Daughter of the God-King(87)
Berry turned to her and translated, “Have they no son?”
Hattie was sorry to discover that this was the wrong thing to say to her, and raising her veil, she advanced on the seated man, her eyes flashing and her heart beating in her ears. “No, and they did not have a daughter, either. You are going to tell me what you know or by heaven I will not be answerable for the consequences.”
“Hattie—for God’s sake,” warned Robbie, startled.
But Berry said nothing as Hattie leaned over the seated man, pointing a finger in his face and hissing through her teeth, “How dare you insult me?”
Berry said something, but Hattie knew he was not translating.
The man’s liquid dark eyes rolled from her to Berry as he stammered in English, “Please—they have been buried. The prayers have been said—Christian prayers.”
Surprised, Hattie straightened slowly. “Where?” she demanded.
Shaking his head, he disclaimed in genuine fear, his arrogant pose completely vanished. “I cannot say—it is worth more than my life.”
“Your life is worth nothing unless you tell me,” she countered in a grim tone. “Speak.”
His eyes slid to Berry again, and he made what sounded like a plea in Arabic. In response, Berry shrugged.
“You are a coward, in a country of cowards,” Hattie bit out in disdain. “You allow foreigners of every stripe to come in and plunder your treasures, afraid to speak out or defend yourselves. Your mighty ancestors must weep in the afterlife, ashamed of the lot of you.”
The man spoke rapidly to Berry, who nodded in acknowledgment and then took Hattie’s arm to gently draw her away. As she turned, she could see that perhaps a half dozen other men were now crowded into the adjacent kitchen, staring at her in amazement from behind the lifted curtain. Now I’ve torn it, she thought, forcing herself to calm down; I hope Berry does not have to carry me out of here.
“It is best to go, now,” Berry suggested, as a rising crescendo of murmuring voices could be heard. With his hand firmly on her arm, they ducked out the doorway and walked with a rapid progress back toward the market street, Robbie following close behind with his hand resting on the hilt of his pistol. As the hushed voices surrounding them became louder, Hattie saw faces suddenly appear in windows and doorways to look upon her; saw children pulled in from their play by anxious mothers who held their veils up to cover their faces. I am not afraid of any of you, she thought in defiance, and lifted her chin to stare them all down.
They made it to the waiting cart without incident and once safely away, Robbie explained to Berry in an apologetic aside, “She’s always had a temper, I’m afraid; especially on behalf of others.”
“He was so condescending, Robbie,” Hattie hotly defended herself. “If I were a man I would have knocked him down.”
“If you were a man he would have knocked you right back, Hattie; try to remember the situation is a delicate one and we are seeking a favor—we need to find the missing inventory.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” she insisted, crossing her arms. “I cannot say I am sorry for it.”
Berry, who had been watching the exchange without comment, interrupted to point out, “He told me where your parents are buried.”
Hattie and Robbie interrupted their quarrel to give him their full and silent attention.
“There is a Christian graveyard—on the east bank between the Embassies, which is used to bury foreigners who die while visiting. Your parents are in unmarked graves on the site.”
Hattie stared at him for a moment, her brow knit. “And who buried them there?”
Berry shrugged. “I imagine it will not be difficult to find out.”
Robbie added with some satisfaction, “And whoever buried them may know how they died, and why—or at least know someone else who knows.”
Berry deferred to Robbie with a respectful gesture. “Exactly. You may wish to cross the river straightaway to see what can be discovered at the cemetery before others hear of this episode—I imagine word will spread very quickly. If you’d like, I can see Mademoiselle Blackhouse safely home.”
“An excellent idea.” With an easy movement, Robbie leapt down from the cart to trot toward the quay—all the while assuring Hattie over his shoulder that he would report back to her as soon as he knew anything.
In the ensuring silence, Berry then gave a direction to the driver, who stirred the recalcitrant donkey into action once again. Hattie regarded him as they resumed their progress. “You already knew this.”
“No,” he admitted. “But I am not surprised.”