But Rick did not so much as bat an eyelash when I produced the necklace with a flourish at dinner that night.
Catherine almost cried with delight, and the rest of the group burst into spontaneous applause. Cliff reached over and patted Catherine's hand. "Where did you find it?" they exclaimed.
"In a shop in the Souk des Orfe`vres," I said. "While I was out trying to find Rick." I looked at him pointedly. He shrugged and looked a little sheepish.
It was either a magnificent performance or the man was entirely innocent. While I was sorely tempted to take him aside and demand that he pay up for the necklace, every last penny I'd shelled out for it, I had to admit that just being in the same shop didn't make him a thief, and the fact I'd seen him putting money away didn't incriminate him either. As for the lack of a parcel, it could be as simple as his having purchased something small enough to carry in his money belt. A pair of earrings for a girlfriend, for example, or even a ring.
"Hey!" he exclaimed. "Maybe that will make up for the fact that I kept everybody waiting. Sorry about that, really I am. My watch stopped, and I didn't notice. But I won't be late again. I managed to buy a battery for it, right in the medina."
Or a watch battery, I conceded.
Still, I felt a small twinge of triumph, however tempered by a certain ambiguity about the identity of the thief. Kristi Ellingham, whose opinion could make or break the reputation of McClintoch Swain, had not yet emerged from her room, and at least one major stumbling block to a positive report on her part had been removed, in a fashion at least. Yes, it had cost a pretty penny to get the necklace back, but it was worth it, wasn't it?
3
H ASDRUBAL STRAIGHTENED FROM examining the body, and sighed. What had happened here? An accident surely, but how could that be? To such an experienced sailor as Abdelmelqart! The sea was choppy perhaps, but not dangerously so, the deck a little wet from the brief squall that had passed through, but not, he thought, sliding his foot tentatively across the surface, so slippery that someone as surefooted as this sailor would stumble. It was not possible!
But there to prove him wrong, Abdelmelqart lay, the life gone from him, eyes staring upward, as if fixed on some distant place, the dark plait of hair on the right side of his head now matted with blood. It was easy to see how he had died: a severe blow to the back of his skull. There was something wrong about it, though, the way the man lay, and Hasdrubal had a sense of a body disturbed, somehow, something missing, perhaps, from the way he usually saw the man. He would have to think about this when he was more able, when the shock of seeing him dead had passed a little.
"Did anyone see how this happened?" he asked the group of men crowded around the body. They all shook their heads.
"Hit his head, I expect," one of them, a man by the name of Mago, said.
"Obviously," Hasdrubal replied dryly. "But how?"
Mago shrugged. Hasdrubal didn't like Mago. He thought him untrustworthy. There was nothing in Mago's words with which to find fault, ever, but something about his attitude, the mild defiance that crossed his face whenever Hasdrubal gave him an order, the treachery in his eyes, bothered the captain. Mago might be telling the truth; then again, he might not. And was that not Abdelmelqart's silver pendant already hanging around Mago's neck? Ah, there it was, the missing object. He recognized the design, a solar disk set into a downward crescent. Abdelmelqart would not be without his talisman, just as he, Hasdrubal, would not set sail without his. Swift, that Mago. Swift and nasty.
Hasdrubal looked over at the others. "Anyone?" he demanded.
"We thought we heard a cry over the sound of the wind," replied Safat, a friend of Mago's and equally untrustworthy, although not as clever. On a mission such as this, one took on whatever crew one could. Even then, Hasdrubal would not have hired Mago and Safat, had the man who had commissioned the ship not insisted upon leaving immediately, making it impossible for the captain to round up his usual crew.
"But we didn't think anything of it. We thought it was a bird," a man named Malchus said, picking up the story from Safat. "But later, when dawn came, we found him lying there. We didn't see it happen."
Now there's another one, Hasdrubal thought. The man could hardly contain his glee at the sight of Abdelmelqart's body. Hadn't the two of them been rivals for the hand of the lovely Bodastart, and Abdelmelqart the lucky one? Now perhaps Malchus was thinking of expressing his condolences to the widow in person. Abdelmelqart had not been pleased to see Malchus aboard, but Hasdrubal had persuaded him that it was better to have him here than hanging about Qart Hadasht while Abdelmelqart was at sea.
The others were nodding now, in agreement. All but the young man, a boy really, who was going to sea for the first time. Hasdrubal had selected him for the voyage because he looked intelligent and observant. Now, though, the young man looked wary, and perhaps even frightened.
Hasdrubal dismissed the crew with a wave. "Back to your duties," he said. The men turned to go. "And Mago," he said, extending his open hand toward the man. "The pendant, please. For Abdelmelqart's widow." Mago gave him a look of pure hatred as he unclasped the pendant and hurled it at Hasdrubal.
The captain turned back to the body. He would be sorry to lose Abdelmelqart. He was a good man, cunning certainly, and useful when it came to negotiations with the locals in the various ports of call, but an honorable man when it came to dealing with his fellow citizens and sailors. And in such a silly, unnecessary accident, a moment's carelessness, perhaps, in an occupation that allowed few mistakes.
But what had he hit his head on? Surely there would be some blood that would show the point of impact. The ship's captain tentatively reached out and touched the gunwales near where the man had fallen. Nothing that he could see there. He turned to the cedar box. There was no sign of blood there either, but he ran his fingers along its edge. A splinter jabbed his hand, and he pulled it back abruptly.
He looked at the spot where the splinter had caught him. Could it be, he wondered, that someone had tried to pry open the box? He bent to study the wood. The marks were faint, but they were there. Some very slim instrument had been inserted between the lid and the box, and pressure exerted to force the lid up.
He turned back and bent over Abdelmelqart's body. His short-sword was not there. Perhaps he had forgotten to bring it with him, having had to leave his bed in the middle of the night. Unlikely, though, the captain thought. Abdelmelqart was very proud of that sword. He had purchased it from a mercenary soldier years earlier. It had cost him a silver drachm, he once told Hasdrubal. The mercenary could hardly refuse to sell it at that price. But Abdelmelqart had paid the man with a coin that he had stolen from him the night before. Abdelmelqart always laughed when he told that story, how he'd paid the man with his own money. Yes, Abdelmelqart was a crafty one, that much was certain. Had Mago stolen that, too? Probably not, the captain concluded. There had not been enough time before the others arrived to have hidden it. Unless . . .
He looked ahead to the sky, now red with dawn. Two men stood watching him, the stranger and Mago. Now he had two problems, Hasdrubal thought. The sky meant a storm, and a bad one at that. And there was something seriously amiss on his ship.