‘No, Effendi, I should think not!’
‘Sabri was a difficult man if ever there was one,’ said the omda.
‘He was one who murmured,’ said the steward, nodding his head significantly.
‘A trouble-maker, was he?’
‘Yes!’ said the omda.
‘He was away most of the time,’ said the agent, ‘but when he was back there was always something.’
‘He didn’t know his place,’ said the omda.
‘Place?’ said Owen.
‘Well, the people here have always worked for the Pasha Ismail,’ said the agent. ‘Either directly or indirectly. On his land or, nowadays, on their own, but selling their crops through him. Mostly it’s cotton, but not so much,’ he looked around, ‘round here. But Sabri wasn’t content with that.’
‘His father was content, and his grandfather,’ said the omda. ‘So what was so special about Sabri?’
‘Will you be staying in the village long, Effendi?’ asked Osman Huq.
‘No, I go now.’
They shook hands.
‘There is nothing for me in this,’ said Owen. ‘Take care, however, that it does not turn into honour killings.’
‘We will, Effendi, never fear,’ said the Pasha’s agent. ‘Sabri’s death ends here.’
Chapter Four
‘Well done, Owen!’ said Curtis.
‘Thank you,’ said Owen, mystified.
He collected his whisky and headed off through the crowd at the bar.
‘Good work, Owen,’ said Cunningham. ‘One by one!’
There were approving pats as he moved through the throng.
‘Great stuff, Owen!’ said someone, giving him the “thumbs-up” signal. ‘One down, only a thousand to go!’
‘Excellent!’ said Cavendish, touching him on the shoulder. ‘Just what we need!’
‘Congratulations, Gareth!’ said Paul Trevelyan, raising a glass.
‘What the hell is all this?’ demanded Owen, sitting down opposite him.
‘Your latest triumph.’
‘What is my latest triumph?’
Paul stared at him.
‘You don’t know?’
‘I haven’t been back to my office today.’
‘Well, in your absence, things have been moving. Your people have caught a spy.’
The Australian officer he’d seen talking to Maxwell was sitting next to Paul.
‘You really don’t know?’ he said. ‘Well, that’s the mark of a good office, I suppose. The people who do the work get on with it without bothering to tell the boss.’
‘It comes at just the right time, too,’ said Paul. ‘People were beginning to get a thing about spies.’
‘Spies everywhere,’ said the Australian, ‘and the moment you turn round, the bastards have all gone.’
‘It will show we’re on top of things,’ said Paul, toasting Owen again.
‘Er, yes,’ said Owen. ‘Well, yes.’
***
‘Down in the cells,’ said Nikos, without looking up.
There were some cells at the Bab el Khalk but the Mamur Zapt himself rarely had occasion to use them. For the most part they were used by the regular police. It was, in fact, two regular policemen, swelling with pride, who had been responsible for the arrest.
‘Suspect was observed attempting to suborn a guard at the Abdin Palace. Suspect then offered the guard seditious literature. The guard took it at first, thinking it was pornographic but then, realising his mistake, handed it back. Suspect then attempted to suborn two more guards. One of them kept the literature, Effendi, which is available for submission as evidence. Suspect then invited him to a meeting. Guard replied—what did the guard reply, Abou?’
‘Any time, darling.’
‘Any time, darling?’
‘Officer then went to the place assigned for the meeting. It was found to be a cellar occupied by a low printing press. Officer waited until the guard came and then asked what guard was doing there. Guard replied—what did guard reply, Abou?’
‘Just looking for a copy of The Times.’
‘Officers arrested guard for being a cheeky bastard. Guard then confessed all. His evidence will form the basis of—’
‘Yes, yes. But what’s all this about spying?’
‘Suspect endeavoured to obtain information from the guards, Effendi.’
‘What sort of information?’
‘When they were coming off duty. Would they like to come to a meeting—’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve got that bit. But—’
‘Wait, Effendi. This is the real clincher. Suspect then asked guard if he knew when he would be going to the front. Guard replied—what did the guard reply, Abou?’
‘Never, if he could bloody help it.’
‘Thank you, Abou. Suspect said that was the right attitude. Why should Egyptian soldiers fire on their brothers? Suspect asked guard, what about him personally? Would he be willing to open fire on his brothers across the Canal? Guard replied—what did guard—?’
‘He said it wasn’t that that bothered him. What bothered him was that they might open fire on him.’
‘Thank you, Abou. Suspect then said that he should turn his gun on the real enemy, who were back at home.’
‘Yes, that certainly seems very questionable, but—’
‘And, finally, Effendi—’
‘Yes?’
‘Suspect said: “They’re building some new camps in the Canal. Tell us when you’re going, and if you can find out anything about them”…Yes, Abou?’
‘Hot as hell.’
