Noah stepped out of reach. “I’m going to see my father. Excuse me,” he said. And he left the room.
Noah looked down at his father. Cooling moist towels were wrapped around his neck and face. Noah touched his father’s face. It was still hot to the touch.
“Father,” he said softly, right next to his father’s ear, “I will find her. I will bring her home.”
Noah leaned closer and could feel the rattle in his father’s shallow breath.
“You rest now and I will bring Mother back to you.” Noah kissed his father’s forehead. A tear fell onto his father’s cheek and Noah wiped it away. He thought he saw his father’s eyes flutter, but it was just the light. Please, Noah thought, please hold on.
He stood up, found his strength, and left to find the others.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ATKATUUM ETHABIB
OR
THE MAN OF WORDS READS LETTERS
“He almost told us,” whined Faye for the fiftieth time. “Mr. Bell almost told us, Jasper.” She had said little else since Noah walked out.
Jasper disagreed. “I don’t think that he—”
Noah appeared in the doorway. Faye’s face went red.
“I don’t care,” said Noah. “I don’t care why. I have to find my mother and then she’ll be safe and my father will recover. I don’t care about anything else.”
Wallace began, “We need—”
“We don’t need anything,” said Noah. “I need…I need to go. You do what you like.”
“Noah, we’re in this together,” said Jasper.
“Really? Are your fathers ill? You all have your mothers,” said Noah. “You don’t need to go anywhere.”
“I don’t have my mother,” said Wallace. “Komar Romak killed my mother.”
Noah looked struck, but then determined. “All the more reason, Wallace. All the more reason why I need to go now.”
Jasper insisted, “Noah, we need to stop for a moment. I’m not saying we will not go, but we need to think about what we are doing.”
Noah was agitatedly packing a knapsack with things like electric torches, a small sack with candles and a box of matches, a length of rope, and a knife he had taken from the kitchen.
“Let’s take this step by step. We need to find out where to look for Sir Edward Romer,” said Wallace. “We will not get far if we simply wander around the city in hopes of finding…something.”
Noah stopped, looked at his friends, and seemed, for the first time since leaving the parents, to think.
“Yes,” he said, coming to his senses. “Yes, of course we do. I…I’m sorry. I just feel we have no time. We have less than no time. We should have already found her.”
“We will,” said Jasper. “We will.”
“First, we need to know where we’re going,” said Faye. “Where do we find Sir Edward? Who would know?”
“We could go to the British Embassy,” suggested Jasper, though doubt colored his words.
“It is unlikely they would give answers to children,” Wallace considered, cleaning his glasses with his shirttail before tucking it back into his trousers.
“I agree,” said Faye. “Most adults forget that children are often more clever than they are.”
“I propose we ask Mr. Bell,” said Wallace. “He is on our side. He was going to tell us the whole big secret.”
“And he knows everything,” said Lucy.
“Lucy is right,” said Wallace. “We must speak with Mr. Bell.”
“And I second that proposal, Master Banneker,” said Mr. Bell, who was standing in the doorway of Noah’s room.
“Mr. Bell, Mr. Bell! Please, we need to know where to start,” Lucy said.
“Yes, you do, Miss Modest,” said Mr. Bell.
“Please promise you will tell us what all of this means.” Faye spoke directly to Mr. Bell. Looking at Noah, she relented, “If not now, promise you will still tell us after we have Noah’s mother.”
“I have already begun to tell you, Miss Vigyanveta,” said Mr. Bell. “I shall not stop until you feel you understand or I have exhausted my store of knowledge.”
Faye nodded what was clearly a thank-you.
“But none of that matters now,” said Noah. “I must find my mother.”
“We,” said Jasper with emphasis, “have been putting together what we know of Ariana’s movements.”
“We know that Ariana met with someone named Sir Edward Romer,” said Faye. “He is a translator.”
“But where do we find him?” Noah sat down on his bed, an electric torch still in his hand. “If he’s working for the Embassy, and we go there, we’ll likely be turned away. We don’t have time for that.”
