‘What key? I don’t understand.’
‘The last words the admiral said to you before he died, what were they?’
‘I don’t know,’ she stuttered, ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Wrong answer,’ said Pasha and walked over to grab the old man by his hair, yanking it back to reveal his throat. ‘Enough time wasting, give me the key or say goodbye to your father.’
‘You do not understand,’ she said desperately. ‘I cannot tell you, it was in Greek and I forget the words.’
‘I do not believe you,’ said Pasha. ‘Why would he tell you in Greek?’
‘To avoid the likes of you finding out,’ rasped her father, his head still tilted back.
‘You served with him in the fleet,’ said Pasha. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you visited the Greek islands together. The message was for you, wasn’t it? You know the meaning of the message.’ He stared at both father and daughter in turn before trying a different tack. He lowered the knife and spoke in a more gentle tone.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘perhaps I have gone about this all wrong, but it has been a stressful day. Let’s start again. If we share our information, then we can all benefit from this.’
Suddenly Elmira’s father started coughing violently and Elmira ran forward, pushing Pasha to one side as she struggled to make him comfortable. He fell back on the bed, blood frothing from his mouth as his cancerous lungs struggled to supply adequate breath.
‘Elmira,’ he gasped, ‘listen, I think it is my time.’
‘Father, what are you saying?’ she asked. ‘Keep calm and catch your breath.’
‘No time,’ he gasped, ‘I am dying. I am sorry but the key to the map is not mine to give. I will take it to my grave.’ He started coughing violently again, blood now pouring from his mouth and he started choking as it clogged his airways.
‘Father no,’ cried Elmira, cradling his head, ‘don’t go,’ but as she sat, sobbing in the candlelight, Elmira’s father died in her arms.
Pasha stared in disbelief; this was all going wrong. The only person who knew the key to the map had just died before his eyes.
‘You stupid, stupid girl,’ he said eventually, when it was over. ‘All this could so easily have been avoided.’
She didn’t answer but sat quietly, cradling her father in her arms. Pasha decided to try one last time and approached her again, talking quietly.
‘Elmira, think carefully,’ he said. ‘It is not too late. If you can recall the words, you can use the money to build your father a memorial fit for a king.’
Elmira wiped her eyes and looked up.
‘I swear on the body of my dead father,’ she said through her tears, ‘I do not know the information you seek. Only he and God know the key.’
Pasha shook his head and stepped back.
‘You will never know how close you came to being rich beyond your wildest dreams,’ he said, and turned to leave the house, closely followed by the guard.
‘What now?’ asked the guard as they walked.
‘Now, we go back to the palace,’ said Pasha with a sigh.
‘And the girl?’
‘What about her?’
‘Do you want me to kill her?’ asked the guard.
Pasha considered for a moment before answering.
‘No,’ he sighed eventually, ‘there has been too much killing these past few days, and besides, I think she tells the truth. Leave her to her grief.’
Pasha climbed the hill back to the palace with an air of resignation. As far as he was concerned, the search for the treasures of Kemal Reis was over.
* * *
Far below, Elmira sat alone in her room, crying quietly as she held her dead father’s body. When the dawn finally came, she left the body and made her way to the doors of the carpenter.
‘Hello, Elmira,’ he said. ‘You arise early.’
‘It is my father,’ she said. ‘I am afraid he passed last night.’
‘Oh no,’ said the old man’s friend and hugged her to give comfort. ‘Have you told the holy man yet?’
‘No, I am on my way there now. I thought I would call around first. I need to purchase a coffin.’
‘No need,’ he said, ‘it has already been made.’
‘It has? I don’t understand.’
‘Your father had it commissioned last week. He knew his time was due.’
‘That was the business you discussed?’ she asked.
‘It was, amongst other things.’ He touched her hand gently. ‘He knew he was dying, Elmira, he just wanted to put his affairs in order, he was a proud man.’