‘Yes, well, thank you, Abou. Well, that’s about it, Effendi. The guard is prepared to testify, although he says he’d prefer not to. We’ve got the seditious material…Yes, Abou? Oh, yes. Arrest. Suspect came to the printing shop. Suspect was observed to pick up a pile of leaflets and then take them to her school, where she—’
‘She?’ said Owen. ‘School?’
***
She was, Owen judged—although judging was difficult because of the veil which covered her mouth and nose and concealed her hair—about fifteen.
‘What is your name?’ he asked.
‘Yasmin,’ said the girl sulkily.
‘The rest of it.’
She shook her head determinedly.
‘You are still at school?’
After a moment she nodded.
‘Which school?’ And then, as she began to shake her head again: ‘You might as well tell me. You were seen there, after all, by the officer arresting you.’
‘The Sanieh,’ she said unwillingly.
It was one of the best schools in Cairo; the best girls’ school.
‘They shouldn’t have arrested me,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t committing an offence.’
‘Well, you were, I’m afraid. You were distributing seditious material in the playground. And you had previously tried to give it to the guards at the Abdin Palace.’
‘I do not regard that as an offence.’
‘The law does, I’m afraid. The leaflets you were distributing are classified as seditious literature and banned by the Government. And distributing them is an offence.’
‘I do not recognise a law made by the British.’
‘This one wasn’t.’
‘I do not recognise the Sultan, either. Not this one. He is just a puppet of the British. And the Assembly, too. They’re all puppets.’
‘Nevertheless, you have committed an offence.’
She was silent for a moment. Then her eyes flashed.
‘All right, then,’ she said, holding out her hands as if for handcuffs, ‘charge me! Go on, charge me! Bring me to trial. I demand to be brought to trial. Then all the world will see how the British treat Egyptians. I want you to bring
me to trial.’
‘Hold on. It can’t be done as quickly as that. You’re a minor, and—’
She glared at him.
‘I demand that you put me on trial!’ she said, stamping her foot. ‘I shall not deny anything, anything that stupid guard says, or the even more stupid police. I do not deny it, but nor do I acknowledge any guilt. I deny the Court’s legitimacy. And that is what I shall say in Court. “You have no right,” I shall say. “You have no right to try me. I deny your legitimacy. You are puppets of the British. Sentence me if you dare! I am not afraid. Send me to prison if you wish, but Egypt will fight on. You cannot send the whole of Egypt to prison.” Yes, that is what I shall say: “You cannot send us all to prison!”’
‘Yes, well. Very fine. However, I doubt if it will come to that.’
‘But I want it to come to that!’ she said fiercely.
‘I daresay, but it’s not as easy as that. For a start, you’re still at school—’
‘I won’t be for long. Not when the Headmistress finds out.’
‘And this is a first offence.’
‘I shall repeat it,’ she said. ‘Believe me!’
‘Besides, it is a very minor offence. Although, admittedly if they decided to press the subornment charge—’
‘“Suborn”?’ she said. ‘What is that?’
‘Inducing someone to commit an illegal action.’
‘I don’t think I’ve done that, have I?’ she said doubtfully. More firmly: ‘Yet.’
‘Well, it could be argued that by trying to persuade the soldier not to fire on the enemy— But, frankly, I don’t think that would be enough to get yourself sent to prison. Not in the circumstances.’
The girl considered.
‘What about that information that you were trying to get out of the guard?’ asked Owen. ‘I think that might be your best bet.’
‘Information?’
‘You know, about the camps on the Canal.’
‘I wasn’t really—’
‘If you had got it, who would you have passed it on to?’
‘I’m not sure. But I would soon have found somebody.’
Owen shook his head.
‘It won’t do, I’m afraid. I’m afraid that all they’ll do is let you off with a caution.’
‘But I don’t want to be let off!’
‘Sorry.’
‘If you do not try me and send me to prison,’ said Yasmin passionately, ‘I shall go straight back and distribute some more leaflets. No!’ The eyes above the veil lit up. ‘I know what I shall do. I will go and chain myself to the railings of the Palace. Just as the women in England do!’
***
The fiki’s booth was not in the Camel Market proper as that might have been seen by some as discrepant with his function, which was intoning passages from the Holy Writing for the benefit of passers-by. While animals would certainly benefit too, they could not benefit as much as those with greater understanding. More to the point, they might not receive the words with the respect that was their due.
The booth had therefore been situated not in that part of the Market where the animals were kept and displayed but among the more general stalls outside. It consisted of three walls of embroidered carpeting, each about six feet long and five feet high, together with a fourth side which was rather taller and bent over at the top in a kind of canopy beneath which the fiki could sit in the shade. Sabri’s body had been stuffed behind the carpeting of the fourth side. There were some extra folds there which had made it easier. Given that people in Egypt had learned never to look behind things, the body might have lain there for some time undisturbed among the excrement had it not been for the small boys of the Market; although, as he pointed out to Owen, the fiki himself would surely have detected the presence before long.
