Donkey-Vous (22 page)

“That is not the point.”

“No?”

“The camels smelled a bit,” said someone.

“That was because they have been carrying night soil.”

“The smell doesn’t matter,” said Daouad. “The important thing is that they are good strong beasts and used to carrying loads. Not too spirited.”

“Oh, the camels were all right.”

“Anyway, Hassan is a good driver. I remember—”

“No more of Hassan,” said Owen. “Were there any others, apart from Hassan and Abdul, who were not donkey-boys?”

“Salah.”

“Who is Salah?”

“He was playing the pipes. None of us could play them well enough.”

“OK. Apart from Hassan and Abdul and Salah, was there anyone else?”

They looked around.

“No. Just us.”

“It was all your own idea?”

“It was my idea chiefly,” said Daouad with pride.

“And mine too,” said Yussuf.

“Yes, but you couldn’t have done it without us,” objected the other donkey-boys. No one wanted to be left out.

“It was a bad idea,” said Owen. “It was a wicked idea. To harm that old gentleman!”

“We wouldn’t have harmed him! We have looked after him well.”

“We have cared for him as if he were one of our own donkeys.”

“We were going to give him back. After we had got the money.”

“We were just borrowing him.”

It struck them all as a happy thought.

“We were just borrowing him.”

“All we wanted was the money,” Daouad explained.

“No doubt. But money is not to be had that way.”

“We saw others doing it and it seemed to us a good idea. No one gets hurt. No one gets caught.”

“And you make a lot of money.”

They looked at Owen almost accusingly.

“It’s a good way to earn a living. In one day you can make enough to live on for several years.”

“We could have doubled our stock of donkeys.”

“Hired men in. Then we could have stopped at home with our wives.”

“We could have bought a lot of wives.”

“However,” said Owen, “it so happens that you have been caught.”

The bubble of their euphoria was pricked. They looked at him with suddenly doleful faces.

“Yes,” they said, “there is that.”

“You are going to the caracol, where you are going to stay for a long time.”

“What about our donkeys?”

“You will have to get someone else to look after them. I’ll tell you what,” said Owen. “You can send that little boy off to fetch someone to take charge of the donkeys. Tell them to come here to collect them.”

He didn’t want to take the donkeys as well to the prison. “And while we’re waiting for them to come, two of you can come with me and show me where you keep the prisoners. Is it far?”

“No,” they said, crestfallen. “It’s not far. It’s just across the road, in fact. In the Wagh el Birket.”

“OK. Daouad and Yussuf, you can come with me.”

They seemed the two brightest. He didn’t want to leave them with only the constables looking after them.

“We come,” said Daouad and Yussuf, scrambling to their feet.

“Are they both there?”

“Both?”

“Or all three,” said Owen, remembering Tsakatellis.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your prisoners. Those you have kidnapped.”

“We have only kidnapped one,” said Daouad, bewildered.

“Only one?”

“The Englishman.”

“What about the Frenchman, the old man with the stick?”

“We were nothing to do with that,” said Daouad, offended.

In fact,” said Daouad, “that was what gave us the idea in the first place.”

“When we saw how simple it was—” said Yussuf.

“And when as time went by you still did not catch them—”

“And we heard the size of the ransom—”

“And we thought of the donkeys that would buy—”

“We thought that Allah had decided to smile on us by placing the opportunity in our way—”

“Which if we did not seize would be clearly to go against his wishes—”

“Let’s get this straight,” said Owen. “You saw how the Frenchman was kidnapped—?”

“We did.”

“And then as time went by and nothing happened you thought you might as well try it too?”

“That is so.”

“Had you no thought of evil?” said Owen sternly.

“We thought only of the money,” Yussuf said sadly.

“It may be that we have done wrong,” said one of the other donkey-boys.

“You
have
done wrong. However,” said Owen, as a thought struck him, “it may be that you can a little undo the evil you have done. Let us return to the kidnapping of the Frenchman. Tell me what you saw. There was the Frenchman on the terrace—”

“We did not see him on the terrace. We were watching the wedding.”

“But then suddenly there he was on the bottom of the steps, and we were surprised, for he does not usually come down the steps—”

“And then we were even more surprised, for the jesters gathered round him and one put a cloak over him and two bundled him into the palanquin—”

“And then the camels rose and went away—”

“And we were left marvelling.”

“This cannot be true,” said Owen. “Are you telling me that all this happened without you knowing that it was going to happen? That no one approached you beforehand and said ‘Here is money. It will be yours if you do not see what happens when the old Frenchman comes down the steps’?”

“One approached us and offered us money. But he said nothing about the Frenchman.”

“He merely said, ‘Tomorrow when the effendi are at their tea a wedding will come to the steps. When that wedding comes, turn your eyes the other way.’ ”

“And he gave you money?”

“He showed us money and a cudgel. He said, ‘Which of these do you choose?’ We said, ‘Money.’ He said, ‘So be it. Here is money now. You will get the rest tomorrow. But if you do not avert your eyes or if you tell anyone about it after, you will feel the cudgel.’ And he told us about Hamid.”