‘Of course,’ said Elmira, sadly.
‘Look,’ said the carpenter, ‘you go back and make the arrangements, I will bring the holy man.’
She nodded silently and returned to the house, confused that the coffin had already been made. It was not like her father to be so organised.
* * *
Later that day, the funerary cortège made their way to the cemetery with the old man’s coffin, draped with a white sheet borne on the shoulders of his friends. It was customary to bury the dead within twenty-four hours and Elmira led the mourning women of the neighbourhood through the back lanes of Constantinople. Eventually they reached the cemetery and the holy man carried out the service over the coffin as it lay atop two trestles, alongside a freshly dug grave. When the words were done, the women left the cemetery and returned to the house of Elmira, to partake of fruit and bread in the old man’s memory.
As it was customary for the deceased to be buried in a shroud only, some of the men approached the coffin to remove the body.
‘Wait,’ said the carpenter, and stepped forward to speak to the holy man. ‘There is no need to remove him, he can be buried within the coffin.’ The men stared in mild surprise as it was usually only wealthy men who were interred within their caskets, and they knew Elmira’s father was not a rich man.
‘Are you sure?’ asked the holy man.
‘I am,’ said the carpenter. ‘It was his last request and he paid a good price.’
‘So be it,’ said the holy man and removed the sheet from the coffin.
The gravediggers walked forward and lowered the casket into the grave.
‘It is a beautiful lid,’ said one, ‘I have never seen one so exquisite.’
‘It seems a shame to bury it,’ said the second, ‘it could be sold many times over.’ They walked from the graveside and waited at a respectful distance as everyone paid their last respects. The carpenter finally stood alone, looking down into the grave at the white coffin below. It had cost the old man the last of his savings for this box and though it was expensive, he had been very explicit about the design he wanted on the lid. It had taken the carpenter six nights of carving to get it right and though he did not understand the meaning of the symbol, he had made every effort to meet the man’s strange request.
Elmira appeared again from an alleyway and joined the carpenter.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, as she approached.
‘Yes,’ she sighed, ‘I just thought I would say goodbye one last time.’
She took his arm and gazed down into the grave.
‘The casket remains,’ she said in surprise.
‘It was his wish,’ said the carpenter.
‘It is lovely,’ she said. ‘Did you carve it?’
‘I did, though I have no knowledge of the reason behind the symbol upon it.’
Elmira smiled as she realised the meaning. Even with his last breath her father had striven to protect her, yet had managed to tell her the location of the information needed to decode the map without Pasha understanding.
‘I will take the secret to the grave,’ he had said, and that was exactly what he had done. Whatever that information was, Elmira knew that it lay within the coffin, guarded by the body of her father.
‘Are you OK?’ asked the carpenter.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I believe he takes something with hi
m on his journey.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, it lies within the coffin.’
‘Do you want me to open the lid?’ he asked.
Elmira waited for a moment before sighing deeply.
‘No,’ she said finally. ‘Some things are better off buried. Let him rest in peace.’
The carpenter called the gravediggers over and as they filled in the grave, he escorted Elmira back to her house.
Chapter 9
Aswan International Airport 2011
India and Brandon stood alongside Rashid as they waited for the luggage to appear on the solitary working carousel. Brandon, who was dressed in cream slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, fanned himself with his straw sunhat, struggling in the intense heat of the afternoon. India was talking quietly to Rashid. Her ankle-length skirt and high-necked blouse were far too much for the heat but she had been advised by Rashid that it was the best way to keep a low profile. Brandon turned toward them.
‘Bloody hell, it’s hot,’ he said. ‘Shorts and T-shirt weather if you ask me.’
‘You know the score,’ said India. ‘We want to keep as low a profile as possible.’
‘What about those?’ asked Brandon, pointing out a family from Britain dressed as if they were going to a barbecue.
‘They show no respect,’ said Rashid. ‘Notice how everyone stares.’
