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As grand as the library was, it wasn’t the drawing room. Akeem and Hossam were not guests to be entertained but servants to be ordered about, and ordering was best done from the library. And the Collector—al-Jabi—would never permit them alongside his precious artifacts, although Akeem had glimpsed the fine display cases as they passed the drawing room.
“He will be displeased,” Hossam whispered as they waited. It was true. They should have come sooner. Al-Jabi would not appreciate the delay, butthere had been… complications.
Al-Jabi entered and they bowed. “Did you get the amulet?” he asked Hossam.
Akeem was quick to claim ownership of a job well done, but in this instance, he was more than happy to leave the ownership to Hossam. The silence expanded to fill the room until Hossam replied, “The Englishwoman doesn’t have it.”
“Explain.”
And so, Hossam told how they’d questioned the pale lady, although she’d spat on them. And when their inquiries didn’t reveal the amulet, they’d searched her person. Again, she’d spat on them and called them names. They hadn’t understood all of the words, but her meaning was well taken. The lady had a vile temper, not unlike Akeem’s wife.
Al-Jabi reached into his coat for a fat cigar. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply then turned the cigar to study the glowing foot. “If she doesn’t carry the amulet, the brother must have it. He’ll exchange it for his sister’s life.”
Akeem kept his eyes trained on the carpet as he waited for Hossam to deliver the rest of their news.
“She… that is…” Hossam swallowed, and al-Jabi stilled. Then, eyes narrowing, he rose and crossed the thick carpet to stand before them.
“She…?” al-Jabi prompted, waving the glowing cigar with deceptive indifference.
“She escaped.” Hossam spoke the words quickly but softly, head bowing low. He didn’t mention that the lady had been injured by Hossam’s blade and might even now be lying dead somewhere. A dead Englishwoman would not serve al-Jabi’s purpose.
“Of course, she’s escaped,” al-Jabi hissed. “Do you think I don’t knoweverythingthat happens in this city?”
Akeem swallowed. There were things he’d rather al-Jabi not be privy to. Activities undertaken by the Order of Osiris, for example.
“She’s found a hole to burrow in,” their employer continued, “but we’ll use it to our advantage. I have men watching it—more capable men than the pair of you. If she tries to leave, she won’t go far.”
Akeem’s belly twisted at the emptiness in the other man’s eyes. Al-Jabi drew long and deep on the cigar. Then, without taking his eyes from Hossam’s bowed head, he pressed the glowing end to the back of the man’s hand.
Hossam shook, but to Akeem’s relief, he did not cry out. Akeem stared ahead as the stench of burning flesh caused his nostrils to flare. Al-Jabi turned his empty gaze on him next.
“Your colleague has failed at retrieving my amulet. See that you do not.”
——
Fiona Foster wokeslowly, as if she’d enjoyed too much Madeira the night before. Her body ached everywhere, and a sharp pain burned her side. She blinked to clear her eyes and assessed her surroundings, surprised to find herselfin the little hospital above the convent of St. George. The room was hot, but a breeze came through the windows to stir the air. Through the opening, the great pyramids sat, shimmering in the haze of the desert. Several of the sisters in their white habits tended to patients in the other beds.
One of them noticed Fiona stirring and shuffled to her side with a gentle smile. “Praise God you’re awake,” she said softly. “You’ve had quite an ordeal.”
Fiona’s memory returned with force, and her heart began to race. She recalled being taken from Old Cairo then searched and questioned quite rudely. She’d been stabbed by one of her attackers as she made her escape. A man’s scarred face appeared in her mind, close and menacing as he bent toward her. His lips moved in her memory, but she couldn’t recall his words, and she shoved the image away.
She tried to speak, but her throat was dry. The nun offered her water in a ceramic cup, which she sipped gratefully. “How did I come to be here?” Her voice was hoarse and didn’t sound like her own.
The nun, a young Greek woman, inspected a cut on Fiona’s hand as she replied. “We found you on our doorstep, unconscious and bleeding. You had just enough strength, I imagine, to make your way here. With the assistance of one of the priests, we brought you up to the hospital. I’m afraid you’ve some unattractive stitches, but I expect you’ll make a full recovery. I am Sister Galyna, by the way.”
More bits of memory flashed through Fiona’s mind—the coolness of the convent’s stone steps beneath her cheek, strong arms lifting her, a priest’s kind gaze. She smiled her gratitude at Sister Galyna. “And I’m Fiona Foster,” she said.
“Fiona Foster,” Sister Galyna said with a nod. “What a lovely name. Are you an actress by any chance?”
Fiona snorted softly as the young nun began dabbing a bit of salve onto her hand. “Only when the situation requires it.”
Some of the other nuns, on seeing that Fionahadawakened, joined them. Fiona recognized the abbess, and she pushed herself up in the bed with a wince.
“Reverend Mother,” she said. “I must thank you and the sisters for taking me in.”
The abbess inclined her head. “It was God’s will that brought you to us again.”
“How long have I been here?”
