She was grateful to sit down in the saddle when they finally slowed as they neared the first in a series of small towns that would lead them to Fayoum and the train station. Although her joy was short-lived. Riding a horse while wearing a dress and nothing else but short cotton tap pants? Not recommended. Luckily, they rode at a moderate walk through the towns.
The endless desert had faded behind them and was replaced by actual vegetation and makeshift roads. She’d never been so happy to see a scraggily shrub before. More plants meant more water, and more water meant people and civilization. They’d only been out in the desert for three days, but it had felt like a lifetime.
Soon, the towns grew closer together until they merged into the small city of Fayoum. The oasis of the same name was a large man-made creation. A series of canals funneled water from the Nile to create the Venice of Egypt.
The mud houses and thatched roofs could have been from another century. Even another millennium. Heck, they probably were. It was hard for her to wrap her mind around it. Used to life in the United States, she’d been stunned by the breadth of history she could feel and touch when she and Simon had traveled to England. Even more amazing was that centuries there were thousands of years here.
It all would have made her feel very small and insignificant if it weren’t for the country itself. There was something about Egypt, something unlike anywhere else she’d been. She didn’t feel like a tiny speck on the timeline of history. She felt part of the whole of it. All of history seemed to coexist in this place. It was mysterious and magical, and filled with bandits and sandstorms. And her legs were definitely beginning to chafe, she thought with a frown.
“Here,” Simon said, as he brought his horse closer and shed his jacket. He folded it up and held it out to her. “Sit on this. It should help a little.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that bad.”
He arched an eyebrow and then tucked his jacket into the saddle in front of him.
She turned and watched him. His face was dirty and his five o’clock shadow had grown into a ten o’clock. His clothing was dusty and wrinkled. He was exhausted, down to the bone weary, and his thoughts were still only about her comfort. It was humbling.
He must have felt her watching him because he turned and looked at her curiously.
She smiled in reply to his unanswered question. “Just thinking about how much I love you.”
A small, startled smile came across his face, but it faded and he grew serious. And then his eyes softened in that way that always melted her heart.
“You confound me,” he said with a shake of his head.
She grinned. “Then I must be doing something right.”
~ ~ ~
They were in the heart of Fayoum now. Vegetation and life grew more vibrant with every mile. The arid desert was gone now and a lush sanctuary had taken its place. Flowers blossomed amid the papyrus grass along the shores of small canals. Tall palms and other shade trees lined the roads. Small and large tracts of land were ready to grow a harvest of sugar cane, sweetcorn and Egyptian wheat. And she was ready for a bath. But it would have to wait, they weren’t quite finished with this part of their adventure just yet.
While Jack had been busy looking for them in Fayoum, he’d learned that George Mason was in town, but wouldn’t be for long. Mason had purchased a train ticket for the morning train to the main line along the Nile. From there he could go just about anywhere. If they didn’t catch up with him now, he was lost for good. They had to get on that train.
When they first arrived in Cairo, having jumped back in time, they’d been there for less than four hours when they discovered Mason was on the run. They’d barely had time to make arrangements for their bags to be sent to Shepheard’s and rooms to be reserved for whenever they might return. Now, they were in their fourth day of the hunt. She could only hope it was their last.
They arrived at the small train station just in time. The steam engine was building up power and large bursts of steam shot out from the sides of the cars. Black smoke billowed out of the smoke stack on the engine.
They quickly dismounted and dashed for the train. Hassan lingered behind.
“Aren’t you coming?” Elizabeth asked, once she realized he wasn’t with them.
He held up the reins of the horses. “I will see you when you return to Cairo.”
If they returned and, if he wasn’t caught and punished by the bandits. “Right,” she said confidently. “In Cairo.”
Simon tugged on her hand. “The train,” he said, nodding toward the now moving locomotive. The wheels had already started to spin and grind against the tracks as the heavy train began to slowly pull out of the station.
It seemed like hardly enough to say considering Hassan had risked his life to save theirs, but it was all she had to offer at the moment. “Thank you,” Elizabeth called as Simon led her toward the last few cars.
Hassan waved. “Everything is fine. Trust—”
The train whistle drowned out the rest and, with one last look over her shoulder, she ran toward the moving train.
Thankfully, it wasn’t going more than a few miles an hour. Jack jumped on easily. He stood on the second step and leaned down, reaching out for Elizabeth. She jogged alongside for a moment. Her skirts weren’t heavy, but they were long and she had to pick them up in her right hand. By the time she did, the train was going a little faster. Then faster.
“Elizabeth,” Simon said as he ran along next to her. “Now would be a good time.”
She glared at Simon. “You try doing this in a dress!”
Simon looked moderately sympathetic, but nodded toward the rapidly approaching end of the platform. “Darling.”
She looked at the stairs Jack was standing on. The gap wasn’t huge, but it was intimidating and getting more so with every step. He was right though, she had to go. She gripped the handrail and timed her leap onto the steps. She made it with room to spare. Jack grabbed her free hand and pulled her up to the space between the last few cars. The platform was really running out now and the train moving faster. But it was no problem for Simon as he reached out a long arm, grabbed the handrail, and leapt up with one long stride.