“You must go to the bookbinder’s alley, at the book market, near the Khan il Khalili,” said Mr. Bell.
“We do?” Noah was surprised that Mr. Bell had actually offered a suggestion. But was he really going to allow them to go?
“There,” Mr. Bell continued, speaking to Lucy, who was sure to remember every instruction, “you first ask for El Maktaba. You will be pointed in the direction of the booksellers. Then ask for El Mutargim. This will get you closer. Then, if you are asked ‘who?’ and—”
“Meen! Meen!” cried Lucy, who then explained to the other children: “That’s the word for ‘who’ here, when it’s at home.”
“Yes, indeed, Miss Modest, that is how one says ‘who?’ in Cairo. If someone asks ‘meen?’ you must then ask for Katuum EtHabib. The people in the bookseller’s alley, or as some call it the bookbinders’ alley, will understand and be able to steer you in the right direction.”
“What is Katuum EtHabib?” asked Faye.
“Just trust that this name will get you there,” said Mr. Bell.
“And you are simply going to let us go off on our own?” A skeptical Noah doubted that Mr. Bell and the parents would let them go.
“Well, Master Canto-Sagas, of course I will let you go,” said Mr. Bell. “You are formidable children and we have thus far been unable to stop you. While we do what we can to protect you, you have done much to help us. Go on your own, however? No. I must ask that brothers attend you.”
“Brothers attend us?” Faye groaned.
“They shall stay quietly in the shadows, but they will be there to assist, if necessary.” Mr. Bell waved his hand in the air.
With that, three young brothers, followed by the mysterious brother in bunny ears, entered the room. Lucy ran to the large bearded bunny man in dark glasses and hugged him. He awkwardly patted her back and grunted a greeting.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” said Faye. “No one will notice a big black bunny rabbit in dark glasses slinking through the crowd after us.”
“I go not,” said the bunny man.
“The young brothers shall come,” said Mr. Bell, “and they shall follow as invisible guardians.”
Faye looked at the two younger brothers. They were young, indeed. Neither seemed quite old enough to grow a full beard. But they were wearing galabayas, traditional Arabian robes, and would, in fact, blend in better than the Young Inventors Guild.
“How do we know they are not imposters?” Faye’s biting words made Jasper flinch.
“You are correct to ask, Miss Vigyanveta,” said Mr. Bell. “We have taken measures to ensure this will not happen.”
With that, he opened his hands. In the center of his left palm was a tattoo. The children immediately recognized the three flat wings spread open in a circle. Faye went over to one of the young brothers and opened his left hand. He, too, had the tattoo. She looked at the others. Each offered his hand for her to see. It occurred to Faye that she and the others had never seen the inside of the brothers’ palms. Who would think to look?
“Very well,” said Faye, looking at Noah. He nodded in agreement.
“It is safer, Faye,” said Jasper, sounding reasonable. “If we have trouble finding Sir Edward, we may need them to translate.”
“Or if we forget the name of the place,
” said Faye, who had already forgotten the name of the place.
Lucy jumped up and down, raising her hand.
“Miss Modest, do you have something to say?” asked Mr. Bell. “Or do you need access to a toilet?”
Lucy cleared her throat and stood as if she was about to recite a poem herself. “First, we ask for El Maktaba. Then we go in the direction of the bookseller’s place. Then ask for El Mutargim. This will get us closer, but we still have to ask for Katuum EtHabib.”
Mr. Bell beamed at her, chuckling softly. “Yes, it is a good thing that you have your little sister with you, Master Modest,” he said. “She shall not forget the names.”
Hopefully, that will get us in the right direction, thought Jasper. Lucy was amazing and could remember everything. But deciphering what those things were and how they all fit together was another thing entirely.
“Master Canto-Sagas, we shall watch over your father.” Mr. Bell looked deeply into Noah’s eyes. Yes, thought Noah, they will.
