Tonight, after existing for too many days on bread smeared with a little butter, we were going to feast. Clever Ahmed had pulled a hare out of a bush. One of the men roasted it whole over the fire to preserve the precious juices and we ate it ravenously, soaking up the sauce with bread. I lay down after our feast, looking at the orb of the moon, hanging lower and closer than ever at home. I felt I could reach out my hand and pluck it, like a silver apple. The men were singing some wailing desert song round the camp fire. It was wild and eerie but not unpleasant.
I felt strangely at peace.
“Ghazou! Ghazou!” harsh cries broke into my reverie.
One man jumped up and stamped on the fire, scattering burning embers in a wide arc. Others leapt up drawing swords and pistol. “A raid,” Ahmed hissed. “Quick back to the camels.”
“Who are they?”
“Enemies! Quick, with me.”
Shots rang out in the still desert air and I heard the racing of hooves. Before we could retreat the raiders were upon us, racing through our camp in a storm of sand and gunfire. Dark shrouded figures, on fast camels, their faces covered by scarves. As they rode some of them scythed the air with glittering swords. They were after our camels but they were not to have it all their own way. Our men, who a moment before had been singing before the campfire replete with food, had drawn their weapons. All around me was the clashing of swords and the sting of gunfire. I found myself in the middle of a pitched battle.
“Behind me,” hissed Waldo. “Keep down.” A firearm glittered in his hand. A tall man in a scarlet cloak was heading our way. Waldo fired—but the bullet went wide. The man leaned down and slashed at Waldo, expertly sending the gun spinning away into the desert. Blood dripped down Waldo’s hand. The raider laughed, showing teeth that gleamed white in the darkness; he kicked out viciously; the blow hit Waldo hard in the chest and sent him toppling into the sand.
It was Ali, Ahmed’s treacherous cousin.
“No!” I yelled, diving down. I had some idea I could upset the rider by attacking his steed; instead I fell perilously close to the camel’s legs. The next few seconds were a blur, something walloped me hard in the head making my world go dizzy, then I felt strong hands pulling me back. It was Waldo. Or was it Champlon? Hard to tell in the melee of bodies and swords.
“Thanks,” I gasped scrambling out of the camel’s way.
Champlon was smiling. Calmly he raised his gun, leveled his sights, took aim and fired. The bullet grazed the raider’s arm, just as it was upstretched to catch Waldo another blow. Stunned, Ali howled in pain and dropped his sword, which fell in the sand. I dived to catch it, getting there just a second before Waldo.
I grabbed it and was about to stab the traitor—but he was gone; racing out of our camp on his camel, as fast as his whip could spur the beast.
All around us raiders were charging, but Champlon was a marvel. The calm eye of the storm, he stood straight and still, sending shot after shot straight to its targets. A bullet hit a raider’s sword, causing it to fly out of his hands. Another smacked into a the shoulder of a man with a sweeping mustache; his yowl rose above the noise of the attack like a jackal’s wail.
The raiders hadn’t expected Champlon; a human hailstorm of bullets. We were armed, more aggressive in our own defense than might have been expected. Through the sand, we saw the raiders in retreat. Not before they had gained some precious plunder. One had got away with a saddlebag full of food, another with a tent, a third swiped a camel and was racing away, goading the reluctant beast with sticks and prods.
“Leave them!” Ahmed ordered his men, who were about to jump on their own camels and pursue the raiders.
“Piffle. I will see to them myself.” My reckless aunt jumped on her camel and rode off after the raiders.
“Champlon will never desert you!” The Frenchman followed closely. Before Ahmed could order them to their senses, the two adults had disappeared over a sand dune, chasing the raiders in the star-spangled darkness. They would surely get lost. One sand dune is much like another to my aunt, however much familiarity with the desert she claims.
“We must bring them back!” I cried, rushing to my camel. “This is madness!”
“Stay!” Ahmed said. “We will track them tomorrow at first light. It will be impossible tonight.” I could see his point for they had already been swallowed up by the night. The raiders were gone and sudden silence descended on the camp; eerie after the panic of the raid. Then from the remains of the campfire we heard a loud shout in Arabic, followed by a clamor of voices.
“What is it?” I asked, fearful of more raiders.
“They have caught a hostage!” Ahmed explained.
We hurried to the spot where a small, slight Arab was struggling in the clutches of two of our strongest men. He was dressed in shabby robes, had a dark villainous face and was yelling loudly as we approached. English words were mixed in with his moans! There was something familiar about the man, though for a moment I couldn’t place what it was. Then I leaned forward and wiped at his face with a finger I had moistened with spit. The grit and dirt peeled off, revealing pale, reddish skin.
Chapter Thirty
“Jabber!” I exclaimed.
“Pleased to meet yer again, Kit.”
“Is it really you?” I asked, staring at his dirty, tanned face, topped by that mop of carroty hair.
“Course it’s me. Who do yer think it is? Me Arab double? I’m too gorgeous for that, I am. They don’t build men like Jabber Jukes out ’ere in these hot countries.”
“What are you doing here?” I ignored this typical piece of arrogance.
“I’m on ’oliday.”
“Be serious, Jabber.”
“Wot do yer think? I’m wiv the Velvet Mob.”
“And we captured you …”
“Not likely.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say I decided to stay behind and have a little rest when the Velvets scarpered.”
Egyptian life had treated Jabber well. He was wearing smart robes, a headscarf and around his waist a bandolier of bullets. He positively jangled with weapons. How smoothly my East End friend had transformed from a whippersnapper of an English thug to an Oriental one. Then it occurred to me:
“Rachel?”
He nodded, sagely: “I done all I could for her.”
“How is she? How are they treating her?”
Waldo, holding his bloody hand in the crook of his arm, and Isaac had come close, attracted by the din. They watched in amazement as our old friend was revealed. Jabber was completely surrounded by the hostile crowd, his grubby face faintly lit by the glow of scattered embers. He should have been fearful, but being Jabber he was cocky instead.
“Jabber! I asked you about Rachel!”
“She’s all right.”
“It must be terrible for poor Rachel. Surrounded by enemies. Not knowing if help is going to come. Oh my poor friend.”
“I’ll kill ’em. When I find those thugs I’ll kill them.” Isaac burst out and Waldo put a comforting arm around his shoulder, even though he was wincing with pain.
“Do they drug her, Jabber?” I asked. “We heard that at Shepheard’s Hotel she was drugged?”
“I ’ad to give her sumfink to make her sleep. You got a lot to be grateful to Uncle Jabber for. It was me wot looked after the little lady, I—” He broke off stunned, his hand rising to protect his face where Ahmed had just walloped him.
“Wotcha do that for?”
Ahmed let loose again, giving Jabber another resounding slap. “You do not drug a lady!” he shouted, his face purple with rage.
The men took this as an invitation to pile in—and in a flash Jabber was attacked from all sides. They were going to make mincemeat out of him.
“STOP!” I roared. “This boy can help us. He can tell us about Rachel and help us to find her.”
“Yeah, Kit’s right,” Jabber whined. “I tell yer I ’elped Rachel. I’ll ’elp yer find �
��er. What do you think I’m ’ere for?”
“He’s not to be trusted,” Ahmed hissed. “He may be a spy. Let me beat the truth out of him.”
“No! Jabber is my friend. He will help us, Ahmed. You have my word on it.”
My word alone had to satisfy them. Grumbling, the men returned to try and catch a little sleep before dawn. Ahmed took Waldo away to treat the slash on the top of his hand, Isaac trudging away with them. Not before Ahmed had given me a very dirty look and Isaac had informed me it was on my head; if Jabber betrayed us it would be my fault.
“You heard what Isaac said,” I said to Jabber, squatting by the cinders of wood for their remnants of warmth, because early dawn can be bitterly cold in the desert. He had the grace to look ashamed. We had a long chat then, and what he told me about Rachel went some way to reassure me. It sounded like Jabber had been a friend to her, trying to make sure the mob treated her decently, even promising that he would help her escape if the chance came. Not that it ever had, because Rachel was always well guarded. I had a hunch his information would prove vital and I was grateful for it.