They huddled briefly in the small passageway as the train picked up more speed and the platform and Hassan disappeared into the distance behind them. The shimmying of the plates between the two cars grew more precarious and Simon put his arm around Elizabeth’s waist and pressed a hand against the car door with the other to brace himself.
“Let’s start at the end,” he said.
The last car was crowded with people, jammed onto long, thin wooden benches that ran along the sides of the car. Some people held onto handrails that hung down from the ceiling, while others simply squatted on the floor. Despite all of the windows being down, the car was stiflingly hot and stuffy.
The clackity-clack of the wheels against the tracks and rumble of the train were intensely loud. Jack picked his way through the third class passengers, walking all the way to the end. He opened the door there to make sure Mason wasn’t standing on the small back platform. He closed the door, shook his head and rejoined them.
Next, they made their way into the second class car. The long thin benches were replaced with two-seaters in rows from back to front. Slowly, they walked up the aisle. Only two men wore western clothing and neither was Mason. When they reached the far end, Simon doubled back to make sure. Mason could have ditched his suit for a galabiya, one of the long outer robes men wore. When he reached the end, Simon turned back and returned to them. “Not here.”
They were passing through another second class car, when they came upon the conductor.
“I’m afraid this one is on you,” Simon said to Jack as he patted his empty jacket. Puffs of dust came off his chest and he waved them away.
Jack arched an eyebrow, but dug into his pants pocket and paid for their passage. Once their tickets had been punched, the conductor moved out of the way and let them enter t
he first class car.
It was nearly empty. Only three people sat amongst the half-dozen rows of facing leather banquettes. A couple to the far right sat close together and looked out of the windows, and an unaccompanied man sat in the middle of the car. They couldn’t see his face though. His back was to them and he was bent forward, his forehead in his hand as his elbow rested against the table.
Slowly, they walked to the far end of the car. The man stayed hunched over some piece of paper, his fedora pulled down and shielding his face.
Simon motioned for Jack to stay put and he and Elizabeth approached the man’s seat.
“Mr. Mason?” Simon said.
The man’s head jerked up and he quickly reached into his jacket, but Simon grabbed his wrist.
“Let’s not do that,” Simon said as he firmly held Mason’s arm in place with his right hand. With his left hand, he reached into Mason’s pocket and pulled out a small revolver.
“I’ll keep this,” Simon said quietly, and he slipped the gun into his own pocket.
Elizabeth looked back at Jack, who had taken two steps forward, but stopped when he saw that Simon had it under control. He moved back to his position at the door behind them where he could see Mason clearly.
Elizabeth and Simon slid into the seats opposite Mason as the other young couple, less interested in the scenery now and more interested in getting the heck out of there, grabbed their hats and hurried down the center aisle and into the next car.
Finally, Elizabeth thought, they’d caught up with the elusive Mr. Mason. He looked exactly as he had in the photograph in the dossier Travers had given them. Same pencil thin mustache, and small sharp features. His eyes danced nervously between Elizabeth and Simon.
“This might come as a surprise to you, Mr. Mason,” Simon said. “But we’re on your side.”
Mason smirked, but she could see the uneasiness in his eyes. “Are you?”
“Travers from the Council sent us to help you retrieve the watch,” Elizabeth said.
Mason’s eyes shifted to hers and narrowed. “That was thoughtful of him.”
Simon sighed. “He said to say, ‘Over the rolling waters go.’“
Mason’s eyes lit up immediately, but he quickly schooled his features. “Come from the rising moon, and blow. Blow him again to me.”
“While my little one, while my pretty one, dances.”
It was a clever code. A simple verse from a Tennyson poem with a few select words changed.
Mason huffed out a breath as he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Thank God. I thought you were one of them.”
“Definitely not one of them,” Elizabeth assured him. “Wait. One of what?”
“I’m not sure exactly.” He smiled weakly. “I was beginning to think everyone here was working for the Shadow Council.” He looked even more exhausted than they were. “It plays tricks on you, this country. You search so long and you don’t know who to trust. Can’t trust anyone really.”
“Have you found it? Have you located the watch?” Simon asked.
“I think so,” Mason said. “At least I’m close. It’s been an odd sort of thing. I should have known, you know? I knew Shelton. I suppose we’ll never find out what happened to him, will we?”
“No,” Simon agreed. “Probably not. But the watch—”
“Right, the watch.”
The door to the far end of the car opened and a man in a dark galabiya and keffiyeh scarf covering his face looked around. He stared at Mason for a moment, and then he raised his hand. He had a red and black checkered scarf wrapped around it and Elizabeth wondered if he’d been injured.
And then she saw the flash of the muzzle and the angry sound of a gunshot rang out.
Simon pulled Elizabeth to him and twisted away from the assailant. The gunshot rang in her ears, made all the louder by the small enclosed space of the railcar.
“No!” Jack cried from behind them.
Elizabeth heard the door slam shut and then footsteps. She looked up just as Jack passed her, running toward the doorway. And then Mason, blood dribbling down his chin, eyes frozen in surprise, fell face first into the table.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “Oh my god.”
The bullet wound to the back of his head was small, but brutal. Simon slid out of their seat. “Stay here!” he said and rushed to join Jack.
Elizabeth stared in shock at Mason as more blood spread out beneath his head. She shook herself out of it and pushed out a bracing breath as she slipped out of the seat, and ran to the door. She found Simon and Jack standing just inside the next car.
Simon started to say something, but settled for a frustrated sigh.
“Where’d he go?” she asked.
Jack held out the dark robe and red and black keffiyeh. The ends were charred from the flash from the gun. The shooter must have shed them immediately in the space between cars and then blended in with the rest of the passengers.
If the passengers had heard anything or seen anything, they gave no sign of it.
Simon grunted in frustration and went back into the first class car. Elizabeth and Jack followed.
To no one’s surprise, Mason hadn’t moved. The blood pool under his head was already starting to look sticky.
“We need to search him,” Simon said.
Jack, used to grim business like this, didn’t hesitate. He leaned Mason back in his seat and made quick work of going through his pockets. He found Mason’s watch and handed it to Simon. It was identical to the one Simon’s grandfather, Sebastian, had given him. Other than his wallet, the only other item he had with him was an envelope. Jack put that into his own pocket and eased Mason back down onto the table.
Elizabeth felt queasy.
“Now what?” Jack asked.
Simon looked at Elizabeth and took hold of her hand. “I don’t know,” he said, honestly. “I really don’t know.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was early afternoon by the time they arrived in Cairo. They’d successfully managed to mix in with the rest of the train’s crowd when Mason’s body was discovered. They, like everyone else on the train, had nothing helpful to offer. The couple who’d left the car and everyone else who’d seen them searching for Mason had instantaneous amnesia. For the first time, Elizabeth was happy people’s urge not to get involved was stronger than their desire to help. Even the policeman seemed more put-out by the crime than eager to solve it.
The carriage ride from the busy train station to their hotel was a blur. Elizabeth was hungry and tired and had sand in places where sand should never go. She was too tired to take in the city as their carriage paced along. The splendor and insanity of Cairo would have to wait until tomorrow. She needed a sandwich and a bath, preferably at the same time.
Their rooms were large and elegant, and it took all of her strength not to simply plop down on the large brass bed and call it a day. But she knew she wouldn’t feel completely human again until she’d bathed and brushed her teeth.
The bathroom was big and bright. White tiles covered it from floor to ceiling, and a lovely small chaise sat in the corner. She plopped down on it and felt herself melting into the cushion. She took off her shoes and wiggled her toes. Her filthy toes.
That was enough to get her moving again and she walked over to the tub, pleased to see that it came equipped with a shower. It was one of the few in the hotel. Apparently, Americans were keen on them, but Europeans hadn’t made the leap yet. Showers were generally reserved for athletic clubs, barracks and other manly places. Women were considered by many to be too delicate to withstand the powerful blast of water.
Elizabeth turned the tap on the overhead shower. Not exactly a fire hose, but water, and running water was all she needed. She shed her clothing and stepped in, pulling the fabric curtain closed to keep the water from splashing all over creation. From the large shower head above her, a cool drizzle of rain fell down onto her. She stood there in an exhausted stupor for a few minutes before
summoning her reserves and shampooing and bathing.
She would have been content to stand there for an hour, but Simon was waiting. She toweled off and slipped on her robe.
“It’s all yours—” she started to say, as she re-entered the bedroom, but the sight before her brought her up short.
Simon sat in one of the large wing backs in the sitting area, one boot on and one boot off. His head was tilted back against the cushion, his eyes shut and his breathing deep. A lone sock dangled from his fingers. He’d fallen asleep mid-undress.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. He was such a giant doodlebug. The poor man probably hadn’t slept in days. His hyper-awareness and perpetual DEFCON-3 status had finally caught up with him. Elizabeth walked quietly over to his chair and gently moved his disheveled hair away from his eyes. She thought about leaving him and letting him sleep there, but chair sleep was no sleep at all.
She caressed his cheek, the stubble rough under her palm.
Slowly, his eyes blinked open and a gentle smile came to his face. He looked down and realized where he was. “I fell asleep,” he said needlessly.
Elizabeth nodded. “I think the bed will be better.”
Simon nodded and stood, giving an enormous stretch and dropping the sock onto the floor. He frowned as he noticed he still had one boot on.
“Do you want to shower first or just conk out?” Elizabeth asked.
He took in a deep breath and wrinkled his nose. “Unless that’s you, I think a shower is in order.”
Elizabeth laughed and pointed him toward the bathroom and then turned back to their room as he closed the door behind him.
Feeling strung out, but oddly invigorated now, Elizabeth opened their trunks and aired out their clothes. She found her hairbrush and sat down at the small vanity. She frowned at her reflection. Ugly dark circles hung under her eyes. She looked as tired as she felt. She tossed a silk slip over the mirror so she wouldn’t have to look anymore.
Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) Page 4
