The facts lined up, but…

Coincidence. It had to be. Aside from all else, she couldn’t have known about his leaving…could she?

Even if she had known, why would she bother changing her plans to follow him? It made no sense.

A niggle of a suggestion tapped his mental shoulder, but that was self-important arrogance if ever he’d heard it.

“Let me know if you learn anything more.” Pushing away from the railing, he continued on his rounds.

7th October, 1822

Morning

Still in my cabin aboard the barge

Dear Diary,

I have missed several entries for the simple reason that I have nothing to report. I suppose, in lieu of anything more interesting, I should remark on what I have seen.

Water. And interminable sandy shores. Barren sandy shores. With the occasional rocky headland. This is not a picturesque part of the world. The sun glints off the water constantly, which is pretty the first time one sees it, but my eyes now ache from squinting so much.

As intimated, I have endeavored to learn more about Gareth, but he is proving annoying adept at eluding me, even in such a restricted space. When I do manage to run him to earth, he remains stiff, literally, and tries to keep even a conversational distance. It is really most irritating. I have concluded, given he is so determinedly the strong and silent type, that I will need to look to his actions for further revelations of his character.

Thus my next question: what actions do I need to provoke?

E.

Their barge drew into the Mocha docks in the early afternoon.

With Watson’s help, Gareth had their party formed up and ready to disembark the instant the ropes were cinched tight. Within minutes they were moving swiftly along the wharf and into the town, Emily, Dorcas and Arnia walking quickly before the luggage, with the men positioned around them, all on high alert.

As Gareth passed Emily, she reached out and clutched his sleeve. Tugged him close.

Looked up and met his eyes. Hers were narrowed. “What haven’t you told me?”

He considered, but it couldn’t hurt for her to know. “The cultists might have come on by the inland route. We have to assume they’re here, and we don’t want to meet them unnecessarily.”

She held his gaze for an instant, searching his eyes, then nodded and released his sleeve.

He watched her for several moments, but far from exhibiting any degree of fear, she merely scanned the crowds, watchful and now alert. He hadn’t made any conscious decision not to spell out the situation for her as he had for the men. The men had to be on guard. Her…he simply hadn’t thought of it.

“Where are we heading?” She asked the question without looking at him.

He, too, kept his gaze on the noisy crowds. “Somewhere you and the others will be safe while I find a schooner to take us to Suez.”

Bister, scouting ahead as usual, returned at that moment with directions to a small family-run tavern down a narrow side street only a few blocks from the docks.

When they reached it, Gareth approved. The front was mostly wall, with only one door and a small glassless window covered by a leather flap, presently lowered against the day’s heat.

They went in. Given the hour, the front room was empty.

Gareth directed Emily and Dorcas to the front corner furthest from the door. Arnia followed. To his relief, although Arnia was usually exceedingly reserved, she seemed to have made some pact with Dorcas, and the pair had reached a working accord-which would certainly make his life easier.

Mooktu, with Mullins, had gone to chat with the proprietor, a middle-aged Arab who smiled and nodded. They returned bearing a tray with a pitcher and mugs. Without words, they pulled together tables, arranged benches, and sat down to refresh themselves.

And plan.

Gareth looked at Watson. “You, Mooktu, and I need to go back to the docks and look for a schooner to hire, preferably one that will take us and only us, no other cargo, and so sail to Suez in the shortest possible time.”

Watson grimaced. “That’ll cost a pretty penny.”

“Money we have,” Gareth returned. “Our safety is my primary concern.”

Watson nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“We need supplies.” Emily waited until Gareth looked her way. Raising her hand, she ticked off on her fingers, “We need flour, lentils, rice, tea, sugar, and all the other things we didn’t have on the barge.”

They’d learned that although their households could happily share the same foods, Indian or English, a steady diet of fish and only fish suited none of them.

Beside Emily, both Arnia and Dorcas were nodding, as were Bister and Jimmy.

Gareth opened his mouth, then shut it as realization dawned.

Emily gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Indeed-if you find a barge to take us straight on, as we all hope, then given the hour we’ll need to go to the souk now. We can’t afford to wait until you get back.”

