Now the voice turned pleading, and an argumentative male answered it.
Where’s it coming from?
It seemed to be everywhere at once: behind her, before her, and beyond the walls. Jade took a deep breath, her head foggy from the stale air. Again the voice drifted away to her left. She followed it, drawn along as sailors were drawn to the siren’s song, no longer watching the walls for other branches.
The constructed stone walls gave way to natural earth and stone. Jade saw lines along the walls and floor where ancient tools had picked and hammered out the passages.
Phoenicians? Romans?
Once, she accidentally kicked aside a fragment of an urn. Jade picked it up and turned it over in her hands. She recognized the shape as that of an amphora, golden leaves painted on a black glaze. Perhaps these had been storage warrens when the city was a trading port. Jade carefully set it aside and continued along the passageway, pausing only to let her light expose an occasional shallow alcove carved out of the wall.
Finally, the voices became clearer, as though the speakers stood just around the next corner. Jade pressed herself against the wall in one of the alcoves and switched off her flashlight. She couldn’t make out what language these people spoke, but oddly enough, she understood them.
“Take this amulet, Igider, but do not wear it,” commanded a woman.
“Elishat’s amulet,” said a man’s voice, breathy with awe.
“The very same.”
“Dahia, I have obeyed you in all else, but I cannot do this. It will mean your death.”
“I am already dead, Igider. What is important is that the rule of the
kahina
lives on. My sons will do as I say to save my people. They will join the invaders to stop the warfare and our extermination.
You
must do as I say to save my daughter’s legacy.”
“Your daughter?” Igider’s voice was incredulous. “Dahia, no one …”
“You are correct. No one knows of my daughter. I have kept her hidden in the high mountains for her twelve years to keep her safe.”
“Then you knew of this day?”
“Yes, I foresaw it,” the woman replied, her voice riddled with sorrow.
“But still you fought?” the man asked, his voice softened with respect.
“To foresee is not to surrender. But it is to make preparation. ”
There was a brief pause, as though both parties searched for something to say, something to bring hope to a desperate situation.
“Now go,” said the woman. “Slip out the tunnels into the night and make your way to my sister. Give the amulet to her for my daughter.”
“And you, my
kahina
?”
“I will wait a while longer before I, too, slip away. Have no fear for me, Igider. They will not capture or kill me tonight. ”
The voices ceased. Jade remained still lest one or the other go past her and see her, but no one passed her way. Whoever these people were, they didn’t seem to be involved with her mother.
Mother.
Perhaps she was back at the hotel. Maybe she’d been there all this time, waiting for Jade, worrying. Jade shook her head to clear the foggy feeling enveloping her. That’s when she noticed that even her left palm hurt.
As she switched her light back on, she realized that she was gripping the old iron blade her guide had given her.
What in the name of Pete?
Jade couldn’t recall taking it out of her pocket.
I’ve got to get back. Report this body. Find Mother
. She started to turn back when her light reflected off a thin band of white at her feet. Something white and grainy made a neat semicircle around the nook where she’d hidden. Jade bent down and picked up a few coarse grains, then touched one to her tongue.
Salt.
Where did it come from? She flashed the light into the alcove and saw another half-filled urn. She reached inside and pulled out a handful of sea salt.
What’s going on here?
Salt in an old urn was one matter, but the circle of salt? She didn’t remember seeing that when she’d hidden herself. Her skin prickled with goose bumps.
That did it. She ran back down the tunnels, trying to remember every turn she’d taken. Just keep turning right, she thought. Finally she stumbled out the doorway and into the city alleyway, collapsing against the opposite wall. The stork nesting above her clacked its thick beak in alarm and flapped away. Jade gulped in the fresher air, not minding the smell of rat urine and stork droppings.
I’m out. Away from that body and those voices.
That’s when she remembered the body. She hadn’t seen or tripped over it on her way out. It was gone. So was her guide. Only the Little Owl remained, ruffling his rufus-red feathers. He opened his beak wide and, after a few convulsive twitches, regurgitated the pellet from last night’s meal; then hunkered down for the day.