It was hard next morning to saddle up the camels and be on our way; not knowing where Champlon and my aunt had taken it upon themselves to go, not knowing of Rachel’s fate. Our tracker guide soon picked up Champlon’s and Aunt Hilda’s tracks. We followed the two of them for several hours, only to discover they themselves were following the raiders. According to our guide, the raiders had been a party of seven men, including three Westerners, one of them a lady. Later tracks and camel droppings showed they met up with another party, a well-stocked one with thirty baggage camels and another ten men, two of them foreigners. How he could tell that by marks in the sand don’t ask me. Apparently Englishmen sit differently on their camels! It looked like the Baker Brothers and Velvet Nell were traveling through this harsh desert in the style of emperors.
We didn’t stop for lunch, just moistened our parched throats with a little brackish liquid which we had found in the last watering hole. It was one of our usual days in the desert, sand, sand and more sand. Then suddenly a joyful cry went up from the men. We were in sight of Siwa!
“Where?” I asked.
In front of us stretched a large salt ridge, nothing more. More sand dunes on all sides. I expected some sort of mirage, at the very least. A few days ago I had seen a lake—wonderfully, liquidly blue. In my excitement I’d galloped toward it, hollering with glee, which made the men rock with laughter. What a foolish foreigner I was! Those deliciously cool waters turned out to be nothing but an illusion!
“Where’s Siwa?” chimed in Waldo and Ahmed.
The men chattered in Arabic and Ahmed listened. Then he turned to us with a smile. “Your aunt and Champlon, they are following the Velvet Mob. But my tracker, he knows a secret way. We will beat those villains to our oasis!”
Instead of laboring over those salt ridges till our camels’ feet were sore and we were dripping with sweat, we took a very clever route. Behind a large rock was a tunnel hollowed out of salt. We had to dismount from our camels, because the roof was so low, but it was beautifully cool inside. We moved at a steady pace, careful not to knock our heads on the stalactites which dripped down from the roof of the tunnel. Our camels didn’t like it, we had to prod them to persuade them onward, but for us it was a refreshing change from the glare of sand and sun and the relentless heat. When we had emerged from the tunnel, the sun seemed hotter than ever. For the first time on our journey I felt I simply couldn’t bear it any longer. So it was lucky that soon after we arrived at the most splendid sight in the world! There is nothing—nothing—to compare with the vision of an oasis after weeks in the desert.
Under a gleaming hilltop citadel, hewn out of white salt rock, nestled the most adorable little town. Chalky houses. Trees of apricot, palm and olive. Bubbling springs. A cool blue lake, which I longed to swim in. Never, ever had I seen a more beautiful sight. Why, the pyramids were nothing compared to this. It was positively brimming with life. So must the Garden of Eden have looked to Adam and Eve!
“The Book is hidden here,” I said to Ahmed, as we sat on our camels looking at this vision.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Siwa has always been a special place to my Berber people. Here we were safe and free when the Arabs invaded Egypt all those centuries ago.”
“Your father thought the Mob may have learned the secret hiding place. How are we going to stop the Baker Brothers finding the treasure?” I asked.
Ahmed didn’t seem to be listening to me. He patted his camel’s satiny flank, causing the beast to swivel its head so it was looking out over Siwa. Then, as if it sensed water and life, the camel broke into a trot. As we glided over the sands toward our desert oasis, Ahmed grinned at me:
“The cactus blooms in the desert.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We are Berbers, the desert is in our blood and bones. We are not scared of her, she is our friend.”
“So?”
“Don’t worry. I have a plan!”
Chapter Thirty-one
“If you would be so kind, Mr. Baker,” I said.
I moved closer to the man, feeling as if I was stepping up to a statue made of ice. He was dressed in a flawless white linen suit, his face hiding in the shadow of his palm-leaf hat. His skin was papery, his eyes flat—they could have been bits of glass in the face of a Punch and Judy puppet. I didn’t know which brother he was, but at that moment I didn’t care. I grabbed the front of his jacket. There it was, something heavy sewn into the silk lining. Something that made the jacket hang wrong. So I must have picked the right Baker! A quick slash with my knife and the thing tumbled into my hand.