He stared at her. She could all but see his instinctive refusal to let her go outside forming on his tongue. She pointed to Bister. “If Bister will come with me, and Mullins, too, we can leave Jimmy with Arnia and Dorcas to guard the luggage.”

It was a reasonable division of labor and guards. Her gaze steady on his face, she waited to see if he would accept. If he had it in him to be reasonable.

His lips thinned, but slowly he nodded-forced himself to nod. “All right.” He looked at Bister and Mullins. “But take all care. So far we’ve managed to avoid the cultists. If at all possible, we don’t want to be seen.”


The souk was a bustling hive of humanity, located within a quarter of narrow winding streets. Both traders and customers hailed from many different nations, and all were talking loudly in many different tongues. Luckily, with the expansion of French and British influence, most traders spoke a smattering of pidgin English at least, and some spoke passable French, enough for Emily to get by.

She was firmly determined not to feel cowed by having to deal with such foreign foreigners. And, indeed, she discovered that if she approached with confidence, the traders treated her with deference and politeness, and after her months in Bombay, bargaining was second nature.

They got through their list of required purchases with commendable speed. She was completing the last transaction-for chickpeas-when Gareth and Mooktu joined them.

She smiled and handed Gareth the peas. “Here-you may as well make yourself useful…” Looking into his face, she saw his expression, saw the way his eyes scanned the crowd. “What?”

Without glancing down at her, he quietly said, “As we suspected, there are cultists in town. We saw them, but thus far I don’t think they’ve seen us. If at all possible, I’d like to keep it that way.”

Emily glanced swiftly around. She made no protest when Gareth’s hard fingers closed about her elbow, and with a terse nod to the stall owner, he turned her away, back toward the tavern.

They had to backtrack across the souk to reach the tavern. As they walked, keeping their pace no different to those around them, she murmued, “Did you find a schooner?”

“Yes. We were lucky-we’ll be able to leave this evening.” Eyes constantly surveying the crowd, ready to take evasive action if he spotted any cultist, Gareth registered her nod, but again didn’t glance her way.

He was feeling exceedingly exposed, and not a little vulnerable. Mooktu, in his tribal robes, merged easily into the crowd, but there were few Europeans about, and he, Emily, Bister, and Mullins stood out.

Without warning, Emily halted.

Already frowning, his grip on her elbow tightening, he turned to urge her on. And saw she was staring down an alley of stalls.

She looked up at him, eyes bright. “Disguises.”

He looked again, and saw that the stalls were selling robes and other items of local clothing.

“We can’t merge with the crowds as we are, but if we buy some Arab robes, we’ll be able to waltz right past the cultists.”

“We don’t need to get that close, but…” He looked down and met her eyes, brimming with enthusiasm. Nodded. “Let’s take a look.”

Collecting Mooktu, Bister and Mullins with a glance, he followed Emily into the narrow, winding alley.

It didn’t take her long to discover a shop selling all manner of outer robes. She tried on a burka-a long robe that completely covered a woman from head to toe, with only a small, lace-filled panel across the eyes to see out from.

The instant the burka fell over her head, she became…utterly indistinguishable from all the other women clogging the streets.

“This is wonderful!” Her voice, muffled, came from beneath the black folds. “I can see perfectly well.” She turned this way and that, surveying the small shop. “But no one can see me.”

In a flurry of material, she pushed up the front of the robe and fixed the shopkeeper with a direct glance. “I’ll take this one, and”-she pointed to another in brown-“that one. How much for both?”

Leaving her haggling, spurred on by just how well disguised she’d been, Gareth applied himself to finding robes for himself, and urged Bister and Mullins to do the same.

Initially reticent, they were soon caught up in the transformation. Gareth was pleased with the end result. With any luck, they might-just might-escape the eyes of the cultists. If they could, it would be well worth this small effort.

Leaving the shopkeeper with instructions that there would shortly be some others of their party calling, and that he was to show them similar garments, they left the shop, all now in Arab guise.

No one so much as looked their way.