The bazaar looked nothing like what I had imagined. I had dreamed up palace-like constructions, glittering golden in the sunlight, where sultans and beautiful, veiled (and of course deplorably unfeminist!) women were carried around on litters by hordes of slaves.
The reality seemed to consist more of a labyrinth of small booths constructed from wood and striped cloth. There were no sultans to be seen anywhere. True, there were quite a lot of veiled women, but they weren't being carried around in litters, and to judge from the volume and vigour with which they argued with the red-faced merchants inside the stalls, they were considerably more forthright than I had expected.
And last, but certainly not least, there were camels. Dozens of them, even hundreds. And they were all extremely large, extremely loud and extremely smelly. I had my issues with animals at the best of times, but at least horses didn't stink like public privies or try to spit in your eye!
'Is it quite necessary to utilize these creatures?' Mr Ambrose asked Youssef, his eyes narrowed at the nearest camel in a derisive stare. The animal managed to return the look without blinking, which increased my already significant respect for the ugly beasts. 'I have observed their movements, and horses are considerably faster.'
'But horses wouldn't make it through the desert, Effendi. Do you see this?' Yousef pointed to the great hump on the camel's back. 'The animals use it to store water. That way they can travel for up to three weeks through the desert without drinking a single drop of water.'
'Hm.' Taking a yardstick out of his pocket, Mr Ambrose unfolded it and held it against the camel's hump. The creature gave him another contemptuous look that clearly said, 'My hump is bigger than your hump, you hairless monkey!'
Mr Ambrose nodded. 'I see. An efficient storage method. That is acceptable.' Snapping the yardstick together, he put it away again. 'Acquire forty of these creatures for our expedition. Here is the money.'
He handed Youssef a number of bank notes. The Egyptian's eyes widened. 'But... Effendi, this is no more than seven hundred pounds! That would make not even eighteen pounds for every camel!'
'And?'
The Egyptian almost seemed wounded. 'Effendi, a camel is not a cheap thing to buy. A good camel is a precious and rare creature. One of these prized companions costs at least twenty-five pounds!'
'Well, we are buying forty of them, aren't we? They should be easier to produce en masse, so I expect to receive a bulk discount!'
Youssef rung his hands. 'But... Effendi! These are not shirts or saucepans produced by machine! These are beautiful and gentle creatures, reared in years of care and–' He suddenly cut off when he saw Mr Ambrose's expression, or perhaps I should say expressive lack thereof. Hurriedly, he gave a bow. 'Yes, Effendi. Bulk discount, Effendi. Of course, I shall do my best.'
And he disappeared into the crowd, muttering in Arabic.
With the air of a suffering martyr giving away his life's blood, Mr Ambrose started distributing more banknotes among some of the other men and instructed them about what to buy and how much to pay for it. The list included everything from water to woollen cloaks.
'Woollen cloaks?' I asked, stepping nearer as the last man was dismissed, his task before him.
'It can get cold in the desert at night.'
'So you've been into the desert before?'
'Not this place.' He eyed one of the camels distrustfully. 'I've only been to decent deserts, where there were horses to ride, and the provisions were a lot cheaper.'
I was aching to ask, to squeeze out of him what information I could get about his mysterious past. Normally, he was as tightly closed as an oyster suffering from lockjaw, and I should have used this rare opportunity. But something else struck me that was of more immediate importance.
'You gave your men long lists of things to buy.'
'Yes.'
'But...' I hesitated for a moment. 'There was one thing that wasn't on your lists.'
'Oh, and what was that?'
'Weapons.' Glancing around at the rifles and knives visible at many of the booths, I lowered my voice in an unusual bout of caution. 'You told none of them to buy a single weapon.'
'That's right.'
I waited for more. Naturally, nothing came but blasted silence!
'Well, what about it?' I hissed.
'What about what?'
'Weapons! Shouldn't you have bought some, at least, if we're going after dangerous bandits?'
'No.'
'Oh, really? Do you intend to fight the bandits with your bare hands, then?'
'Certainly not. I intend them to fight them with the weapons we already have.'
I blinked. 'Excuse me?'
He nodded magnanimously. 'You are excused. You may leave and join Youssef over there, if you wish.'
'That's not what I meant by "excuse me", blast you!' I growled. 'I want to know what you mean, the weapons we already have. What weapons do you have, except your revolver?'
'Several hundred rifles, a hundred pistols, a wagonload of knives and daggers, and various... surprises.'
I stared at him, as if trying to find all of the above items hidden somewhere under his tailcoat. 'Where, in God's name?'
He cocked his head, giving me a look so full of cool arrogance it made me envy the camels' excellent aim with spit. 'I told you we had to stop by the ship before we embarked on our expedition, didn't I?'
Of course!
'Why bring the weapons from England?' I demanded, stepping closer and lowering my voice even farther. A man to my right was eyeing me in a speculative way I didn't much like. 'Why not just buy them here?'
He shrugged. 'People would get suspicious.'
'Of someone who wants to buy enough weaponry to outfit a small army? I'll say! But why didn't the people who provided you with these weapons back in England get suspicious?'
'When the owner of the weapons factory you work for asks for samples, most people don't suspect he wants to use them to shoot people.'
'Oh.' I threw him a look. 'Weapons, eh? Is there anything you don't own a factory for?'
He nodded. 'Yes.'
I waited. Nothing came. I wasn't going to be content with that! For once, he was semi-talking about himself. That was a chance that had to be exploited!
'Well?' I demanded.
'Well what?'
I glared at him. 'Well, what is it? What do you not own a factory for?'
He considered this for a moment. 'Potatoes,' he decided, finally.
'Potatoes are vegetables! They aren't produced in factories!'
'That would explain why I haven't got one.'
