by Unknown
We drove around the outer limits while Blake looked from a piece of paper in his hand to the sign posts we occasionally passed. He motioned for the driver to continue, talking to him in what I guessed was Arabic. We ended up going almost all the way around the tent city before stopping.
“Are we here?” I eyed the tent we’d parked in front of, dubious. A bland beige color, it sagged a bit and leaned to the left.
“It looks better on the inside.” Blake took my hand as I stepped out of the car and led me into the tent.
My eyes widened as I crossed the threshold. The city itself was a jewel in the desert and the interior of the tent was a palace. A crystal chandelier hunger from the peak of the tent while the floor underfoot was covered with oriental rugs. A small, elderly man wearing a red Fez hat, scurried forward, bowing repeatedly as he went.
Rheumatic brown eyes swept over us, taking us in as he said something I couldn’t understand. Judging from his tone and body language, it was some kind of welcome.
Blake answered him in the same language, which I decided must be French as I caught the word ‘beaucoup,’ which I knew meant a lot. As he spoke, the rest of the men filed into the tent, bringing all the luggage with them. They dropped their bags to the floor and then stood silently, awaiting further instructions with grim expressions. The mood had definitely turned dark since we left Casablanca. Based on the conversation I’d overheard earlier, I doubted they were too happy with Blake or me and were now stuck on a mission under less than ideal circumstances. I had similar feelings.
Blake swept his hand toward the old man and then back to the group. “Everyone, this is Nassim. He’s our host while we’re here. If you’re hungry, he will feed you. If you need something, he will find it.”
We all waved and said ‘hello.’ Nassim smiled in return, pressing his hands together and bowing his head.
Blake clapped his hands together. “All right, let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be busy. We start at seven a.m. sharp.” Blake gestured to Nassim. “You guys follow him to your quarters. Ruby and I will find our own way.”
Mark handed me my duffel bag. They’d loaned me one when they realized I had no luggage. Steve gave Blake his bag and they all trudged off without a word.
I stretched and covered a yawn with one hand. It felt more like three am as opposed to just midnight. Time didn’t seem to move the same in the Sahara. “I’m beat. Where are we sleeping?”
Blake hoisted his bag over his shoulder. “We’re bunking back here. Follow me.”
He led me to the side wall of the tent, which I realized was not a wall, but another entrance. Pulling back the flap, he motioned for me to precede him. “There are two rooms, but we can share and no one would ever know.”
“Hmm,” I murmured as I stepped past him. After the conversation I’d overheard, I wasn’t going to be so easy to get into bed. On the flip side, I wasn’t ready to burn any bridges either. I needed Blake, which meant I had to play along. I could only hope we would be too busy with this mission thing for any hanky-panky.
The room on the other side of the tent flap was fit for Scheherazade. I felt like I’d stepped into another world, one where the modern was replaced by the magical. “Wow, this is amazing,” I breathed as I spun in a slow circle to take it all in. A bed covered with jewel tone silks sat in the middle of the room. More carpets covered the ground and metal lanterns hung from the ceiling casting a soft, magical glow. “What has happened to my life?” I asked.
Blake tossed his duffle bag onto the bed and unzipped it.“It’s like living in a dream, isn’t it?”
I sat on the bed, pleased to find it soft. “It looks like a fairy tale, but it’s not.”
“No, it’s not,” Blake agreed as he rummaged through his clothes.
“Are you sure we’ll be back in time to save Lilli?” I asked.
He sat next to me on the bed, a fresh dress shirt in his hands. “Yes. We perform tomorrow afternoon and we’ll be back at the airport by midnight.”
“That’s a tight schedule.” Worry fluttered in my stomach. There was so much to do and so little time.
Blake nodded. “One that doesn’t allow for a lot of sleep, but we’ll make it. I’ve had worse deadlines.” He kissed the top of my head.
Nassim’s voice called out, interrupting our conversation, “Monsieur?”
