Where I come from, punching old ladies simply isn’t done. My stupefied stare must have reassured her. Straightening to her full height of three feet six, she gestured at the door and twisted her bony wrist – once, twice, three times. I got the message. Three doors, three locks, between me and freedom.
I was begining to think maybe I could overcome my conditioning about hitting old ladies – not hard, of course, just a little tap – when she gave a sudden backward hop, agile as an Egyptian cricket. (They are black and very large, and they don’t fly; they beam themselves from place to place like Captain Kirk.) Before I could move she was out of the door. It closed with a slam and I heard the key turn in the lock.
I didn’t swear. I was too dumbfounded to be angry. What the hell kind of jailer was this? Where the hell was I? Who the hell was responsible for this?
By the time I had finished the coffee and nibbled at a piece of flat, unleavened bread I was pretty sure I knew the answer to the last question. The situation had his distinctively lunatic touch, including Grandma Moses. I wondered where he had dug her up. So, fifty pages later, when I heard the key turn in the lock again, I didn’t bother assuming a posture of attack. Where John was concerned, bare hands weren’t worth a damn. I’d need a water cannon to handle him.
The man who entered had the same swagger and the same condescending smirk. It wasn’t John. It was Feisal.
‘Don’t you have any Barbara Michaels or Charlotte MacLeod?’ I asked, waving the book at him. ‘I loathe Valerie.’
Feisal settled himself comfortably in one of the chairs. ‘Wrong cue. You’re supposed to say, “How dare you,” or “What do you want with me?” so I can leer lustfully at you.’
‘Let’s not bandy words,’ I said. ‘Who’s the old lady?’
‘My grandmother.’
‘You low down skunk. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, dragging an innocent grandmother into this. Or is she innocent?’
‘Oh, quite. She thinks my interest in you is personal.’
‘Now wait a minute.’ I didn’t believe him, but I thought it might be a good idea to get up from the bed. I pulled out the other chair and sat down facing him. ‘A dear, old-fashioned Muslim granny wouldn’t connive at abduction and rape.’
‘Certaily not.’ Feisal looked shocked. ‘She knows I’m irresistible to women. She thinks you’re just playing hard to get. But don’t worry,’ he went on, while I struggled to express my feelings, ‘much as I’d enjoy overcoming your maidenly scruples, you are perfectly safe from attentions of that sort.’
‘And why is that?’
Feisal sighed. ‘It’s those years at Oxford, I suppose. The facade is only skin-deep but it sticks like glue. Besides, I have been told how many square inches of skin I would have removed if I so much as breathed heavily on you. He was quoting The Merchant of Venice, I think.’
‘He does quote Shakespeare a lot,’ I agreed. ‘How very gallant of him to be concerned about my maidenly scruples. Or is he saving me for later?’
Feisal folded his arms. ‘Vicky, you simply have to take this seriously. You are perfectly safe here. It’s probably the only place in Luxor where you are perfectly safe. I’ll supply you with additional reading material if you insist; just sit tight for a few days.’
Emulating his cool, I folded my arms and stretched my legs out. ‘What’s going to happen in a few days?’
‘I’m not going to ask how much you know,’ Feisal began.
‘I must know more than I think I know. What vital clue, observed but uncomprehended by me, prompted this rash act?’
Feisal’s beautiful black eyebrows drew together, but he sounded more puzzled than angry when he spoke. ‘Astonishing. You really haven’t a clue, have you?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Obviously not. So why don’t you just relax and leave it to us?’
‘Us being you and John? Boy, talk about broken reeds!’
I never did find out why so many Egyptians have such pretty thick lashes. Feisal’s were as fuzzy as a toothbrush. They fell, concealing his eyes, and he said, ‘He got me into this. He promised he’d get me out.’
‘Oh, you poor, dear trusting man,’ I said, with sympathy.
Feisal stopped trying to be cool. He scowled at me. ‘You really are an extremely irritating woman. I’m trying to save your life, at the risk of my own. If my part in this were discovered I would die a slow and horrible death.’
‘Where’s Schmidt?’ I demanded, ignoring this melodramatic remark. It might or might not be true, but at the moment I didn’t give a damn.
‘He’s safe.’
I figured it was now or never. Granny’s vigilance would be relaxed now that there was a big strong man in the house, and at least one of the three doors was unlocked. Under the same illusion of macho superiority, Feisal might have neglected to lock the others. I sighed, smiled, shrugged, leaned back in the chair, hooked both feet under the rung of Feisal’s chair and pulled.
The chair and Feisal combined made a very satisfying crash. As I had hoped and counted upon, the back of his head came into emphatic contact with the bare boards. I was already out of the door when I heard him shout. The words were Arabic, but the tone was unquestionably profane.
I spun in an agitated circle, not knowing which way to go. There was a door at either end of the short corridor. I had a fifty-fifty chance of hitting the right one, so I went left.
Wrong choice. The door didn’t lead to the street but to the kitchen. I found that out when it opened, to display a stove, a table, a sink, and Granny.
I should have such reflexes when I’m a hundred years old. Snarling toothlessly at me, she hopped back, reaching for something on the table. There were several things on the table: a pot, a bunch of onions, and a long knife. I didn’t wait to see which one she wanted. I pushed her, as gently as circumstances allowed, and headed for the other door, followed by screams and curses. The latter came from Feisal, whose footsteps I could hear in the corridor.
Door number three wasn’t locked either. My exultation received a rude check when I found myself, not on the street but in a walled enclosure. It was unpaved. Weeds, or maybe they were onions, stuck up from the dirt and there were a few chickens pecking disinterestedly at the ground. They scattered, squawking irritably, as I dashed for the gate. He hadn’t bolted that either, the egotistical thing.
I didn’t bother closing it behind me, nor did I stop to consider which way to go. Any way was better than where I was. I turned right this time and ran like hell, followed by renewed protests from the chickens and a lot of bad language from Feisal.
Back home they’d have called it an alley. It was narrow and unpaved and bounded by high walls – the backs of other such courtyards, I assumed. There was nobody around, not even a chicken, but not far ahead I could see people and cars and other hopeful signs.
I don’t know how far behind he was when I burst out of the alley onto the street. He didn’t follow me. I hadn’t thought he would. He wouldn’t dare drag me back fighting and yelling with all those people around.
I had no idea where I was. It had to be Luxor, but it didn’t resemble the part of the city with which I was familiar. It looked more like one of the country towns we had passed through on our shore tours – one-storey shops, street stalls, uneven sidewalks littered with debris. I walked on, ignoring the curious glances I got from passersby. This was definitely not one of the popular tourist spots. I was the only foreigner in sight.
I went on for another block or two, till my breathing slowed to normal speed. Still no sign of the river. The sun was no help; it was high overhead. I’d have to ask someone for directions. Luxor was a good-sized town, I could go on wandering in circles for hours, and I was in a hurry. Finally I saw what appeared to be a gas station, or rather two gas pumps and a shack roofed with rusty tin. A few men wearing T-shirts and jeans were lounging against the pumps.