All right. Maybe I had been wrong about his being willing to talk. I chose not to dignify his last remark with a response. If I wanted to probe him further, better to wait until the desert sun had thawed him a little, if it was able to manage that.
'Since we are on the subject of purchases...' A muscle in his jaw twitched reluctantly, and he glanced at me.
Can it be...?
Mr Ambrose pulled two more banknotes out of his pocket and handed them to me.
Yes! Yes, a miracle!
'I suppose you cannot very well ride on a camel in a dress. Purchase something more appropriate to wear.'
My lips twitched. 'Appropriate being a synonym for cheap?'
'Keep up this level of insight, and you might just keep your job.'
Curtsying, I took the notes from him. 'Always a pleasure to spend your money, Sir.'
His eyes flashed. 'Or maybe you won't keep it after al–'
Before he could finish, I had whirled and vanished into the crowd, two bodyguards trailing after me and a wide grin on my face.
*~*~**~*~*
Slowly strolling down the row of booths, I eyed each one closely. Many sold some kind of article of clothing, but I didn't really see anything that screamed 'Me!'. Then again, I couldn't expect any pirate costumes or parasols with spikes at the end at an Egyptian bazaar, could I? Not at any kind of bazaar, truth be told.
Wandering away from the booths selling clothes, I ambled towards the ones displaying rows of knives and other glittering instruments of death and destruction. Now, those appealed far more to me than the thought of buying a pair of trousers. Mr Ambrose had said he had plenty of weapons already, but I wasn't sure whether I would be given one, considering the fact of my femaleness.
Hm... maybe if I showed up in a suitably masculine set of trousers, he would at least let me have a small knife...
'Miss Linton!'
At the sound of that voice, I whirled around even faster than my two bodyguards.
Crap, crap, crap! Not he! Not here! Not again!
But all my silent protests went in vain. There he was: Captain James Carter, tall, red-coated and just as handsome as usual – but not as well in control of himself. His face was deathly pale under his tan, and his mouth was standing open as he stared at me. What was the matter with him?
He took an involuntary step forward. 'Good God! Is it really you?'
I shook my head, pointing upwards. 'Sorry, no. He lives up there.'
'Bloody hell, it is you! Only you would think of making a joke at a time like this!'
Crossing the distance between us with a few long strides, he grabbed me roughly by the shoulders, his hands sliding over me as if to check whether I was really there. I twisted out of his grip. I mean to say! I'm not fastidious about things like this, but he didn't exactly exhibit the behaviour a lady could expect from a gentleman!
'Captain Carter! Control yourself!' Stepping away, I raised my parasol threateningly, somewhat taken aback. My thoughts were in disarray. Had I misjudged Captain Carter all this time? Was he, in fact, one of these sinister individuals you read about in papers who dragged innocent girls into dark alleys to slash their throats while laughing mad, cackling laughs? 'What is the matter with you?'
'With me? Me?' His eyes bulged. I took another step back, just in case he was going to start cackling madly. 'It's I who should be asking that! What happened to you? I came by the Hotel Luxor this morning to visit you, just in case you were still there–'
Oh crap.
'–and the place was a smoking ruin!'
'Um. Well.' All right, that might explain his slightly irrational behaviour. If I had been wondering the whole morning whether one of my friends had been torn to bloody bits in a bomb explosion, I'd be a tiny bit surprised to see them strolling down the market, too. 'I see.'
'I see? What's that supposed to mean?' Breathing hard, he stepped towards me again and grasped me by the shoulders, hard. This time, I didn't twist away. I couldn't. Gazing up into his brown eyes, normally so cheerful, I could see they were filled with genuine concern. Maybe even with something more. 'How on earth did you get out of there unharmed? And your grandmother...'
'She's fine. We're both perfectly fine.'
'How?' he demanded, his hands still clutching my shoulders too tightly. Strangely, I didn't mind.
Oh, it wasn't that hard. We were escorted out by three dozen guards in the employ of my pseudo-husband.
'Well...' My brain scrambled for the easiest lie. 'Um... we... we weren't there when it happened. We were out, shopping for... fans. You know, because the weather is so terribly hot here.'
'Thank the Lord!' He let out a breath of relief and moved to enfold me in his arms – then realized what he was doing, stepping back a step, a slight tinge of colour in his cheeks. 'My pardon, Miss Linton. I was overcome at the joy of seeing you well.'
'Err... I'm flattered.'
And also very, very, very glad he had remembered himself before actually hugging me. If he had come that close, I think I wouldn't just have been flattered, but he would have been flattened. My bodyguards were staring daggers at him already.
'So... you've found a safe place to stay, Miss Linton?'
'Yes, Captain. My grandmother and I are perfectly safe, thank you. We're staying at a nice little hotel near the Nile and I'm just out on another shopping trip.'
Captain Carter smiled – then his eyes fell on the products of the booth beside me, and his smile became a bit strained. 'Um... you are, are you?'
Lowering my gaze, I looked at the impressive array of curved daggers in front of me. Some had ivory handles, some ones made from wood. Some were just slightly curved, others shaped in a snake-like pattern. But all had two things in common: a wickedly sharp edge and a deadly point at the end.
Ooops...
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My Dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
I apologize from the bottom of my heart for the slight delay in posting this chapter! My internet connection has gone on strike once again, and has shown no signs of wanting to start working again so far. I managed to upload this chapter from a different computer. Hopefully, you all enjoyed it! :-)
Oh, and incidentally, I've got SPIFFING NEWS for you all! "In the Eye of the Storm", the second book in the this wonderfully Victorian series, is now available for preorder as an ebook on Smashwords.com. I will do my best to have it available through all other online shops as soon as possible, as well, and then I will right away begin to work on making the printed book available! Soon, you shall be able to get your hands on your very own personal copy of "In the Eye of the Storm"! :-)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob