Onsi inhaled in excitement. “You’ve been reading some of the recent Coptic philosophers’ applications of Thomas Aquinas’s studies of being to al-Jahiz’s writings on the djinn!” he exclaimed.
Abla merely wriggled her fingers. “I’ve dabbled. Here’s what I think. That spirit was just a formless being minding its own business. Then, it encountered men. And they decided to make it this beautiful woman or this monstrous crone, because that’s the only way many men can even view women. Maybe they were looking for a way to explain why their wives died in childbirth, or why infants died in their blankets. Maybe they were just afraid of old women. So, they made up this al, conjured it up as a woman, and blamed it on her!”
Hamed’s head was spinning. That people—men, at that—were responsible for some child-stealing spirit boggled the mind. But Abla appeared thoroughly convinced by her reasoning.
“A fascinating theory!” Onsi commended.
“Except,” Hamed put in, “if what you say is possible, women could have thought up the al just as easily.”
Abla shook her head sternly. “No woman would ever think up something so ridiculous.”
Hamed gave up. This was not an argument he was going to win. “Well, however the al that is haunting Tram Car 015 came about,” he said, changing topics, “we still need to find a way to get it out of there.”
Their research had come across quite a few ways, each one more inventive than the last. There were the usual preventives: incense burning and amulets. Remnants of the old religions prescribed charms and spells. Both Muslims and Christians had particular verses to protect pregnant women and newborns in regions where alk were feared. More extreme cases called for hanging the entrails of animals outside the home, to confuse the spirit into taking that bloody offering instead. Getting rid of an al was harder work.
In parts of the Persian countryside, farmers claimed a man had to grab an al by the nose and hold it until it returned the stolen baby—and the mother’s organs. Tajiks maintained that certain pungent herbs found in their homeland, when properly burned, chased away an al. Some Pashtuns held that the trick was fire—and that flames would drive an al fleeing from homes and holy places. None of those was particularly appealing, especially the idea of grabbing that thing’s nose or setting the tram on fire. There was one remedy, however, that they encountered repeatedly.
“Iron,” Hamed stated, after he’d gone through the list. “In many stories, iron is used to exorcize an al.”
“In Khorasan, villagers place iron objects under the pillow or bed of pregnant women,” Onsi related. “And they might tie a small bit of iron, like a needle, around a baby’s neck.”
“Some Pashtun tales claim a man must threaten an al with an iron shovel to drive it off,” Hamed added. “Stories throughout the Caucuses instruct people in remote regions to place a knife, scissor, farming tool—anything iron—at the top of doors or the bottom of chimneys to keep an al out.”
“Auntie Mariam told you iron was used to dispel alk in Armenia,” Abla said, catching on.
“Precisely,” Hamed said. “We figure since this spirit seems to come from Armenia, best to use an Armenian practice.”
“Makes sense,” she nodded approvingly, before her eyes lit up. “Wait here!”
Jumping up from her chair she disappeared into a back room, almost running in her brown boots. She returned shortly, grinning wide and holding a small black object in her right hand. A dagger, Hamed realized in surprise.
“Something iron,” she said. With a dazzling flourish, she twirled the blade nimbly between her fingers and offered it to Hamed hilt first. His eyebrows climbed at the display, and not for the first time he wondered exactly who Abla—or, perhaps, Siti—truly was.
“You have my thanks,” he said, accepting the dagger. “Though the way you spoke before, I thought you might not want us to exorcize the spirit.”
Her grin vanished, replaced with a fierce look that made her dark eyes glitter. “It eats babies,” she all but growled. “Cute, fat, innocent little babies. Who does that? To hell with that monster. Put it down!”
Hamed dipped his head solemnly, feeling as if he were accepting a command and not a request. “We still have one problem,” he said as she sat again. “The spirit is on to us, we think. It only showed itself to Sheikha Nadiyaa because it knew there were women about. The previous attack it carried out was also on a woman. It chases men off, but it won’t take form for us. What would be ideal is a pregnant woman to draw it out.”
“I hope the two of you have realized that no woman with child would be fool enough to be used as bait for a murderous spirit,” Abla replied. “She’d probably send all her brothers and relatives after you for even suggesting it.”
“We have,” Hamed assured her. “And we’d never do such a thing.” Onsi and he had discussed the matter on the way back to the restaurant. They’d agreed not to put any more civilians knowingly in harm’s way. There were women agents at the Ministry—but those were very few in number. The only one in Cairo, as far as he knew, didn’t even wear dresses. Besides, this was their case, he thought firmly. It was up to them to see it through.
“I’ve been thinking on that problem,” Onsi said, wiping his fingers from some powdered pastries. “I think there may be a way to draw out the spirit by tricking it.” He paused, his round face going a bit hesitant. “Do you remember I told you that back at Oxford, I was in the Dramatic Society and played Katherina in The Taming of the Shrew? Well, it was generally agreed that I was quite good.”
As Onsi put forth his plan, Hamed groaned. Abla, on the other hand, could barely contain her squeals of delight.
CHAPTER SIX
That next morning, Ramses Station was abuzz with activity. People had been pouring into the transportation hub since dawn, coming in by tram from throughout Cairo and on airships from all over the country. They were overwhelmingly women: young and old, Copts and Muslims, in trendy urban styles or the more traditional dress, in factory-worker smocks and nurse’s uniforms, in school outfits and professional government attire. They came with placards and banners naming their towns and villages and cities, chanting, clapping and singing as they joined the swelling crowds. Signs calling for the vote were everywhere, many with images of activists and even a few with the queen. A sprawling flag bearing the Janus-faced Hatshepsut symbol of the Egyptian Feminist Sisterhood hung from an upper railing beside another bearing the words THE WOMEN OF ’79 LIVE ON! The atmosphere was nothing less than electric as everyone waited at this historic spot to hear parliament’s decision on granting the greatest right to the majority of Egypt’s populace.
Hamed fidgeted with the veil covering his face as he and Onsi walked across the floor of Ramses Station. When he had agreed to the younger man’s plan, he had hoped that they would simply don gallabiyahs, still worn in public by men and women in more rural areas. But Abla had insisted that wouldn’t do and managed to find an all-night tailor in the Khan who could have something done in hours. The man had been as good as his word, fitting and preparing dresses for them to pick up by morning. For such short notice, the garments were decidedly fancy—all white and fashioned in the mix of Parisian and Egyptian styles popular among upper-class Cairene women, with matching round hats covered in semi-sheer veils that wrapped their faces in small clouds.
Despite his discomfort, Hamed had to admit Onsi’s logic had been sound. The spirit would only appear to women. So if they were going to draw it out themselves, they needed to be seen as women. It was commonly known that spirits had a peculiar tunnel-vision when it came to such things. Dress an inanimate object as a person, and they took it for just that. Leave out some rocks instead of food, and they’d try to devour them. For many spirits, perception was reality. Thus, it only stood to reason that this al would take them for what it sought, if they looked the part.
That was easier said than done.
For about the third time, Hamed nearly stumbled in the short white heels that matched his long d
ress. How modern women got about in these things he couldn’t possibly figure out. What made it worse were the extra pounds he carried—a great deal of stuffing that made his stomach bulge out to mimic a woman with child. Onsi had sought to make them play their parts perfectly, going as far as to weigh down the cushioned prosthesis with dense material. It made for a heavy load to bear.
“You have to keep your feet spread apart!” Onsi instructed, sidling up to him. He spoke loudly to be heard above the noisy crowds. “Imagine that you’re a penguin and do like so.” His legs took on a waddling quality and he seemed to move with ease, his stuffed belly protruding before him.
It was probably easier when you had nine sisters, Hamed grumbled silently. But he mimicked the walk and it did indeed make it somewhat more bearable. By the time they’d made it to the lift he had already grown weary. The trip up to the aerial tram yard allowed him a brief rest before the doors opened to Cairo’s morning skyline and they made their way to their destination.
Tram 015 sat quiet and isolated on the platform. There was something ominous about its stillness—as if the car was waiting for them. “Are you ready?” Hamed asked, tamping down his unease.
“Ready,” Onsi replied, a slight quaver to his voice.
Hamed looked to the younger man and saw the eyes behind his silver spectacles somewhat wide. He remembered then how nervous he’d been as a recruit, confronting a truly dangerous situation for the first time.
“I always keep in mind that I’m a Ministry agent,” he offered in encouragement. “Whatever we’re facing might be older, stronger, and have powers beyond us. But that’s what we were trained for, and nothing is invincible. Also, a few prayers help.”
Onsi nodded appreciatively. “I’ve done quite a bit of praying. I think I’ll be fine.”
“Then let’s get this over with. Remember, we only need to prick it.” Hiking up his dress, Hamed walked forward to the door of Tram 015 and pulled it open.
The inside of the car looked much like they’d last left it. No one had come in to clean, with the Transportation Union citing safety concerns. Dried flecks of blood from the hapless chickens streaked some of the windows, and a smear containing white feathers ran along the floor. Bits and pieces of food left over from the altar lay scattered about as well, alongside the wooden tray, stool, and cages that had been reduced to splintered sticks.
Hamed picked his way through the debris and took a seat at one end of the car, grasping a pole to lower himself down. It felt good to sit. The cushions beside him showed deep furrows where the spirit had slashed through during their last encounter. He kept his vision forward and tried not to think about the claws that had done such damage. From the corners of his eyes, however, he searched above. He found the ethereal gray smoke right away, lazily weaving its way through the clockwork mechanics of the tram, its movements illuminated by each flicker of the ceiling lamp. He cast a glance to the other end of the car, where Onsi had seated himself in turn. They were in place. Sitting back, he waited. It wasn’t too long before they heard the locking mechanisms holding the tram in place begin to tumble.
They had arranged this with Bashir. He and Onsi had agreed that to pull off this ruse, Tram 015 had to be up and running again—to make them look like ordinary passengers. Bashir had reluctantly agreed to put the car on an old unused line that ran a quick circuit through the center of Cairo. Somewhere along the way, they hoped the al would take the bait and reveal itself.
There was an audible hiss of steam as the mooring clamps released, and the tram joggled in its descent from the aerial yards to the main docks below. Hamed watched through the curtained windows as they passed down between a webbing of steel girders. He risked a peek at the gray smoke. It had begun to move faster in seeming anticipation. A good sign. Glancing down the other end of the car he found Onsi sitting peaceably. The man had retrieved two long iron needles from a bag and taken to knitting. He hummed a lullaby as he worked, stopping once in a while to rub his cushioned belly affectionately. Hamed managed to pull his eyes away from the spectacle and felt with reassurance for the black dagger nestled in a pocket sewn into his dress. The weapon was surprisingly light, weighted for Abla, he assumed—a puzzle he still couldn’t quite fit together. A slight jolt pulled his attention back to the window. They had reached the latticework of corded cables that snaked across Cairo’s skyway. Above came the sound of the pulley systems latching onto the proper line—and Tram 015 began to move.
The car streaked out over the city with a lurch. Its engines hummed and rattled as it went, accompanied by the familiar squeal of the pulley that moved along the cable. Every few seconds bright blue flashes lit up the interior, as outside electric bolts were thrown up with a piercing crackle. The ride was smooth, with a gentle swaying motion that easily lulled passengers to sleep. No chance of that today. It was all Hamed could do to not tap his feet anxiously as he waited for something to happen. He passed the time staring through the window, watching other trams zip by on their lines, turning this way and that as they transported Cairo’s masses.
When the al did appear beside him, he almost jumped.
Hamed wasn’t certain when the spirit had moved or taken shape. One moment the thing had been smoke, making its rounds in the gears above. The next it was here—taking the familiar form of a girl with moon-pale skin touched by gray. She sat on a seat next to him wearing that simple bone-white dress and looking fragile as a statue crafted of eggshell. Her delicate features were almost childlike beneath the flowing silver tresses that reached to her waist. And she stared up at him with generous pitch-black eyes that seemed to ripple.
Drawing a breath, Hamed turned slowly toward the al. A thin set of blue-tinged lips parted in a smile, revealing small teeth that glistened like pearls. She croaked out something in that grating voice he couldn’t understand, tilting her head curiously. When he didn’t answer, she pointed to his round belly with a slender finger and began making soft, cooing sounds. Wrapping her arms into a cradle, she rocked them back and forth and trilled something that sounded like “nani bala” repeatedly in a singsong.
When she finally reached a hand out to touch his stomach he flinched, remembering all too well the stories that said these kinds of diversions always preceded an al attack. She laughed richly at his flightiness, and he couldn’t help but think of a predator toying with its prey. Of course, he was a diversion as well.
Just above the spirit’s head, Hamed watched as Onsi came closer. He had gotten up as soon as the al settled down, and now stalked forward, a knitting needle gripped in his hand. He hummed his lullaby as he came and Hamed only wished he would move faster. The spirit continued her chatter unawares, too busy taking delight in her taunting ritual to register his movement. Onsi was so close now that Hamed could see the light glinting off the iron end of the needle. Lifting the makeshift weapon, Onsi stopped, poised to strike. There was a brief lull and inside Hamed a warning siren went off.
In stopping to ready his blow, Onsi had also ended his lullaby. The gut of silence in the emptied tram was louder than sound itself, and the al stopped short. She frowned as she caught the direction of Hamed’s gaze, and looked up to see Onsi almost upon her.
Everything that happened next went by so fast Hamed could barely keep track. The girl let out a hiss upon seeing Onsi. In a blur she was gone, replaced with the hag. Standing to her full height, she swatted at Onsi with her claws, sending him tumbling away without even the opportunity to deliver the blow. Hamed acted on instinct, pulling out his dagger and lunging. He was surprised when he fell flat in the aisle, the sharp point of the weapon striking the floor. He had missed! The al had moved unexpectedly fast, angling out the way before he could reach her.
Realizing that a trap had been set for her, the hag extended a mouth of jagged teeth impossibly wide to let out a fierce screech. But the two men had prepared for that as well, stuffing their ears with cotton. Her voice grated and their heads rang, but they weren’t incapacitated. Scrambling back up t
o his feet, Hamed brandished the dagger at the spirit. On the other end of the tram, Onsi too now stood, a knitting needle in each hand.
“Close the gap!” Hamed yelled, walking forward. Onsi nodded vigorously, doing the same.
The al twisted her head about, glaring at each man from behind the empty pits on her shriveled face. She screeched in threat, slashing out with her claws, but didn’t press an attack. Her eyeless gaze warily regarded the iron they held, and she shrank away in what Hamed hoped was genuine fear. Still, this wouldn’t be easy. A well-placed rake could eviscerate them if they weren’t careful, and more than once he had to jump back before regaining the momentum. It was during this laborious advance that the spirit did something unanticipated. Lifting her claws above her head, she plunged them into the gears covering the ceiling. They didn’t tear through the clockwork brain, but instead sank into the machinery like smoke. A sudden tremor ran through the tram and it zoomed forward with a terrific burst.
Hamed went flying back, swept off his feet, the dagger pitching from his hand. He landed hard on his side and was forced to clutch at a pole as the car continued to pick up speed. He cursed aloud. They should have foreseen that the spirit, after having spent so much time in the tram, would have found a way to control it! He looked up to find Onsi tumbling along the other end, trying desperately to catch hold of something. The al threw back her head to cackle wildly at their distress. Hamed was wondering how this could possibly get worse—when it did.
A sudden swerve sent him rolling. When he managed to right himself he looked out the windows at the front of the tram to see they were going in another direction. The spirit had caused the car to switch cables! They were no longer on the old unused circuit, but on the city’s main lines! His worst fears were realized as he caught sight of another tram fast approaching them, its horns blaring in alarm at what would be a certain collision.
The Haunting of Tram Car 015 Page 7