Brandon looked and sure enough, the loud family seemed to be getting a lot of attention. An airport official walked over to give some friendly advice.
‘Will they be arrested?’ asked India.
‘I think not,’ said Rashid, ‘though they will probably be asked to don more suitable attire before leaving the airport.’
‘Is that cool?’ asked Brandon, indicating the white cotton thawb worn by Rashid.
‘Very,’ said Rashid. ‘Perhaps we should obtain one for you when we leave the airport.’
‘I don’t think so,’ smiled Brandon. ‘I am happy as I am.’ Just then the carousel started moving again. ‘Here we go,’ he said, ‘luggage time!’
* * *
Ten minutes later they stepped out into Aswan and Brandon gasped at the heat. The temperature in the airport was virtually chilly compared to the heat on the street.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Brandon as they walked toward the taxi.
‘Not that way,’ said Rashid. ‘Our journey lies in this direction.’ India and Brandon looked at him in confusion but India soon smiled as Rashid took them to a donkey-drawn cart.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ said Brandon.
‘Oh, come on, where’s your sense of romance?’ asked India.
‘I think it has melted,’ said Brandon sarcastically.
The driver stood down from the cart and greeted Rashid as an old friend.
‘Please,’ said Rashid, ‘put your cases on the back of the cart. This is my cousin and he will take us to where we have to go.’
‘But why a cart?’ asked Brandon. ‘There are perfectly good taxis outside the airport.’
‘There are reasons,’ said Rashid. ‘Taxi drivers are easily bought and have loose tongues. This way our trail only leads to the airport and if, as I suspect, our journey involves tasks that may be frowned upon by the authorities, it is important that we leave as little trail as possible.’
‘I think it’s quaint,’ said India and made her way to the back of the cart.
‘I think it’s prehistoric,’ said Brandon, before picking up his case to follow her.
* * *
The sun had set by the time the cart pulled up alongside the Nile and both Brandon and India fell silent as they took in the magnificent view. Across the slow-moving water, a luxury hotel had been built on an island and was illuminated by discreetly placed floodlights, lighting it up in breathtaking colours.
‘That is Isis Island,’ said Rashid, ‘and the building is the Hotel Pyramisa, with five stars.’
‘This is more like it,’ said Brandon. ‘I can almost taste the Jack Daniel’s as we speak.’
‘We will not be staying here,’ said Rashid. ‘Our destination, remember, is downriver at Kom-Ombo.’
‘Then why bring us here?’ asked Brandon, indicating the hotel.
‘A sad coincidence,’ smiled Rashid. ‘Our transportation to Kom-Ombo is also situated here. We will be travelling by boat.’
Brandon hesitated.
‘OK,’ he said slowly, ‘but these Nile boats are pretty luxurious these days, aren’t they?’
‘Many are,’ said Rashid, ‘but unfortunately, ours is not.’ He indicated a sailboat tucked in against the riverbank. ‘This is our method of transportation; it is comfortable, traditional but more importantly, discreet.’
‘A felucca!’ exclaimed India. ‘How wonderful.’
‘I knew you would think so,’ said Rashid. ‘Please, follow me.’ He led them down a set of worn steps and across a wooden quay to the side of a traditional sailing boat. A bearded man appeared from the single-storey cabin and greeted Rashid warmly.
‘This is Hakim,’ said Rashid, ‘the captain of this felucca. He will take us to Kom-Ombo.’
‘Can he be trusted?’ asked Brandon.
‘He can,’ said Rashid, ‘he is my cousin.’
‘Another one?’ said Brandon quietly, ‘how surprising.’
‘Brandon, shut up,’ said India. ‘Show some respect.’
They climbed aboard and made their way into the cabin area. India was ushered through to the front where a tiny room awaited her with a door that could be locked from the inside.
‘This is yours,’ said Rashid. ‘I would ask that when you are changing, you pull the curtains so as not to upset anybody passing on the bank or other feluccas.’