Blake said something again in French and Nassim stepped into our room with a little bow. They had a quick exchange, where Blake looked increasingly unhappy, and then Nassim gave another little bow and left.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“Ferrid Abdul is here to see us.” He quickly yanked off the t-shirt he’d been wearing and pulled on a dress shirt, the starched white contrasting with his tan skin.
“Who is Ferrid Abdul?” The name had come up at the Riad and from Blake’s reaction just now, I knew this was a big deal. As usual, though, I didn’t know why.
“The man I came to meet.” He fiddled with his clothes, making sure his shirt was tucked in tight and buttoning his collar. “Nassim’s making tea for us.”
“Can I come?”
“Yes. I need you there, actually. But wear one of the caftans. Ferrid is Muslim and your shirt is inappropriate.”
I nodded and quickly went through my bag until I located a sky blue caftan set. Blake left me to change and when I joined him, he was shaking hands with a man I didn’t recognize. He wore a long white robe, similar in appearance to a caftan with gold embroidery around the neckline and matching white pants. His feet were bare, but clean. A quick glance behind him showed a pair of sandals set neatly by the tent entrance.
At my appearance, a warm smile appeared on Blake’s face. “Ferrid, this is my assistant, Ruby Smith.”
I opened my mouth to correct my last name, but quickly shut it when I caught the warning look on Blake’s face. Recalling his team had called Ferrid obsessive, I decided it was a good idea to make it harder to find me after this leg of my Moroccan kidnapping tour was over. “Hello,” I said, looking the man directly in the eye in an attempt to show I had nothing to hide.
Ferrid’s eyes were amazing. The color of chocolate with flecks of honey gold, they were framed with thick sable lashes that gave him a dreamy look.
The tall man took my hand and lifted it to his lips, his thumb caressing my knuckles in a too-intimate touch. “Welcome to the Sahara. Do you like it?”
Heat flushed my cheeks as he stared at me, his eyes bold. “Thank you. Yes, it’s beautiful.”
Ferrid smiled, pleased at my answer. “You make it even more so.”
My blush burned even hotter. He held my hand longer than was appropriate I froze, unsure of how to handle it. Should I pull away? Would that be rude?
I was saved by Nassim who bustled into the tent carrying a tray with a tea pot and cups. At his appearance, Ferrid finally released me.
“Let’s sit, shall we?” Blake gestured to the plump cushions set on the floor.
Ferrid sank to the floor in a fluid motion while I just tried not to fall over and disgrace myself. He’d probably been sitting on the floor all his life, but I was more accustomed to chairs.
Nassim poured the tea and we all drank. I listened as Ferrid and Blake made small talk. They didn’t seem to know each other that well. At least from what I could tell. I couldn’t actually understand them because they spoke in what sounded like a strange mix of French and Arabic, but they paused a lot and their laughter was strained. After the traditional three cups of tea, Ferrid stood with a little bow.
Switching to English again, he said, “Thank you for the tea. I must take my leave now. I look forward to your performance Mr. Cannon. You have a reputation for innovative magic. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” His gaze then focused on me. “Ruby, you are a jewel of beauty. My heart is lighter for having met you.”
Stunned at the depth of his words, I flushed. “Th-thank you, Ferrid. It was nice to meet you.”
Ferrid lifted an eye
brow. “Only the innocent can blush and yet you say she is your assistant, Mr. Cannon? How unusual.”
He didn’t wait for a response, but swept out of the tent after that.
“What an interesting man,” I said. “Who is he?”
“He’s the competition organizer...among other things.” Blake’s expression was sour. “And no matter how he bats his pretty eyes at you, don’t be fooled, Ruby. He’s nice as a sharp knife across your throat.”
I frowned and began to collect the tea cups to make the clean-up easier for Nassim. The old man had seemed to have a hard time bending down to serve the tea. “Are you serious?”
Blake nodded. “Dead serious.”