Jade stepped back as the owl pellet plopped at her feet and cracked apart against a stone. From inside, something golden winked in the light. Jade’s first thought was that a little pack mouse had met his end when he ran out into the night. She reached down and picked up the trinket, a charm shaped like a moon eclipsing the sun. Jade turned it over in her hand and blinked as it flashed sunlight into her still dilated pupils.
Sunlight! It was sunset when I went in. Sweet Millard Filmore on a bicycle. How the hell long was I in there?
CHAPTER 4
Tangier is an international city governed in part by a committee of nations.
Basically, this translates into too many officers and not enough soldiers.
Everyone and yet no one is in charge. Consequently, it’s the perfect place to
conduct illegal activities. One would suspect that every third person
and his cat is a smuggler, and there are a lot of cats in Tangier.
—The Traveler
“I TELL YOU, LIEUTENANT GERVAIS, there was a dead man in the tunnels. I saw him.”
“Of course, Mademoiselle. And what did this supposed dead man look like?”
“Like he was dead. Monsieur Lieutenant, I have already described this man to you twice.” She stood in the small reception room of the French military post in Azilah, facing the lieutenant who sat at his desk, twirling his pencil. Why, she wondered, did he insist on treating her like some hysterical female? She caught his bemused glance at her clothing and knew why. Her clothes were covered in dirt, old whitewash and a few smudges of what smelled like bat guano. She could only imagine what her face and hair looked like. She could almost hear her mother’s admonishments in her ear. One in particular stood out.
You must never show your emotions when dealing with others. It gives the appearance of a lack of control and awards them the upper hand.
All right. Time to curb her rising temper if she wanted him to take her seriously.
“He was dressed like a Moroccan Arab in a long white
djellaba
with a black sash around his waist and a white turban on his head.”
“And you say he had a scimitar?” He made a notation in his little book.
“No. I did not say that. I said he had the scabbard for a small knife tucked in his sash. He wore the knife in his back.”
Monsieur Gervais ignored her sarcasm. “I see. And how long was this knife?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t pull it out of his back. But the scabbard was about twenty centimeters long.” She held out her hands like a fisherman does to depict the size of the catch.
“And this man spoke to you?” He held his pencil poised, ready to write.
Jade scowled.
He’s mocking me
. “How could he speak to me? I told you he was dead.”
“But you said he told you to go down one of the tunnel passages?”
“His arm lay stretched out, pointing down the right-hand passage. But I went down the other branch. I heard voices and thought it might be my mother.”
“And these voices, Mademoiselle, they were not attached to any people?”
That’s it!
“Monsieur. I’m sure they were, but I didn’t see them. I was hiding. Now, if you don’t care about the dead man, will you at least help me find my mother?”
The Frenchman closed his little book and pocketed it in his shirt. “Mademoiselle del Cameron,” he said, his voice patronizing, “I’m sure you can now see the bad judgment in an impressionable girl such as yourself wandering alone in such dangerous passages. Of course the experience would over-stimulate any untrained mind of a romantic turn. I would suggest you go back to Tangier and you will most likely find your mother waiting for you at your hotel.”
Jade wouldn’t hold back her temper any longer. It was one thing to suggest she had made up her story to feel important, but to accuse her of being a silly twit of a girl fresh out of finishing school? She stiffened into a military posture, staring over the man’s head. “
I
am a decorated ambulance driver of the Great War, where I served the French Third Army. I pulled simpering, babbling soldiers from the trenches and drove them under shell fire to the hospital and earned the Croix de Guerre.
You
are an idiot, Monsieur, and I shall report you to your superior officer.”
She drove back to Tangier in a furor; angry at the French representative in Azilah for treating her like a child, and at her mother for wandering off without letting her know where she was going. When her conscience prickled and suggested she should be angry with herself for causing their argument the other morning, she pushed the thought aside and focused on her mother’s antiquated notions of propriety as the root.