A smooth shining black beetle, its body carved with ancient symbols. The cause of all our trouble. The scarab.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Mr. Baker looked at me expressionlessly. His brother, in identical linen suit, equally blank by his side. They may have appeared a couple of puppets but I knew they were furious. I felt the chill coming off them and for a second I feared for Ahmed, who had a gun to the other brother’s neck.
Ahmed’s men had executed the ambush with the skill of trained desert soldiers. We had waited for the Velvet Mob, camouflaged behind rocks at the bend of the path to Siwa. They came, noisy and chatting, excited to be at the oasis at last. They had no reason to be fearful, no reason to think we had set them a trap. They walked blindly into the fine silken nets we had spread over the road. Camels reared, men tumbled. Chaos and panic on all sides. Before our enemies had a chance to react we were in amongst them, our weapons at the ready. The Velvet Mob were bigger and better armed than us, but we had the advantage of surprise and organization. I admit I did have a moment’s doubt about Jabber, but he fought bravely, catching Bender Barney a blow that sent him flying against the rocks. Jabber’s information had been vital in securing the scarab—and his knowledge of the Velvet’s set-up enabled us to fight this battle, swift and sure. Now the rats were well and truly in our trap.
Only one riddle remained: where was Rachel?
“Rachel!” I called, adding my voice to Isaac and Ahmed’s. We searched in vain among the villains and their hired Arab guards. Hopeless. There was no sign of her.
“If you’ve hurt her,” Isaac blurted out, losing control.
There was a rustling within the Velvet ranks. With a swoosh of her finery, Velvet Nell emerged from behind a camel and stood before us, magnificent in a satin cloak of the deepest scarlet. Her lips matched the color of her cloak, a cruel red slash in her creamy skin.
“You want your little friend?” she purred.
“What have you done with her?” I replied, struggling to control my temper.
“You really want her back?”
“You witch!”
“She’s far more trouble than she’s worth. I’ve never met such a milksop. Well, there’s no accounting for taste, I suppose. Here you are.”
Velvet Nell, moved slightly to t
he side. I saw that she was holding an Arab girl dressed from head to toe in black, eyes veiled. Below the veil I could see a gag, bound tight about her mouth. The girl squirmed in Nell’s grip. It was Rachel looking out from behind that veil.
“If you want her, you’ll have to give me something in return,” Nell said.
Nell had a pistol to Rachel’s head. Isaac screamed and jostled Ahmed, whose hand trembled. The hand holding the gun which had a Baker Brother hostage. They may have looked like wrung-out dishcloths but it seemed the Brothers could be fighters. This brother jumped, flicking the gun down into the sand. In the blink of an eye we had lost our advantage.
“No!” I shouted.
“I’m afraid so, me dear.”
Nell stuck out a fleshy hand, its fingers dripping blood-colored talons. “I’ll take the scarab, if you please.”
I closed my hands over the scarab, my mind racing to think how I could save it—and Rachel. If I could somehow distract Nell, throw the scarab into the sand … but I had no time, for a furious bundle closed in on me. Shrieking in fury it took the scarab from my clutches and threw it at Nell.
“Take the bloomin’ thing!” Isaac shouted. “Just give me my sister back.”
Nell caught the scarab mid-air and her hand curled round it lovingly. Then with a rough shove she pushed Rachel forward, into Isaac’s arms.
“You got the worst of the bargain,” Velvet Nell said.
Meanwhile Ahmed had kept his head in the confusion, diving down and retrieving his gun. Now he pointed it at a Baker Brother, but another Brother held a gun to him. I looked around in confusion. Both sides were armed to the teeth, weapons sprouting everywhere I looked.
“It seems we could take you all.” Nell smiled.
“Or we could take you!” Ahmed snapped.
A stalemate. Or a bloody massacre. One of the Baker Brothers motioned Velvet Nell to come to him. She listened to his instructions, then spoke to us:
The Mummy Snatcher of Memphis Page 17
