Looking between buildings and up and down the streets, they saw yellow dunes in the distance. Yas found herself squinting, and immediately pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes. Sam looked at her, struggling with the intensity of the light and wishing he had his sunglasses with him.
The street was constructed from baked mud and covered with wisps of sand that snaked around in the light breeze, collecting in corners. With the bright sunshine, the market in the square in front of them was a blaze of colour and sound. Many stalls had brightly coloured items for sale, twinkling in the sunshine. Some were selling clothes, Egyptian cotton. Others were offering edible produce although Yas wondered how long that lasted in the glaring sun. Still others had golden coloured ornaments arranged on their stalls, presumably obtained from travelling the ancient trade routes. Stall owners were shouting, advertising their businesses above the background of people talking, chariots moving and animals complaining about the heat. The air carried the scents of perfume, incense and spiced cooked food. It distracted Yas and Sam from the dry heat.
“A trading port,” Yas said, more to herself than to Sam. She marvelled at the scene in front of them. It was something she had read in the books back at the library, but it felt like they had stepped onto a movie set. She half expected to see film men, camera crews and a director in more modern-day clothing.
Surprisingly, their presence seemed to attract no attention whatsoever. People in the scene moved about them and ethereal readers also appeared and disappeared. Yas wondered what stories were playing out here.
They both looked behind them. The glowing outline of the doorway hovered behind them, containing a watery bubble which showed the familiar colours of the library. They looked immediately to the left and right to make sure they knew where they needed to head back to.
“Okay, two doors either side of the passage,” said Sam as he looked behind him, then turned back. He pointed ahead of them. “And a tall building behind that corner.”
“The lighthouse of Alexandria,” mused Yas.
“Wow,” said Sam, realising the significance. “Yes, of course. It has to be.”
“One of the ancient wonders of the world,” Yas delighted in telling him.
“True,” replied Sam, looking about cautiously. “No obvious sign of any others here. Not yet anyway. Where d’you think the library might be?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Yas honestly. She realised that they were not prepared at all for their journey. They badly needed a map or a guide.
“Come on,” said Sam, stepping forward and motioning to her to join him. “Let’s look around, then.”
They moved away from the portal and Yas glanced backwards. The glowing outline faded, and she noticed that her pendant cooled under her T-shirt. She trusted that, as in Victorian London, the portal would re-appear when they were close to it again.
As they moved away from the edge of the square, the light seemed to become more intense. They weaved in and out of other actors and ethereal readers.
“Do you think there’s a sunglass stall or something?” asked Sam, shielding his eyes with one hand.
“I doubt it,” she replied. She noticed other women had scarves covering their heads. She wasn’t sure if this was a local custom or just that it provided protection from the sun’s rays, but it made her feel conspicuous.
She moved closer to the market stalls to provide cover and together they made their way along them, weaving in and out of other market goers. The sounds and smells grabbed their attention. Yas started to feel a little less exposed and stopped to browse at a stall selling colourful silk and cotton scarves. It looked just the opportunity to blend in more.
“What are we doing?” whispered Sam, not understanding the reason for stopping.
“Just shopping,” replied Yas, as she admired the colours and felt the softness of the fabric.
Almost immediately, she attracted the attention of the stall holder, who wandered over to where she was.
“And what is madam looking for today,” he asked in an accent that Yas assumed to be representative of the region. She could not immediately place it.
“Oh, hi, I’m just browsing.”
“As you wish,” said the man, raising his right arm and making an overly showy bow. He backed away.
“Sam, what do you think of this one?” she asked, picking one up to show him.
Sam was nonchalantly looking around and didn’t hear her.
“Sam!” she called a little louder.
He looked at her suddenly. She motioned for him to come over.
“What?” he said, a little testily.
“Look at this scarf,” she said. Then quietly, she continued, “Someone on the other side of the market is looking at us.”
Yas noticed Sam try to look around. He wasn’t being very subtle about it.
“Just look at the scarf,” she continued. “I’m keeping an eye on them.”
Sam looked down at the scarf and nodded. “Its very...” he clearly was looking for some words to describe it, “...blue.”
Yas looked at him, disparagingly. “Really? That’s all you’ve got? Son of a policeman, eh?”
“What?” Sam protested, shrugging his shoulders.
“The person’s moved off,” said Yas. “I think I can still see them.”
“Ok,” said Sam, as they started walking along close to other stalls. He leaned in closer and asked, “Who am I looking for?”
“A woman, I think,” replied Yas. “Orange head scarf. I saw her take a few glimpses at us.”
“So?”
“Well, we don’t exactly blend in here.” Then she gestured quickly around her to other people. “And no one else seems to be giving us a second thought.”
“True,” agreed Sam.
They moved past a stall selling produce, and another selling fragrant spices. Yas kept glancing through gaps, subtly.
“I don’t see her,” said Sam as they walked past a wide stall selling ornaments and wares.
“Neither do I.” Yas glanced around her to see if perhaps she had missed the lady turn off somewhere.
A little way ahead of them, there was a groan of a camel as it stood up. Another camel behind it did likewise. The local taxis were about to set off across their path, so Yas and Sam turned to the right and weaved their way past a group of people buying wine. A seller was hunched over a barrel using a large ladle to pour out liquid into smaller earthenware pots that customers were asking him to fill. It was a fascinating process to watch.
“That’s cool,” remarked Sam, also distracted by the seller.
“Follow me,” said a female suddenly behind them. They were both startled and looked around to see who it was.
“Come,” she said. A lady wearing a bright orange head scarf walked past them and then, without glancing back, turned to the left.
Sam looked at Yas questioningly. “That’s her?” he asked.
Yas nodded. She was certain. “Let’s follow.”
“Really?” Sam asked. “It could be a trap!”
“It’s the best lead we have right now.”
“True. Let’s just be careful though.”
Yas nodded in agreement.
Shuffling along in a full-length dress, the lady moved quite quickly. They sped up to try to keep up with her. She dodged out of sight around a large produce stall, and then they had a glimpse for a moment as she turned to the right and up one of the narrow streets and away from the square. They followed.
“I think there was someone else watching us,” said Sam.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Someone in a hood, behind us and further down the street. I caught a glimpse just before the lady appeared.”
Yas knew she shouldn’t look, but she glimpsed back down the street.
“I don’t see anyone,” she said.
Sam also glimpsed backwards.
“They’re gone now.”
“Who do you think it was?”
“I
don’t know. Maybe one of the others that Wesley mentioned?”
“Oh.” It gave Yas a shiver down her spine. She’d forgotten about whoever these others might be. “What did they look like?”
“I didn’t get enough of a look” replied Sam. “Just a hooded figure.”
The street wound its way ahead of them, and up a slight rise. They followed the street up the hill, keeping the lady in sight. She continued, not glancing back once. Yas wondered if the lady really knew whether they were still following or not.
The street was a little quieter than the square, but there were still people going about their business. Most were walking in the other direction. No-one was paying the two of them any attention.
They passed small shops along the side of the street. They saw beautiful coloured and woven rugs, someone sitting on one at the front of a store, with ethereal readers looking on. It made Yas think of flying carpets and related stories that may be playing out here. There were also other shops selling house wares and jewellery.
They reached the crest of the hill and noticed that the lady had stopped at a door on the left-hand side of the street. It was in a relatively non-descript building and matched the style of others on the street. The door had two sides, each of which could be opened inwards. The lady paused and then opened one of the doors and disappeared inside.
“Doesn’t look much like a library,” observed Sam, as they approached the door.
“I agree,” replied Yas.
“Do you think we should...” Sam paused, thinking about warnings of following strangers into buildings, “...you know, go inside?”
“Yes,” Yas said, surprising herself with how certain she felt about this. She chanced a look around them. Having satisfied herself that no one was watching, they pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Hello?” Yas called out. They were standing on a stone floor. Dust particles danced in the light of the doorway, but where the light stopped, the rest of the room was dim. They stepped more inside, and out of the light, allowing their eyes to grow more accustomed to the dark. As they did so, they could see individual spots of golden light, emanating from lamps at different heights.
The shop or museum, Yas was not sure which, was a little wider than its outside dimensions suggested. The doorway was positioned in the centre of a room that contained display shelves, and pieces of furniture. These were all well presented and arranged so that people could browse but there seemed to be little functional organisation. Some items stood on their own, such as sideboards, that in turn provided a shelf for wooden bowls and fine china. Other more precious items were in display cases, such as jewellery and ancient weapons. The collection felt more representative of the orient, rather than the middle east. Yas figured that this was probably related to the trade routes and she marvelled at the distance that some of these items must have travelled.
They took a couple of steps inside to get a better view, closing the door a little behind them, so that their eyes could further adjust. They left the door open a little in case they needed to make a hasty exit.
“Hello?” called Yas again.
Again, there was no answer.
Gathering their courage, they stepped further into the room. As their eyes further adjusted, they were able to see the back wall some thirty feet away. Like that of a library, it was covered by floor to ceiling books with a ladder, the only break being on the right-hand side of the wall where there was a partially open curtain.
The door swung closed behind them and clicked, making them jump in surprise. Yas stepped closer to Sam and they looked at each other, wondering what to do next.
The shop was quiet. There was something familiar about the smell and stillness for Yas. It took her a moment to realise that it reminded her of being in her grandfather’s sitting room.
Seeing no immediate threat, they ventured away from the entrance, and began to look at the items in the display cabinets. There was a case filled with small trinkets, glass amulets and pendants, each with different symbols. Sam wandered over to another case which contained different historical weapons.
For Yas, what fascinated her was the simplicity of many of the items she looked at. Bowls, chinaware and eating utensils that could have come from anyone’s home. The decoration however, made these intriguing. Each seemed to tell its own story. There were ribbons of symbols running around edges, framing pictures of people working on farms, in battle or taking part in a ceremony. Some of the designs seemed familiar, almost identical to the square on her pendant. She found the place fascinating.
“What do you suppose this place is?” Sam whispered loudly over his shoulder.
“I don’t know,” replied Yas. “A museum maybe? McVale mentioned that the British Museum in London had originally housed the library. Maybe this is the library?” she suggested, gesturing to the back wall.
They heard a rustling noise from the back, and a voice, muttering.
They stopped. Yas called out again. “Hello?”
The lady became visible at the curtain. Gone was the headscarf, and now they could see that she was of eastern descent and appeared dressed in traditional white clothing. The full-length gown was part coat, part dress and she shuffled around quietly in soft shoes, which strangely bore no evidence of the dirt from outside.
“Welcome,” she said.
“Thanks?” replied Sam and Yas, uncertainly.
Yas was unsure where to start. “You asked us here?”
“Let me take a look at you,” the lady said, walking towards them. Apart from the movement of the fabric, she made no other discernable noise as she covered the distance from the curtain to where they were standing. She looked to be elderly, had a calm face and a half smile. She was about the same height as Yas, a little shorter than Sam.
“Questions,” she said matter-of-factly, looking each of them up and down. She muttered to herself with mms and wordless sounds.
“Hmm. Yes. We should be able to answer some of these. Come. Come,” she signalled.
She turned and took a few steps back towards the corner she had come from.
Yas and Sam looked at each other as if to ask what their next move should be.
“We?” asked Sam.
She stopped and half turned, the same half smile and gentle expression on her face. “Yes… we.” There was no further information forthcoming so Sam felt he should try another tack.
“You say we have questions?”
“Yes, see?” she replied a little whimsically. Then, waving her hands as if to beckon them, “Come. Come. We must have tea. Questions become answers with tea.”
Yas felt as though this was all some magical riddle, like characters she remembered from childhood stories. Strangely, it all felt homely. It didn’t worry her at all. Tea seemed welcome. She wanted answers and had several questions in her mind. She was intrigued by the mystical element that was at play here. For a moment, the urgency of finding McVale and Sam’s dad lessened. She briefly worried if this was all some elaborate trap.
The lady shuffled off again towards the back room, walking down the right-hand side of the store. She went past a glass desk on which Yas might have expected a cash register, but there was no discernable means of taking payment.
Social expectations kicked in within Yas’s mind. They were in some stranger’s shop and she didn’t know how this worked. Were they expected to pay? What currency was valid here?
“Err, how much is the tea?” enquired Yas as they followed her to the back.
The lady waved a hand in dismissal and continued to the back of the shop. Yas took that to mean that payment was of no concern. Her skeptical mind added, ‘at least not yet.’
The back wall was an assortment of books that looked completely alien to Yas. They were old but bound. Many of the books had symbols which Yas could not place. She was not a linguist but knew that the symbols did not match modern day languages that she knew about. It was puzzling.
Yas stopped, figuring that the b
ookcase was where the lady was leading them to. She hoped that they would be invited to browse so that she could satisfy her curiosity. Instead though, the lady waited by the wall for them to reach her, then smiled, turned and held open the curtain for them.
They stepped through, followed by the lady, into a back room that was set out for a traditional eastern tea ceremony. A low small table sat on the floor, with four cushions around it, two on each side. Plain, dark, umber orange and partially transparent curtains hung on each wall, providing a cozy warm feeling. It also mimicked the feel of wooden screens that Yas had seen in traditional Asian buildings. There was light moving behind the curtains, as if the screens were exterior walls. Given that they were in the back of the building, that didn’t make sense to Yas. Her list of things that didn’t make sense was growing and she was starting to wonder at what point questions would turn to answers.
“Please” gestured the lady to the cushions. “Sit”.
Sam and Yas took up two cushions next to each other, their backs to the door they had come through.
The lady shuffled over to the wooden sideboard behind them, on the top of which sat a bamboo tray, teapot and four cups. She picked it up and brought it over to the small table. Then she shuffled in front of one of the remaining cushions and sat down, gracefully arranging her clothing as she did so. She poured the tea, Yas and Sam first, then her and one other cup.
Sam asked about the fourth cup on the tray. “Who else is joining us?”
“More questions,” replied the lady, smiling simply and picking up the tea. She held it close to her lips and gestured for each of them to do the same.
“Please, drink. He will be here soon.”
Yas and Sam exchanged puzzled glances, then in the interests of being polite to their host, picked up their cups carefully. They raised them to their lips and blew, watching the lady who was doing the same. The tea smelled of jasmine, so that gave Yas some comfort but she wondered what she was letting herself in for. She felt she should observe the ritual their hostess seemed intent to offer them.
“Any milk?” asked Sam cheekily. “I only drink tea with…”
The Word Guardians: and the Battle for the Peacekeepers Page 11