“So what did Ferrid want?” I asked, curious to know what they’d discussed.
“It was a meet and greet. He was checking us out.” Blake helped me gather up the remaining tea cups.
“He’d heard about you. That’s good, right?”
Blake shrugged. “Yeah, but it was you he wanted to see. He has a thing for curvy girls.”
I nodded. “I noticed.” And I’d overheard as much back at the Riad.
“Just remember, he’s not a friend, okay?”
“Got it,” I said putting the last of the tea service on the tray.
Blake helped me lift the tray, catching a cup that threatened to topple off. “All right. I’ve got to go talk to my team. You all right alone?”
“Sure. I wondered if I could go for a walk, though.” After so much time in a plane and then a car, I ached to stretch my legs. Also, I feared I had reached the point of being over tired. I didn’t think I could sleep just then. Besides, I wanted to see this fantasy city in the middle of the desert for myself. I needed to do something besides navigate lies, deceit and danger for once.
“We don’t have to worry about Frankie here, but you can’t go alone.” Blake called out for Nassim.
The man quickly stepped into the tent as if he’d been standing on the other side of the flap just waiting for someone to call his name. He took the tea tray from me with an expression of disapproval, as if he didn’t like that we’d cleaned up. “Oui Monsieur?”
They spoke in French and at the end Blake said to me, “Nassim will arrange for an escort.”
I beamed. “Thanks.”
“Just be careful. Don’t talk to people. Don’t tell anyone anything.”
I gave him a little salute. “Yes, sir. Mum’s the word.”
Chapter Fifteen
My escort turned out to be a charming teenage girl who shyly told me her name was Amiyah. She was Nassim’s eldest daughter and wore the black robe and veil of a devote Muslim, keeping her face covered except for her eyes. She also spoke excellent English.
When I asked her how she learned English, she explained in a soft, but earnest voice, “I have studied English all my life. My dream is to attend university in America.”
“You’re English is perfect,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll do well in the United States.”
She ducked her head at my praise. “My father does not want me to go.”
My father had died when I was twelve, but I remembered well how over protective he was, especially once I grew breasts. I smiled at Amiyah. “No father wants his baby girl to grow up. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll realize it’s a great opportunity for you.”
“I hope you are right, ma’am.” She swept her arm toward the entrance to our tent. “Shall I give you a tour of the city?”
I winced at the use of ma’am but let it pass. “Yes, please.”
My purse tucked under my arm, we took off to explore the tent city. The first thing I noticed was how cool it was. The air had the chill of fall in New York, not the smoldering heat I’d expected to find in the Sahara desert.
I rubbed my arms as we walked, trying to soothe the goose bumps prickling across my skin. “I thought this was supposed to be a desert.”
Amiyah laughed. “It gets cold at night still, ma’am.”
Imagining a night full of ma’am this and ma’am that, I said, “Please call me Ruby. Ma’am makes me feel like I’m too old to live.”
“Yes, Ruby.” She tugged on my arm. “Here, go this way. There’s a souk and you can buy a shawl.”
“Souk?” I asked unfamiliar with the word.
Amiyah thought for a moment, trying to think of the correct English translation. “Market. A place to shop, yes?”
“Oh that would be awesome.” I grinned and put a hand in my purse to touch the cash Frankie had given me. I had money, there were things to buy and some retail therapy after the last few days sounded grand to me.
The souk consisted of tightly packed stalls filled with not just goods, but the smell of strange spices. Middle Eastern music played in the background and the sound of several different languages make my head spin. While I could pick out some of the French words--merci, bon soir, bien-- I couldn’t really understand much of anything.
“I never expected to hear so much French,” I told Amiyah. “I thought it would be all Arabic.”
“Morocco is a country of the world,” she said with pride. “We speak many languages here. French, English, Arabic.” She waved a hand, loosely pointing at a cluster of men wearing long robes. “The nomad dialects.”