“It’s what we must do,” Faye said. She was sitting with Miss Brett. The other children were standing around her. They had found Miss Brett sitting on the veranda, alone, with Noah’s snoring dog at her feet.
Miss Brett had been immediately against the children going to the vast and serpentine alleys of the Khan il Khalili, the most famous ancient market of Cairo. She had read all about it. Sordid and splendid, it posed the obvious dangers of any busy market and the unseen dangers connected to all of this mystery.
“But wandering around alone in the market? The Khan is a very big place.” Miss Brett realized she had been twisting her handkerchief into a knot. She knew there was little point in arguing. The children would do what they were going to do, regardless of what she said. But it worried her terribly. Looking at Noah’s face, she sensed that a profound change had come over him. It was as if a shadow had spread over his shoulders.
“Miss Brett.” Jasper sat on her other side. “Brothers in black will be with us. We won’t be alone.”
“Please take care of Father,” said Noah quietly to Miss Brett.
She kissed the boy on the forehead. “Of course, I will.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE ROYAL LIBRARIAN
OR
STREETS OF SILKS AND SAVORIES
Children rode through the winding streets armed only with a name—well, three names actually, but Katuum EtHabib seemed to be the final destination. El Maktaba, then El Mutargim, and finally Katuum EtHabib. This they knew, or at least trusted Lucy to remember.
“They’re still behind us,” said Lucy, waving furiously. With one brother on a donkey and two brothers riding in a donkey cart, the brothers in black followed close behind, but not too close. In procession, they headed to the Kham Il Khalili.
“Get down, Lucy,” said Faye. “You are making it obvious that they are following us.”
With a jolt, the carriage stopped. They had arrived. Faye almost dropped her box-camera, which she had decided to bring in case she saw something she wanted to document.
“Right,” said Faye, unsure of what would happen next but trying to maintain some sense of control. “Off we go to find Katuum EtHabib.”
“Is that a person or a place?” asked Jasper, suddenly realizing he did not know.
“A place,” said Faye.
“A person,” said Noah.
“What if it’s a person and he doesn’t speak English?” asked Wallace, stepping from the carriage and trying not to step in camel dung.
“We will just have to see,” said Faye, feeling less in control every second.
The Khan il Khalili was a sight to behold. All the children had been to markets before, but the Khan made regular markets look like kittens next to a roaring lion. It was enormous and filled to the brim with sounds, smells, and song. People bartered, good-naturedly. Hawkers called out praises for their wares. Trays of tea were flying by at every turn, carried by young boys able to balance them despite the throngs of buyers.
Also, the Khan il Khalili market was truly a maze of tiny passageways and alleys, stairs, and streets. The narrow alleyways were packed with uncountable items, from long strands of beads and pearls to sparkling colored glass, casting beams of blue and green and red as the sun broke through the slim walkways. There were huge baskets of spices and enormous bolts of fabric, large enough for children to disappear behind.
“I’m just over here,” Lucy said, giggling.
Jasper did not laugh as her disembodied voice echoed through the piles of velvet and cotton.
There were rows upon rows of ivory carvings and elegant wooden boxes inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Craftsmen were sitting at low tables, expertly assembling mosaics on the boxes. There were tiny shops bursting with statues and bottles of herbs and dyes.
“Itfaddil,” came the call, a welcome to come in. “Itfaddil.” Sometimes the welcome came with a grabbing of an arm or shoulder.
“Shokran,” the children learned to say. It meant “thank you,” but when accompanied with a shake of the head, it meant “no, thank you.” That was needed to avoid being dragged in to view carpets and scarves, spices and shoes.
“La-a,” Lucy would say, wagging her finger with a firm “No!” This the hawkers understood and, amused as much as disappointed, they laughed with pleasure at this tiny girl and her firm finger.
