In the Eye of the Storm

24. Cultural Differences

Deadly daggers! How wonderfully feminine. Quickly, my gaze darted around to the other booths, looking for a suitable product for a lady to buy. What I found were several dozen muskets, about ten rifles, one with a suspicious-looking dark red stain on the barrel, and hundreds more daggers and sabres.

'Ehem... well... Dear me. A minute ago I was looking at perfumes and handkerchiefs. I must have lost my way a bit.'

That excuse is really wearing a bit thin. Why don't you think of something new, for a change?

'Should I escort you back to the hotel again?' Captain Carter offered, his eyes returning to my face and staying there, the weapons forgotten.

'That will not be necessary,' a thickly accented voice said from behind me. I winced. Captain Carter's eyes flicked to the man who had spoken. For the first time, he seemed to notice the two large Arabs with their curved sabres, standing behind me like bodyguards. Which was, after all, exactly what they were.

'And who are you, pray?' he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

'They're men my grandmother hired to protect me,' I hurriedly constructed another ramshackle lie. 'She, um... knows a few people whom nobody wants to cross.'

'Your grandmother?' The captain's eyebrows shot up, no doubt thinking of the deaf little old lady he had met a few days ago. He eyed the bulks of my dark-skinned bodyguards again. 'Um... an impressive old lady. I wouldn't have thought she'd have it in her.'

'She has hidden depths,' I assured him solemnly. 'And very powerful contacts. There's not a man in Alexandria who would dare to bring her wrath down on him.'

He eyed the bodyguards again. 'I can readily believe that. At any rate, I'm glad to hear that you're both well.'

'Indeed we are.'

'So... do you know what it was all about? The explosion and the fighting at the Luxor, I mean. Do you have any idea who was behind it?'

Oh yes, certainly. Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, Peer of the Realm of Great Britain and Ireland, Member of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, resident at East India House, Leadenhall Street, London. It's wonderful to have all-powerful enemies, isn't it?

'None at all, I'm afraid, Captain.'

'Strange... very strange...' For a moment, he looked troubled, thoughtfully stroking the speck of beard on his chin. Then he shrugged. 'Well, as long as you are unharmed – that is all that matters.'

'Yes.' Inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. The difficult part of the conversation seemed to be over. 'Enough about boring old me, Captain. How are things going with you? Was the man you were going to question as informative as you hoped?'

Regretfully, he shook his head. 'Unfortunately, no. I don't know what was the matter with him. When I arrived at Dark Nights of Delight, he was red in the face and shouting at his subordinates at the top of his voice about some fellow named Thomson. When I tried to approach him about the subject of the bandits, he cursed at me and ordered his men to chase me out of the building.'

I coughed delicately. 'Fancy that.'

'I imagine someone must have angered him for some reason, just before I arrived – maybe this Thomson. In any case, he wasn't very informative and, for some reason, neither were the other informants I have been able to find. They all seemed a little on edge.'

Probably a residue left over from our visit a day or two earlier.

'Strange. Very strange indeed.'