“Fourteen!” Dixie turned his head to give Pudd’n a brief glare of triumph. “See, I was right about the Nymphs as well. He’s like all you bloody musicians, screws anything that lets yer.”
“You’re an old poof, Dix — you’re just jealous of my good looks,” said Pudd’n. His voice was good-natured, and the relief in both men’s expressions was obvious. Waiting for our arrival must have been boring and nerve-racking. “Relax a bit, can’t you? We’ve got ’im now, an’ that’s what counts. Who cares if he’s got her on Nymphs or not? That’s their business.”
Instead of more talk, Pudd’n expressed their jubilation differently. He started to play. His choice was “Les Fastes,” one of Couperin’s masterpieces, and Pudd’n picked the riotous passage that the composer described as “the jugglers, acrobats, and tumblers, with bears and monkeys.” Dixie had to keep his gun trained on us, but I noticed that his feet automatically went into a little back-and-forth shuffle with the music, like dancing in place — no doubt which Couperin group he belonged in.
“Like that?” said Pudd’n to me as he finished.
“Pretty good. You’ve been practicing hard since I last saw you. But it’s supposed to be in C Minor, you know. You put it up a tone.”
“Don’t make much odds on this bleedin’ thing.” Pudd’n crashed his left hand flat on the keyboard. “It’s all way out of tune, flat as hell. But you’re right about the practice. There was bugger all else to do around this place until you got here.”
He ran a fast chromatic scale up three octaves.
“Never mind all that,” said Dixie . If it wasn’t music you could dance to, he wasn’t interested. “Let’s get ’em through into the back.”
He nodded his head towards the door. “Come on, you two, on yer feet.” He leered. “I didn’t know there’d be two of you, but I’ve got a nice little love nest for you back there. Real cozy.”
The gun couldn’t be argued with. Pudd’n led us along the corridor, then down another staircase that took us below ground level. Dixie , bringing up the rear, must have noticed my glance towards the front of the house before we started downwards.
“Don’t waste your time wonderin’ about old Gunga Din,” he said. “I dumped a handful of rupees on him, an’ he’ll be back at the station by now looking for his next fare.”
That ended any hopes I might have had about our driver.
We came to the bottom of the stairs, where a solid door led through into a small, windowless room. The heavy padlock and metal frame suggested that the place had been created originally as a store for valuables, probably tea and spices as well as family papers. Broad shelves ran along three walls, and the only furniture was a chair, table, and narrow bed. Seated upon the latter, and rising casually to her feet as we entered, was Zan. It only needed Scouse to make the London cast complete.
“You’re a cool one,” said Dixie . “Didn’t you hear the noise? He could have been shootin’ me an’ Pudd’n full of holes for all the help you were.”
“No such luck.” Even before she spoke, the animosity between Zan and Dixie was obvious. It seemed to crackle between them, a field of hate and contempt. Two boring weeks, cooped up in each other’s company, had changed smoldering dislike to active rage.
It was the first hopeful sign since we had entered the house. I remembered how Scouse had sent Zan out of the room when they started to torture me. If she was no more than Scouse’s mistress, dragged into this thing against her will, she might be ready to make the break from them.
Her first act was promising. Ignoring Dixie ’s curses, she stepped forward to Ameera and took her hand.
“This is an added factor.” Her husky voice was thoughtful. “Where did she come from?”
Dixie shrugged. “Ask Casanova there. She’s his bit of stuff.”
Zan flashed him a look of loathing. If she was Scouse’s mistress, he had chosen fire over comfort. “You simple-minded fool. Can’t you see what a complication this introduces? We know his background, where he came from and who might look for him. What about her? Where is her family?”
Dixie had flushed at her tone. “How the fuck am I supposed to know where her family is? She come in the door with him, right, an’ we’ve never seen her before, right? I don’t know who she is, but you don’t need to be a mind reader to know who’s screwing who — just look at ’em. If her family don’t mind that, they’re not likely to be worryin’ when she’s not home by teatime. Why don’t you use your bloody loaf, instead of tellin’ me I’m stupid.”
“Steady on now.” Pudd’n used a carefully neutral tone. “The main thing is, we’ve got him. That’s what Scouse told us to do, an’ we’ve done it. Zan, why don’t you get him on the phone, sharpish, an’ tell him? You an’ Dixie can’t afford to be fightin’ — we’ve all got work to do.”
Zan looked at him thoughtfully. Her eyes were shielded by heavy lids, and it was hard to know how she reacted to his comments.
“Did you search them?” she said at last.
“Yeah,” said Dixie .
“No,” said Pudd’n. “I mean, all I did was look for weapons. You mean papers an’ other stuff, don’t you, Zan?”
“Naturally.” Again her look at Dixie held only contempt. “If we come seven thousand miles to seek the Belur Package, we ought at least to look for it. I would be surprised if he is carrying it on him, but we cannot rule that out.”
“But we know he doesn’t have it,” objected Dixie , “or he wouldn’t ever have come back here.”
“Logical, but not necessarily true.” Zan stepped forward to Ameera. ” Dixie , you keep them both covered.” She began to search Ameera carefully and unhurriedly, exploring each item of clothing down to skin level, while Pudd’n did the same thing to me.
“Here’s something,” he said after a few minutes. “Look, it’s got the old Belur phone number on it.”
He was holding the paper that Leo had left for me, with its cryptic message. If they could read any more out of it than we could, good luck to them. First Pudd’n puzzled over it, then the other two each had their turn.
“Arabic, is it?” said Dixie . “Can’t Scouse read that for us when he gets here?”
Zan shook her elegant head. Something about her gave me shivers, but I couldn’t be sure whether the feeling was pleasant or unpleasant. All I could say for certain was that when she brushed against me as she was searching Ameera, a tingling wave had run like cold water up my spine.
“Scouse speaks Arabic, but he never learned to read it or write it,” she said.
“We don’t need Scouse.” Dixie nodded his head at me. “Not with ’im here to do the work for us. Give me an hour with him, alone, and I’ll get you a translation.”
“No.” Zan moved to stand in front of him and they stood, eye to eye.
Dixie was the first to flinch. “All right, let’s see what Scouse has to say about that,” he grumbled, and moved away. “When are you going to call him, anyway?”
“Now. He should be able to take an overnight flight and be here by noon tomorrow.” Zan set off purposively towards the door, pausing only to give first me and then Ameera a strange and speculative look. Again I felt the vibration up my spine.
“What about these two?” said Pudd’n.
“They can stay here.” She turned in the doorway and slapped her hand against the jamb. “You checked this place out properly, didn’t you? No way they could break out of it?”
“The door’s metal lined, and the walls are concrete block,” said Pudd’n. “They’re safe enough, but there’s no lavatory. And no food. We didn’t expect two of them — what do we do with her?”
“We’ll worry about that after I’ve called Scouse.” Zan and Dixie left. Their relationship had not improved during the last interchange, and they carefully avoided looking at each other. After an apologetic glance at the narrow bed, and a shrug of his heavy shoulders, Pudd’n followed them out.