suppose it may appear somewhat scandalous to some—a  strapping man like me
alone with a woman in this savage land.”

       “Remember,”
Maeve corrected him quickly, “I’m your sister.”

~

       They
walked on, the town growing around them as they made their way past parched
fields, once lush plantations in the flood season. The smell of sea salt and
brine was in the air, and Nordhausen steered them in the direction of the fort.
Before long, however, they were very tired, and surprisingly hungry.

       “I
simply must get out of this sun and have something to eat,” said Maeve, and
Robert concurred.

       The
activity of traders, farmers and herders was more apparent as they moved into
the heart of the settlement. People were hustling along the thin, stone-laid
roads, intent on a thousand matters know only to themselves. As Nordhausen
looked at them he felt a strange inner twinge of something akin to fear. What
if one of these people was musing on something that would end up triggering any
of the great events of history waiting to play out?

       LeGrand
was correct when he said it was the common man, and the triviality of his
simple desires, that you really had to look out for. It occurred to him that
the greatest part of all human experience was entirely unknown—stuck away in a
man’s head as his inner thoughts moved from one tiny necessity to the next.
Only the smallest fraction was ever expressed, in conversation with other men,
and even less of that was ever written down to be known by future generations.

       Yes,
he thought, most of human experience was silent, private, confined in the heads
of simple men and women, and never revealed. Just as he kept this very muse to
himself, so the greatest measure of human thought was entirely unknown—a
mystery he could never imagine. What was Maeve thinking at this very moment?

       He
looked at her, struggling along in that layered costume, parasol held up
bravely against the tireless sun. A bit of the mystery was suddenly revealed to
him when she took a deep breath and licked her lips.

       “Smell
that?” There was a palpable aroma of cooking meat on the air, and Robert could
see that they were approaching a souk near the center of town.

       “Delightful,”
he said. “Are you as famished as I am?”

       “Yes,”
she said, fidgeting about in her purse. “Ah,” she smiled. “At least they had
the good manners to leave the contents intact.”

       “What
do you mean?”

       “I
scrounged up some old French francs at a dealer’s shop in
Berkeley
before we left. It’s all here—even the three gold pieces I
added, just in case the notes would not be accepted. Why, they’ve even left my
note in the purse.”

       “With
all the details of our mission?”

       “Yes.
I’ll say one thing for them: they’re tidy. Looks like someone in Outcomes
insisted that the purse had to be left exactly as it was, and returned to the
proper owner for disposition, as LeGrand called it.”

       “I
don’t know if I like the sound of that,” said Nordhausen. “But let’s see about
something to eat!”

       Maeve
was only too happy to accommodate him. They made their way into a wide open
square where many street vendors offered the produce from nearby plantations.
Sellers were calling out to catch the attention of passers by, and people
crowded about carts and stands, where baskets of melons, dates, and other fruit
were offered. But their attention was led by their noses to a man offering
slivers of seasoned meat on long wood skewers. He was grilling them over a
brazier of charcoal, and the aroma was compelling.

       Maeve
handed Robert a note, and he angled in to bargain with the man for their lunch.
The vendor eyed him suspiciously at first. He accepted the note cautiously,
squinting at it in the bright sunlight, and finally smelling it before he
flashed them a gritty smile and handed over two skewers of meat. Robert
accepted them with a nod, handing them to Maeve, then he waited, eyeing the
vendor like he was up to no good.

       “Come
on, Robert,” said Maeve.

       “Why,
the beggar hasn’t given me my change yet,” Robert protested. “That was a five frank
note, am I right?”

       Maeve
gave him an incredulous look. “Leave it,” she said, pulling him away. “I’m
famished. Let’s get out of this sun and find another inn.”

       Robert
allowed himself to be pulled along, looking over his shoulder at the vendor as
they went. There was no mystery as to what was going on in
that
man’s
head just now—spoken or not. The man had a sly smile on his face, obviously
pleased that he had been able to garner such a hefty price for his wares, and
all without the slightest bit of haggling.

       They
finished the food, finding it a spicy, though satisfying meal. People were
understandably curious to see these strangers in their midst, and the more they
lingered in the souk, the more attention they got. It was making Maeve somewhat
nervous, and she pulled Robert along, heading for a group of buildings at one
end of the square. Her eye fixed on one that had the look of a caravanserai,
and she hastened toward it, glad to be out away from the lingering stares of
these earthy, brown skinned locals.

       In time they found an inn that looked acceptable,
and went in to see about a room. The keeper did not want to accept paper
currency, however, and Maeve was forced to pay one of the three gold coins to
secure accommodations. Robert seemed irritated as the negotiation was
concluded, largely by sign language, as the man did not speak any European
language.

       “See
what I mean?” He nodded his head at the man. “We got taken again. These people are
bandits. Five francs for lunch and an ounce of gold for a single night on a
dusty hovel like this.”

       “It’s
not the price I’m concerned about,” said Maeve. “It’s just that I was hoping to
use the notes instead of coinage.”

       “Well
the lout would have probably taken us for the entire wad in that case.” He
looked at the man, clearly displeased. “Too much,” he breathed. Then to Maeve
he said: “What’s the difference? Gold, notes, he’s a robber either way.”

       “The
difference is that notes deteriorate quickly, and so I don’t leave detritus in
the
Meridian
very long. A gold coin is another matter.
It will hang around for centuries, and it doesn’t belong here any more than we
do.”

       “May
I be of some assistance?”

       They
were both startled to hear English spoken, though the voice was heavily
accented. Robert turned to see a tall Arabic man, dressed in white robes with a
lavender hem. He wore a dark headpiece banded by three red stripes, and his
eyes were bright and animated, between heavy brows and high cheek bones. His
moustache and beard were thick and dark, lending him an air of dignity, and at
his throat he wore a three leaf broach of finely worked brass.

       “You
are English, yes?” the man said. “It is quite unusual to hear English spoken
here these days. Are you traders?”

       “Not
English, Americans,” Nordhausen corrected quickly. “Off the
Perla
…” He
was struggling to remember their cover story, still somewhat flustered that
this man would speak their language.

       “Ah,
yes, she was here but three days ago. A brief visit. I do not think the news of
the Pasha’s fleet sat well with her. She left very quickly. But how is it you
were not with her?”

       “We
intended to make a visit here,” said Nordhausen. “Tourists, of a sort, you
see.” He hoped no further  explanation would be needed, looking askance at
Maeve for support. Then he decided to rush the net, and volleyed a question of
his own.

       “How
do you come to speak English? That is somewhat unusual for—“

       “For
an Arab?” The man smiled, taking no offense. “Yes, it is quite unusual. The
English are fighting the French, you see, and the Turks have decided the French
are a nuisance. Since the Turks are in bed with the English these days, an Arab
who wishes to curry favor with the Turks would be wise to learn a bit of
English. I lived in
Spain
once, and learned many languages: Spanish,
Portuguese, English, and even French. They are very similar, though English
does have its peculiarities.”

       “I
see,” said Nordhausen. “Then you are a man of letters?”

       “I
was fortunate enough to attend the university in
Cordoba
—a
very beautiful place,
Cordoba
.” His eyes seemed to reach for some distant
memory, resolving to a narrow eyed smile. “Then you are not with the savants?”

       “Not
directly,” said Robert. “We were in
Toulon
, visiting relatives, and heard of the
expedition. Being somewhat of a student of history, I was fascinated by the
enterprise. Unfortunately, we could not book passage with the French fleet, but
we were lucky enough to catch the
Perla
there before she left.” The
innkeeper was completely forgotten now, and they both were fixated on the
strange figure before them.