She drove past the
Bab el Kasbah
, or “Gate of the Fortress,” and followed the Rue de la Kasbah southeast to a smaller gate into the
Medina
. Eventually, after wending her way through the tangled, narrow streets cluttered with people, stray dogs, and a few donkeys, she turned the car into the side alley by Madame Laferriere’s residence. No one answered her knock, so Jade ripped a page from her notebook, scribbled a brief thank-you in French and shoved it under the door. Then she hurried as quickly as she could back to her hotel.
Jade was taking the front steps two at a time when a slender man in a French military uniform stopped her at the door.
“Mademoiselle del Cameron?” he asked.
“Oui.”
She supposed that the officer at Azilah, thinking better of her, had sent a wire to his colleague in Tangier. “Have you found my mother?”
“You must come with me,” he said, gripping her left arm.
Her stomach lurched as she envisioned identifying her mother’s dead body at some barracks headquarters. “Answer me, please. Have you found my mother?”
“We are hoping you will tell us where your mother is, Mademoiselle. She is under suspicion for murder.”
Jade jerked her arm free. “What?”
“And,” the officer continued as he grabbed her arm again, “there has been a complaint filed against you for stealing an automobile.”
“That is ludicrous,” she retorted, her voice sharp with anger.
“Which charge would that be?” asked the officer as he led her to a waiting car and gently pushed her into the backseat. He slid in beside her and tapped the driver, a private, on the shoulder.
“Both charges,” replied Jade, as the car raced through the crowded streets. The driver honked the horn continuously as pedestrians scrambled out of the way. Jade saw a few tourists point at her and recognized the Tremaines. Libby, in particular, watched with a smirk pasted on her pretty, insipid face.
Wonderful. That should fuel the gossip.
“If you go to Madame Laferriere’s home, I can prove I did not steal her Panhard.”
“Ah, then you do know her car.”
“Of course I know her car. I drove it. Only I did not steal it; I hired it out for the day. She probably became concerned when I didn’t return it yesterday evening.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I was in the underground tunnels of Azilah all night. I was looking for my mother.”
“And you hid her away in these tunnels after she murdered a man?”
Jade’s emerald eyes opened wider. “Mother didn’t murder anyone.”
“That remains to be seen, Mademoiselle.”
“Please, Monsieur …”
“I am
Captain
Réné Deschamp.”
“Captain Deschamp. If you will allow me to explain. I am not trying to hide anything. On the contrary, I need your help. My mother is missing.”
“I am aware of that, Mademoiselle del Cameron.” They stopped in front of a clump of crumbling houses that Jade recognized from this morning. “We will first pay a call on Madame Laferriere.”
Captain Deschamp led Jade to the door, keeping a firm grip on her right arm with his left. He rapped on the door several times, but received no reply.
“If you look in that alleyway,” said Jade, “you will see her Panhard. And there,” she pointed to the slip of paper peeking from under the door, “is the note I left for her.”
Captain Deschamp ordered his driver to inspect the alley and then the automobile itself once the man verified that the vehicle was parked there.
“It appears to be in order, Captain Deschamp,” said the private.
“Hand me that note,” ordered Deschamp. The private did, and Deschamp read it. He handed it back to the underling and motioned for him to replace it.
“It seems that you are guilty of nothing more than tardiness in returning Madame’s car. At least,” he added, “in this matter. There still remains the issue of your role in your mother’s crime.”
“My mother didn’t commit a crime,” Jade said.
Captain Deschamp escorted her gently but firmly back to the car and ordered his driver to proceed to headquarters. “Perhaps,” he said as they sped along the narrow streets of the
Medina
, horn honking, “you should tell me everything.”
Jade flinched as one white-robed Moroccan dodged their Peugot, dropping his basket against her window as he stumbled. Cucumbers sprayed into the air, several bouncing against the glass. “I’ve been trying to ever since you arrested me.” She explained yesterday’s events quickly and concisely, omitting nothing but the owl pellet, and that only because she hadn’t given it any more thought after pocketing the charm. By the time she’d finished, they’d arrived at a tidy, two-story building outside the
Medina
walls.