The small boys, creeping round the booth in the early morning while the fiki was yet sleeping, had seen a hand protruding from the folds. At first they had taken it to be the fiki’s and had contemplated placing a small scorpion in the palm. Then, however, they had realised that the snoring was coming from another part of the booth. They had deliberated for some time whether the hand belonged to a Bedawin or a beggar and had tried tickling it with a feather. Eventually they had convinced themselves that they had found a genuine body.
They had awoken the fiki and alerted first the neighbours and then, as they reminded him, Owen. Owen’s lack of interest on that earlier occasion was made up for now. They showed him where they had seen the hand and how exactly the body had lain: adding vivid but less plausible details as to the appearance of the body when at last the Effendi from the Parquet had come and ordered it to be slung across a camel and be taken away.
Owen stood for some time looking down on the place where Sabri had lain. There were smears of blood on the carpeting. He could not see any, however, on the sand around. Sabri must have been killed elsewhere, probably nearby, and the body brought. There should have been traces. The sand was all scuffed up by now so perhaps it was not surprising that he couldn’t see them. But the sand would have been less disturbed when the Parquet man had come and he would certainly have looked. It would be in his report. Had he called in trackers, Owen wondered?
The body had been found in the morning. This meant it had been placed there during the night. Where had Sabri been that night?
His nose caught a whiff of smoke from a dung fire. He looked across the Camel Market to where the Bedawin were preparing their evening meal. That would probably have been where.
He walked over to one of the fires. They made room for him with the casual hospitality of the nomad. One of them put a cup of tea into his hands. He sat there for some time, getting used to their Arabic, a different Arabic from that used in the city and the one that he was familiar with.
‘You will be leaving soon?’ he said eventually.
‘Tomorrow.’
Owen nodded and sipped his tea.
‘One of you will not be leaving,’ he said, after a moment.
‘No?’
‘The one who was killed.’
‘True.’
‘Not one of you,’ Owen said.
‘No,’ they agreed.
‘Although he rode with you. Compensation must be paid. And his people need to know who it is that must pay it.’
‘Not us,’ they said.
‘He was with you,’ Owen pointed out.
They shrugged.
‘Was there not some quarrel?’
‘No,’ they said.
‘Some cause of strife?’
‘How could there be? He was not one of our enemies. He came from round here.’
‘They don’t have tribes in the city,’ one of them explained.
The most usual cause of trouble among the Bedawin was a tribal feud.
‘Some private things?’ he suggested. ‘Hot words?’
They looked at each other and shook their heads.
‘He kept himself to himself and bore himself modestly.’
‘Nevertheless, on a long journey—?’
He could see, however, that they dismissed it.
‘Why do you ask?’ said one of the Bedawin suspiciously. ‘Are you charging us with his death?’
‘No. It is just that since he was with you, you might know who his family should apply to for compensation.’
‘If it was us,’ said the man truculently, ‘do you not think we would have said?’
‘I know that you, being the men you are, would not deny a just quarrel.’
‘If there had been a quarrel with one of us,’ persisted the man, ‘it would have been out in the open. We do not creep up upon a man in the night.’
There were mutters of agreement from all round the fire. The Bedawin regarded the point as conclusive.
‘I do not charge you with his death. I
seek only your help. And surely I can seek it, since, although he was not one of you, he rode with you?’
They considered this carefully. The Bedawin system of obligations, although stringent, made neat discriminations.
‘I ask on behalf of the family of one who rode with you.’
They looked at each other.
‘I ask only for your help.’
‘Well—’
He could see they were weakening.
‘There are bad men around,’ said someone.
‘It’s like that in the city,’ said someone else.
‘And you think it was one of them?’
‘Must have been.’
‘To come upon a man in the dark!’
‘When he was just doing his job!’
‘Ah, he was doing his job, was he? I thought he had finished and gone home.’
‘He had. But then he came back. Just for the night.’
‘Why was that?’
‘He said he had to see someone the next morning.’
‘Could he not have come the next day? Why should he spend the night with you?’
‘He said it was to see a big man, Effendi.’ It was ‘Effendi’ now, Owen noticed. ‘At one of the Government offices. You can spend all day there waiting to see someone like that. He thought he’d better get there early.’
‘And so he spent the night with you?’
‘That’s right, Effendi,’ said someone who had not yet spoken. ‘He was with Wajja and me at our fire.’
‘Then how was it that he was taken?’
‘The camels were restless. And Wajja said: “We must go and look, for there may be thieves abroad: and if someone takes the camels, maybe the Levantine will want his money back.” So Sabri said: “I will go, for I have been too near the fire, and must cool off.”’
‘And he went?’
‘That is so.’
‘And then?’
‘Then? Nothing. He did not come back. And I would have been content to leave it so, but Wajja—’
‘I said I was uneasy. For the camels were still restless. So I took my sword and my whip and went among them. But I found nothing untoward and no person there, not even Sabri. So after a while I went back to the fire and found Mukhtar sleeping, and woke him up and told him.’
The Point in the Market Page 5