“Hamid?”

“Hamid was found a week ago. He had been beaten until he was nearly dead. The one who spoke to us said that as it had been with Hamid, so it would be with us if we did not do as we had agreed.”

“However, you did not do as you had agreed, for when the wedding came you did look.”

“It was a good wedding.”

“Besides, we wanted to see.”

“As long as we did not tell anyone, we knew it would not matter.”

“But now you have told someone. You have told me and that is wise, for it may be that I shall put in a word for you when you come before the judge.”

“That would be kind of you.”

“But that depends on how much you are prepared to help me.”

“We will help you all we can,” they assured him.

“Good. First, the man who spoke to you: would you know him again?”

“We would.”

“And is he known to you already?”

“We have not seen him before.”

“You do not know his name, or where he comes from?”

“Alas, no.”

“He speaks like a villager,” someone said.

“A villager from near at hand? Or far away?”

The donkey-boys consulted.

“We think he comes from the other bank of the river,” they said.

“Good.”

Owen would have them taken—singly—to the villages across the river at nightfall when the men returned to their houses. It was a long shot but there was always the chance that the man might be identified.

“Next, the men in the procession: were these men known to you?”

“They wore masks.”

“What about the driver? Did he wear a mask?”

Again they consulted.

“We do not think he wore a mask. However, we did not really see him.”

“We saw the camels, though,” one of the boys said.

“And would you remember the camels?” Owen asked, not very hopefully.

“Oh yes.” The boy was quite definite. “The front one was a fine camel. Besides, I have seen it before.”

“Where did you see it before?”

“I saw it at the Market of the Afternoon. And then I saw it again at the Mosque of El Hakim.”

It was quite possible. The donkey-boys took a professional interest in livestock, and camels, like donkeys, were all individuals to them.

“Could you take me to where you saw it?”

“I could.”

“Good. Then you will do so. Next, the palanquin: have you seen that before?”

“One palanquin looks very like another,” they said doubtfully.

“Was it a hired palanquin or a private one?”

“Oh, a private one.”

“You are sure of that?”

“Oh yes, quite sure.”

“What makes you sure?”

The donkey-boys put their heads together.

“We do not know what makes us sure but we are sure.”

“Perhaps it is the ornament,” said one of the boys.

Owen was inclined to take their word. Not that it helped. To track down a private palanquin in the vast city was asking the impossible.

“Very well, then. Here is another question: what made the Frenchman come down the steps? You told me yourselves earlier that he was hardly strong enough to fall down them.”

“Ah yes, but when a man has the itch!”

“What itch is this?”

“The one between the legs.”

“The old man had an itch between the legs?”

“It never goes,” they assured him. “Wait till you are an old man and then you will see.”

“My uncle—” began one of the boys.

“Even if the old man had an itch,” Owen cut in hastily, “why did that make him come down the steps? Surely he was not going to the Wagh el Birket?”

That struck all the boys as funny and it was some time before they could contain their merriment.

“No, no. He was coming down to see Farkas.”

“You know Farkas? The postcard-seller?”

“I know Farkas.”

Several things slipped into place.

“Farkas had some cards for him?”

“Farkas always has cards. It was just that the old man wanted to see them.”

“The old man sent a message to Farkas. He sent one to speak with him. To tell him to come to the foot of the steps. Did you see who took the message?”

“No.”

“A dragoman?”

“I do not know who that would be,” said Daouad. “It could have been any of them.”

“Osman?”

“Osman, certainly.”

“Abdul Hafiz?”

“I do not think it would have been Abdul Hafiz.”

“Why not?”

“He is a Wahabbi.”

“He is very strict.”

“He does not like the cards. He thinks they are the Devil’s images.”

“He thinks Farkas is a son of Shaitan.”

“Where
is
Farkas?” asked Owen.

They looked around.

“He is not here.”

“He has not been here for several days,” said one of them.

“I know that,” said Owen, “and I would like to find him.”

Daouad hesitated and looked at the other donkey-boys.

“We know where he might be,” he said.

“Find him for me,” said Owen, “and I shall not forget it.”

But first they had to find Colthorpe Hartley. Daouad and Yussuf took Owen across the street and along the Wagh el Birket. There was a little alleyway between two of the houses. At the far end, in the shadows, was a small door which reached up only to Owen’s waist.

Daouad stooped and beat his fist upon it. When there was no response he hammered again. A bolt on the other side of the door was half eased back.

“Who is there?” said a voice.

“Daouad.”

Once the bolt was pulled fully back the door opened slightly. Whoever it was took a good look at Daouad and then, reassured, lifted the door open.

Daouad bent down and went through, Owen followed him. He did not like stooping in this way. It placed him at a disadvantage. He was glad when he stood up on the other side and nothing had happened.

Although it was dark inside there was light at the far end of the room or corridor. They went toward it. A door was pushed open. They walked through into a bare room, in one corner of which there was a tattered mattress on which someone had been lying.