‘Of course,’ said India. ‘What about Brandon?’
‘He will sleep on deck with me,’ said Rashid.
‘Does he know?’ asked India with a smile.
‘No, not yet, but I am sure he will take the news with his usual grace.’ They both burst out laughing at the joke before Rashid left her to unpack.
‘I’m out here, right?’ asked Brandon as Rashid reappeared.
‘You are,’ said Rashid. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ sighed Brandon. ‘I have slept in worse places. What about bedding?’
‘Hakim will supply everything we need,’ said Rashid. ‘I think you will be pleasantly surprised.’
Brandon looked over at Hakim, who was busy casting off the ropes securing the boat to the quay.
‘Are we sailing overnight?’ asked Brandon.
‘No, it is too dangerous to sail the Nile in the dark; however, Hakim will take us a little further downstream to spend the hours of darkness. We do not want to be too near the city overnight, you understand.’
‘Thieves?’ asked Brandon.
‘Amongst other things,’ said Rashid. ‘Every city has its share of criminals, Mr Walker.’
‘Of course,’ said Brandon. ‘Look, show me where to put my stuff and perhaps we can start again. It’s been a long day.’
* * *
As it turned out, that evening and indeed the following two were amongst the most pleasant and relaxing Brandon and India had ever spent. At first they had moored alongside a tiny island in the middle of the river and despite the searing heat of the day, Hakim had to light a wood-fuelled brazier to fend off the chill of the night. They sat at the back of the boat as Hakim prepared an evening meal and despite the tiny cooker, soon brought several platters of the most delicious food either had ever tasted.
Hakim made a space at the back of the boat and laid out a circular rug and four cushions. At the centre of the rug he placed a large bowl of aromatic rice, surrounded by a ring of tiny bowls, each containing a different sauce. Finally, a tray of stuffed pigeons was added to the feast along with a pile of flatbread.
‘Wow,’ said India as she sat on her cushion, ‘this looks fabulous, and the smells are divine.’
Everyone ladled servings of ric
e onto their plates along with one of the pigeons and liberal amounts of sauce.
‘Diggers?’ asked Brandon, looking around for cutlery.
‘You use the bread for utensils,’ said India, ‘like this.’ She picked up a piece of bread and after folding it in half, scooped up some rice before placing it in her mouth. Her eyes said it all and Brandon looked on in amusement as sounds of pleasure floated around the boat.
‘Nice?’ he asked.
‘Gorgeous,’ mumbled India, through a mouthful of food.
Brandon followed her example and soon realised why she was so enamoured. The food was indeed wonderful. When they had finished, India offered to help clean up, but Hakim would have none of it. Instead he produced a bucket of ice containing bottles of chilled lager.
‘That was wonderful, Hakim,’ said India, ‘thank you so much. Rashid, can you tell him how grateful we are please?’
Rashid said something in Egyptian and Hakim grinned from ear to ear.
‘How does he do it?’ asked India. ‘It was as good as anything I have had in a hotel, if not better.’
‘It is his job,’ said Rashid. ‘Tourists tip much better for quality food and Hakim is one of the best guides in Aswan.’
The rest of the night passed quickly and soon India retired to the solitary cabin. Brandon yawned and Hakim disappeared for a moment before producing a modern sleeping bag.
‘Thank you,’ said Brandon and stretched out along the padded seat on one side of the boat. Rashid and Hakim both wrapped themselves in a blanket and lay in the bottom. The night was silent and within minutes, Brandon was rocked to sleep by the gentle movement of this enormous, yet mysterious river.
* * *
The following day passed serenely as the felucca glided before the gentle wind. Hakim regaled them with tales of wonder as they passed ruins from a time thousands of years earlier. Naked children played at the water’s edge, leaping acrobatically from leafless trees before swimming out to hang excitedly on the sides of passing boats.
The Treasures of Suleiman Page 9
