But the Effendi would see for himself if he stayed on. For the caravan was due to arrive the following week.
‘Ah!’ said Owen. ‘And Clarke Effendi with it?’
‘Most certainly! For he likes to keep an eye on all things.’
‘And does he sometimes come to Denderah on other occasions?’
‘As the time for the great caravan nears, he will come over on several occasions, to make sure that the suppliers of gum arabic are coming in as expected.’
‘Has he been recently?’
‘Oh, yes. And then he had been angry because he had thought that not enough had come in, and he had sent men to chide the suppliers. With some result, for the bales are now coming in thick and fast. Effendi, you will no doubt have seen how they are piling up at the station.’
‘And does the caravan sometimes bring things besides trocchee shells?’
‘Oh, yes, Effendi! This is the main caravan of the year, now that the huge pilgrim caravans of the past are dwindling in importance with the coming of the trains. Many ordinary people wish to send things from east to west, or from west to east, and not trusting the new postal system, will make use of it.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Things for the bazaars, Effendi. Or presents to the family.’
‘Bride boxes?’ suggested Owen.
‘Oh, no! Effendi!’ said Babikr, shocked. And knowing perfectly well what Owen was thinking.
Owen found Mustapha sitting in his small yard, his work things spread out on the ground around him. A half-finished basket was held between his knees. Some reeds ready for threading were stuck between his toes. He looked up listlessly as Owen came into the yard.
‘Effendi!’
‘Mustapha,’ said Owen, squatting down beside him, ‘I need you to tell me more.’
‘I have told you all, Effendi,’ said the basket maker.
‘Not quite all. Tell me about the slaver.’
Mustapha shrugged. ‘What is there to tell? He was a slaver. That is all.’
‘How did you come upon him?’
‘People said that he was in the neighbourhood.’
‘He was a Sudani. Did you go to him because he was a Sudani?’
‘Why should I go to him because he was a Sudani?’
‘Was not your wife a Sudani?’
‘I did not go to him because of that.’
‘No?’
‘I thought it might help,’ said Mustapha, after a moment.
‘Tell me about her. How came it that you met her? The Sudan is far from here.’
‘She came back with the Pasha when he brought his new wife. She brought servants and Hoseina was one of them. After a time she sought a husband. I had a friend who knew someone in the Pasha’s household and he spoke for me. I was doing well then. I promised to be a man of substance.’
‘How comes it that you did not become a man of substance?’
‘Children,’ said Mustapha bitterly.
‘You had too many?’
‘I could not provide for them. And they came too quickly for Hoseina. She ailed and could not manage the house. But still they came. It broke her down. And I could not provide.’
‘Did you not speak to the Pasha’s lady and ask for help?’
‘I did, and at first she helped us. But then she had troubles of her own and forgot about us.’
‘I wondered if perhaps the reason she took Soraya on to help in her house was that she remembered your wife?’
‘In part, yes. But it did not work out. She came home again and I thought that was the end of it. So when the slaver came … when the slaver came and said there was a man who had his eye on Soraya, my heart rejoiced. He said he would arrange it all. He did not speak of her as a slave, Effendi, but as … more than that.’
‘A concubine?’
‘Well, perhaps to start with. But it might grow, Effendi. These things have happened, I have known of them happening. And I thought it might be so with Soraya. She was not ill-favoured. The slaver himself said that. He said that affection might grow in the man’s heart, and then, who knew? He said the man had already noticed her, the seeds were already there. He spoke of it as a likely thing. More than likely; almost a certain thing. And I … I believed him, Effendi. I was a fool, yes I know, but I did not wish her harm, Effendi. She was my daughter, after all. But there were difficulties in the house, and besides, money was promised …’
‘Was money given?’
‘A little, Effendi, a little. But more was promised. And, besides, Effendi …’
‘Yes?’
‘The slaver spoke of it as a done thing. I thought of it as a done thing. And so I asked him if I should send the bride box with her, and when he laughed and said, “Why not?” I believed it to be certain.’
He shook his head.
‘I still cannot believe it, Effendi. Why should he kill her? As he himself said, she was a beautiful girl who would surely fetch a good bride price. So why kill her, Effendi? That is what I cannot understand.’
‘Tell me more about the slaver, Abdulla Sardawi. Where does he come from?’
‘Suakin.’
‘Suakin? The Dead City? Is that likely?’
‘Not many live there, Effendi, but he does.’
‘So that he may more easily slip his slaves across the sea?’
‘So they say, Effendi.’
‘I hope you are telling me truly. If so it may go some way towards reducing the punishment that awaits you. But if not, expect the punishment to be heavier.’
‘I have told you truly, Effendi. I tell you not because of the punishment. Let it fall upon me; I have deserved it. I tell it for Soraya. I tell it for the daughter who was once mine.’
Owen went back to the railway station. Mahmoud and the clerk were not yet back and the clerk’s brother was still standing as substitute.
‘Babikr …’
‘Effendi?’
‘Can you send a cable?’
‘I can, Effendi. I am a master of all the arts.’
‘Good. Well, send this one, then. It is to the Sudan.’
‘There will be no difficulty, Effendi. It will go straight to Khartoum.’
‘I wish it to go to the Slavery Bureau.’
The clerk’s brother handed him a pad. ‘Write your message there, Effendi, and I will send it at once. Within the moment.’
Owen took the pad and wrote:
Request assistance. Slaver active in Upper Egypt area. Believed based in Suakin. Possibly returning there with child slaves. Name Sardawi, Abdulla Sardawi.
The Mamur Zapt.
A long line of camels had just come in and were unloading their bales beside the rail tracks. The stacks of gum arabic had suddenly grown, and in the town itself there were more people. Many of them were from the desert and they wandered around the shops, not buying but looking at the wares. The space behind the station was filling up. After depositing their loads the camels had moved on to the square and were tearing at the forage thrown down on the ground for them to eat. Beside them sat their drivers, sometimes around a brazier, drinking tea. They were a different kind of Arab from the ones seen in the town, thin, wiry, with short galabeyas showing knees burned almost black by the sun. Some of them had great masses of fuzzy hair. These were Kipling’s ‘Fuzzy-Wuzzies’ and they came from the other side of the Sudan, near the coast, from the Red Sea Hills. They often had short stabbing spears. One or two merchants were already setting up stalls in anticipation of the caravan’s arrival.
Seeing the shoppers reminded Owen that he would be returning to Cairo the next day — he had already spent far too long away from his desk — and he ought to take something back for Zeinab. And also for Leila. He mustn’t forget about her!
But what? He had never bought for a child before and had no idea of what to buy. A toy of some kind? But they didn’t seem to have toys in the shops here. In Cairo it would have been no problem, but here …
Clothes? He would do a lot better in Cairo, where he would be able to draw on other people’s expertise. Zeinab, perhaps, was not the world’s expert on anything for children, but Georgiades’s Rosa was sure to have a sharp eye for these things. Nikos, of course, would be a dead loss.