When a particularly aggressive seller of trinkets grabbed Lucy’s arm, a man intervened. He forced the trinket man to release Lucy’s arm, offering her a glass that slipped from his hand in a splash and crash. He was a lemonade seller. With a huge hollow gourde slung over his shoulder, he fumbled with glasses and sugar, making something of a scene. The neighboring sellers were not happy. No one seemed to want his offerings. Lucy felt bad for him and thanked him for saving her and for the second glass of lemonade that nearly spilled as he handed it to her. She took a sip and gagged.
“It’s awful,” said Lucy. “Too crunchy with sugar, but not sweet at all.”
The lemonade seller looked mortified.
“Just drink it,” whispered Jasper. “He saved you.”
“I can’t,” said Lucy. “You drink it.” She smiled at the seller and at Jasper, who was now gagging on the unfortunate drink.
“He can’t do everything at once,” said Jasper, trying to smile at the man.
“He needs an extra hand,” said Noah, trying to urge them all back to their task.
Jasper looked at the jug. “If he had a mechanism to release a sugar syrup, he would only need one hand and still be able to offer options, sweet or less sweet.” While Lucy shook her head at the idea of “less sweet,” Jasper made a note in his head. They could easily help this sad seller.
When a nudge and a tug of Lucy’s arm turned into more of a grab by another aggressive shop owner, a brother in black suddenly appeared. In an instant, the shop owner was cowering in the back with his wares. When Lucy turned to thank the brother, she found he had disappeared, blending back into the winding passageway.
“I’m awfully glad they’re here, even if they’re invisible,” said Lucy. The others agreed. They found themselves walking closer together, noting how easily they might be lost forever in this place.
“El Maktaba,” Faye asked of a little old lady sitting with her embroidery. The woman looked up with milky eyes that exposed her blindness. How, thought Faye, could this woman sew such lovely designs?
The woman pointed down a winding alley, past the man selling lanterns. They quickly followed her directions and wandered down a darker, quieter passageway, out to a street of carpet salesmen and woodworkers. The passage went up a winding staircase, then across a bridge or rooftop walkway where brass and iron-workers clanged and pounded. Again, down another passageway, out at ground level to a larger row of sellers.
“Look! Parasols!” cried Lucy. In a corner out in the open, away from any shop, was a pair of umbrella makers. The children stopped and Faye took another photograph.
“They would not keep out a London rai
n,” said Jasper, “but they would protect one’s head from this broiling sun.”
“Oh, please, Jasper,” said Lucy. “Please, please, may I have… Look!”
She was distracted from her parasols by more fabulous possibilities.
“There,” Faye pointed towards the end of the row of shops. There was a cart with books. “It must be that way.”
As they turned the corner, Noah stopped in his tracks.
“Oh!” Noah looked in awe at a shop filled with chessboards. The boards were beautiful and the game pieces unlike any he had ever seen. Each set was carved differently, each set made of a different material; stone, wood, brass, or bone. Noah blinked, caught himself, and then nodded. He’d remember this place for later, when everything and everyone were safe and sound. Now, though, he returned to the trail.
The bookbinders’ alley was something of a mess, a cluster of tiny shops (if you could even call them shops) and twisted streets (if you could call them streets). The rows of booksellers seemed to go on forever. Some of the shops had shelves three times a man’s height. Some were so tiny and crammed with books that the seller could not even find room for his legs to bend in his seat. Some shops were no wider than an arm’s length with books piled haphazardly from floor to ceiling.
Faye couldn’t remember. “What was the second word, Lucy?”
“El Mutargim?” Lucy asked a man with a thick white beard. He gazed at them over the crooked pince-nez perched on the end of his nose. He nodded and waved his hand in the direction they had been headed.
“At least we know we’re going the right way,” Faye said to Jasper, who was walking at her side.
At least that, thought Jasper.
But after a half hour of wandering, no one was sure of anything.
“Lucy, you know we’ve been going in circles,” insisted Faye.
Lucy smiled. “Yes, we have. And the little kitten in the shop with the brass lamps is so sweet. I like seeing him play with his ball of string. I don’t mind, really.”
The Strange Round Bird: Or the Poet, the King, and the Mysterious Men in Black Page 12
