Read Online He Shall Thunder in the Sky by Elizabeth Peters - Free Book Online Page B

one day,” he promised.
         “Better men than you have tried,” said Wardani. “In the meantime — the Khan el Khalili, the shop of Aslimi Aziz, at this same hour the day after tomorrow. Someone will be there.”
         “You?”
         “One never knows.”
         The only one who dared speak was the man with the squint. He waited until the door had closed behind the Arab.
         “Was that wise, Kamil? He won’t come back.”
         “But yes, my friend.” Wardani now spoke French. “He will have to come back because his German masters will insist. They are clever persons, these Germans; they know I wield more power in Cairo than any other man, and that I hate the British as much as they do. I gave him a way out — a way to hide his dishonor and make his profit. That is how one deals with Turks.”
         “Turk?” The dark eyes widened. “He is an Arab and a brother.”
         Wardani gave his young friend a kindly look and shook his head. “You need to apply yourself to the study of languages, my dear. The accent was unmistakable. Well, we’ve been here long enough; we meet again two days from now.”
         “But you, sir,” the tall youth ventured. “Have you found a safe hiding place? How can we reach you if there is need?”
         “You cannot. Merde alors, if you are unable to keep out of trouble for two days, you need a nursemaid, not a leader.”
         He replaced his hat and went to the curtained entrance. Before he drew the hanging back, he turned and grinned at the others. “Ramses Emerson Effendi does not crawl through holes, but that is your way out, friends. One or two at a time.”
         He went through the front room and into the street, walking with long strides but without haste. After passing the convent mosque of Beybars he turned off the Gamalieh into a narrow lane and broke into a run. Many of the old houses that abutted on the lane had fallen into ruin, but a few were still occupied; a lantern by one door cast a feeble light. Pausing in front of a recessed doorway, Wardani bent his knees and sprang, catching hold of the top of the lintel and drawing himself up onto a carved ledge eight feet above the ground. An unnecessary precaution, perhaps, but he had not remained alive until now by neglecting unnecessary precautions.
         He did not have to wait long. The form that picked its way cautiously along the littered alley was unmistakable. Farouk was six inches taller than any of the others, and vain as a peacock; the shawl he had wrapped round his head and face was of fine muslin, and the light glinted off the silver ornament on his breast.
         Perched on the ledge, Wardani waited until his pursuer had passed out of sight around a curve in the winding lane. Then he waited a little longer before stripping off coat, waistcoat, and stiff collar and rolling them and the hat into an anonymous bundle. Shortly thereafter a stoop-shouldered, ragged old man shuffled out of the lane and proceeded along the Gamalieh. He stopped at the stall of a bean seller and counted out coins in exchange for a bowl of fuul medemes. Leaning against the wall, he ate without really tasting the food. He was thinking hard.
         He’d feared Farouk would be trouble. Despite his pretty face, he was several years older than the others, and a new recruit, and Wardani hadn’t missed the flash of anger in the black eyes when he forbade action against the Emersons. There was only one reason he could think of why Farouk would follow him, and it wasn’t concern for his safety.
         That was all he needed, an ambitious rival. He wondered how much longer he could keep this up. Just long enough, inshallah — long enough to get his hands on those weapons. . . . He returned the empty bowl to the merchant with a murmured blessing and shambled off.

    From Letter Collection B
Dearest Lia,
Delighted to hear “the worst is over” and that you