They looked our way and I lifted my hand in a friendly wave. Amiyah quickly batted my hand back down.
“Women here do not talk to men, Ruby. It is asking for trouble.” She locked elbows with me and neatly side-stepped down another section of the souk, leaving the men behind.
I flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
She patted my forearm. “Do not worry. I know it is different in America, but here you do not seek out men you do not know.”
I nodded. “Noted. Thanks.”
“Here, this way.” Amiyah led me to a stall featuring an assortment of jeweler. “This is a good place. They don’t cheat.” She exchanged a greeting with the stall owner as I looked over the items for sale. Gold gleamed and silver shone bright as the moon. After picking up several pieces, marveling at their intricate delicacy, I settled on a silver bracelet.
Amiyah did all the bargaining, speaking with emphatic authority for a girl her age. The vendor tried to counter her offers, but she shouted him down. Amiyah, I decided, was a force to reckoned with. When she closed the deal, I handed the money over to the now sour faced vendor.
After the bracelet, we moved on to a stall with leather goods were I bought a wallet. Both items were traditional crafts of Morocco according to Amiyah. I then bought a warm shawl and, with Amiyah’s advice, a few scarves in different colors.
“This way you can cover yourself if you need to.” She took one of the scarves and wrapped it around my head.
“But I’m not Muslim, Amiyah. Why would I need to cover myself?” Goodness, what would she think if she knew I was going to take my clothes off as part of Blake’s act? That led me to wonder if any women would be in the audience at all. How did performances like mine work in a Muslim country? I guessed I would find out tomorrow.
“If you visit a mosque you will need it and,” she leaned in and lowered her voice, “there are some men who will not accept Western women. It is good to be prepared.”
“All right. If you say so.” I doubted I would have time for any real sightseeing. At this rate, if I ended up in a mosque, it would probably be at gun point. The souk was likely the most I could expect from my visit to Morocco. Things would only get more dangerous from here; we were in Ferrid’s sights now and Frankie still waited for us.
Amiyah haggled a good price for the scarves and I handed over a twenty dollar bill. The vendor smiled broadly at the sight of American money.
“Why is he so happy?” I asked Amiyah. The guy at the airport coffee place had been just as excited about my money.
She shrugged. “The US dollar is worth more than our money. He can hold it until the exchange rate goes up and make even more money than what you paid.”
“Oh.” Well that made sense. Spotti
ng a food stall, my stomach clenched wanting to be fed. “Is it safe to eat the food here?”
“Yes, of course.” Amiyah took me to a kebob stall and we feasted on spiced lamb as we strolled through the souk.
There was an absolute crush of people in the souk now, jostling us from side to side. After someone elbowed me in the shoulder, I said, “Isn’t it late at night for so many people to go shopping?”
Amiyah shook her head. “The desert is too hot during the day, so people do their shopping after the sun goes down.”
I frowned, puzzled. “But it’s past midnight.”
Amiyah just shrugged as she led me around a large group of Bedouins who seemed unable to decide which direction they wanted to go first. “Competition hours.”
“Oh, so it’s not like this everywhere.” I finished my kebob and dropped the wooden skewer in a nearby garbage can.
“No. The souks here are open later.” Amiyah finished hers as well and tossed her skewer into the garbage after mine. “It’s like a holiday.”
The succulent meat warming my stomach, I said, “Well, if it’s a holiday we should celebrate. Let’s go on the Ferris wheel.”
Amiyah’s dark eyes crinkled as she smiled behind her veil. “That is my favorite thing to do here.” She slipped her small hand in mine, and together we ran toward the ride.
As I’d suspected, there wasn’t much of a view. The desert spread out under our feet, dark as an inkblot, but the sky above was lit up as if all the planets in the galaxy had set off fireworks at the same time.
“So beautiful,” I breathed, resolving to try and catch a sunrise or sunset from the Ferris wheel if I had the chance. I wanted to see the sands of the Sahara from up high.