The man who had opened the door to them peered up blindly at Owen. His eyes were red and, like many Egyptians, he was obviously suffering from ophthalmia. He was old and short and fat and when he spoke Owen realized that he was a eunuch. “Who is your friend, Daouad? He is not one of us.”

Daouad took no notice. He went straight across the room to an alcove, in which there was another door. He pulled back the bolts and beckoned Owen.

Colthorpe Hartley looked up.

“Good God!” he said. “You here?”

Owen sent Georgiades with one of the donkey-boys to see if he could find Farkas. They returned some time later holding the filthy-postcard-seller firmly between them.

“I haven’t done anything!” Farkas protested, even before he got through the door.

“I am sure you haven’t,” said Owen.

“No?” said Farkas, surprised and, probably, disbelieving.

“Nor would you wish to,” said Owen, “lest you might find yourself in the caracol or helping the men build the dam.”

“That is true!” Farkas assented fervently.

“So I know you will help me.”

“I will help all I can,” said Farkas cautiously.

“You certainly will. And, first, you will tell me why it was that the old Frenchman came down the steps from the terrace on the day he disappeared.”

“I do not know. Why should I know?”

“Because he came down to see you.”

“Why, so he did!” said Farkas, after a moment’s reconsideration.

“You showed him the cards.”

“He may indeed have looked at them.”

“And then he was seized. Who seized him, Farkas?”

“I do not know!”

“You were there. You saw. You must know.”

“I was there. But…but I did not see!”

“Come, Farkas, you are not telling the truth.”

“I swear it!”

“You are a forswearer, Farkas!” said the donkey-boy, clearly enjoying his role. “Everyone knows that.”

“It is the truth!” the postcard-seller protested. “I was there, yes, but I did not see. They pushed me aside. Anyway, they were all wearing masks.”

“But they weren’t wearing masks when they approached you and asked if you would help them.”

“It was one man only and I did not know him. He said he would beat me if I didn’t agree to help him. He was a bad man, effendi, and I knew he would keep his word.”

“Which is more than you would,” said the cooperative donkey-boy.

“Tell me what you were to do.”

“I was to go to the foot of the steps when I was told. The old man would come down the steps and then I would show him the cards.”

“And then?”

“Then I was to get out of the way. And tell no one.”

“You
have
told someone,” said the donkey-boy, carried away, “you have told us, Forswearer!”

“I would not have told,” protested the postcard-seller. “I tried not to. I ran away after you came the first time because I knew you would come again.”

“Farkas,” said Owen, “you said you were to go to the steps when you were told. You
were
told and you went. Who told you?”

Farkas moistened his lips.

“If it makes it any easier,” said Owen, “I may already know the answer. He came across the terrace, did he not, and spoke to you?”

“Abdul Hafiz,” whispered the postcard-seller.

“I had a feeling it was going to be him,” said Owen, “even before Colthorpe Hartley told me. While he was being held in that place in the Wagh el Birket he had a chance to do plenty of remembering and eventually he got there. He didn’t know Abdul Hafiz by name, of course. He remembered him as the serious one.”

“He saw him go across the terrace?”

“And speak to Farkas, yes.”

“Did he go straight to Farkas?” asked Georgiades.

“He went to Moulin first.”

“Yes,” said Georgiades, “that makes sense. I was wondering—”

“Presumably he told him something like that a new supply of cards had come in and would he like to see them?”

“How did he get on this sort of terms with Moulin in the first place? I mean, if I wanted someone to go on a dirty errand for me, Abdul Hafiz is not the man I would choose.”

“Abdul Hafiz dragomaned for Berthelot and Madame Chévènement. Moulin must have met him through them. When you first come to Egypt one dragoman looks pretty like another. Think of Colthorpe Hartley. It’s only later that you get to see the difference.”

“Abdul Hafiz went to Anton’s, of course. Carrying messages for Berthelot.”

“My guess is that they knew that the plan to build a big salon on the other side of the river was already beginning to seep out. Zawia might have already been tipped off by one of the Khedive’s entourage. When it began to break, Abdul Hafiz was the right man in the right place. And Moulin, the man behind it on the French side, became the obvious man to go for.”

“You think they were out to stop the Khedive?”

“And raise money. And hit at the Great Powers. Maybe at tourism, too. If you’re a Wahabbi you’re dead against all that kind of foreign contamination.”

“You reckon they’re all Wahabbi?”

“If one of them’s Wahabbi, the others are likely to be.”

“Not Senussi,” said Georgiades, as one reporting a fact.

“Not Senussi. That’ll disappoint the Army,” said Owen with satisfaction.

“Maybe. But it doesn’t make it any easier for us. There are a hell of a lot of Wahabbi in Cairo.”

“We’re not much further,” Owen conceded.

“Especially now that Abdul Hafiz has gone,” said Georgiades.

Someone must have been watching, for by the time that Owen had got downstairs again after taking Colthorpe Hartley back to his room, Abdul Hafiz had gone. It confirmed for Owen that someone had overheard Colthorpe Hartley’s groping attempts to identify the dragoman he had seen when he had been talking with Owen on the terrace, but this was no consolation.