Daughter of the God-King(98)

“You are half right. I am leaving whilst you defend the fort.” She recited Berry’s instructions while Bing put her chin to her chest and listened.

Unable to make an adequate explanation to her companion, Hattie offered, “I am wretchedly sorry, Bing—apparently there are dark forces at play.”

Bing sighed. “Perhaps the treasure is indeed cursed.”

No, thought Hattie; the only curse at work here is ambition—ambition and greed. “I would suggest you think twice before reposing your trust in the Baron du Pays or in anyone at the British consulate.”

“Heavens,” remarked Bing in a dry tone. “You alarm me, Hathor.”

“I am alarmed, myself,” Hattie admitted. “I am sorry to leave you to make the explanations.”

“Never fear—I shall think of something. May I suggest there has been an elopement?”

Hattie considered. “Best not. I’m not certain it is meant to be common knowledge, and I would not be surprised if Monsieur Berry remains here.”

“I understand,” her companion replied, but it seemed to Hattie that this was unlikely.

“I am so sorry, Bing.”

“Hathor,” said Bing, taking her hand with all sincerity. “I have never experienced such an adventure in my life, and I owe it all to you. I would not have missed it for the world.”

Hattie faced the altarpiece again. “Don’t make me cry, Bing—if I start I won’t stop.”

“Very well,” said Bing briskly. “Shall we go?”





Chapter 40





“Lady, lady—come look.”

It wants only this, thought Hattie in annoyance as they made their way to the quay to secure passage by felucca back to the Priapus. A vendor had blocked her progress, imploring her to examine his wares which consisted mainly of very poor replicas of the Temple of Arum.

“Lady,” the man implored, closing his fingers around her arm with one hand as he gestured with the other toward the makeshift table.

He was a bit too aggressive and Hattie pulled her arm away. “No,” she said firmly, but he only grasped both her hands in his and began to pull her into the crowd. Now thoroughly alarmed, Hattie crouched and pulled back with all her strength, her feet sliding over the gravel path as she turned to call for Bing. Instead, a rough-hewn sack was lowered over her head and she could feel an unknown accomplice pin her arms down from behind. She shouted, only to feel a hand cover her mouth over the sack as she was lifted off her feet. Struggling, she was powerless to raise much of a resistance but as she kicked out she made contact and had the pleasure of hearing a man grunt as she was hustled away. She fought to breathe, and thought she could hear Bing shouting from a distance.

Her abductors slowed, and she could hear them speaking in Arabic to one another as she was lowered with relative care onto a hard surface. She was finding it difficult to breathe through the sack and just as she began to fight panic, the sack was slid off her head. Panting, she squinted against the sunlight and saw three men crouching in a cart around her while a fourth acted as the driver, urging the donkeys to move along. One man grasped her hands as another brandished a length of rope to bind them. Gauging her moment, Hattie struck both her hands up in a blow to his chin, then scrambled toward the side of the cart. Exclaiming in annoyance, the three pulled her back but not before she implored the startled faces who lined the streets, “Help—get help!”

This time, she was firmly pinned on her back on the floor of the cart by the others whilst her hands were bound. The vendor leaned in so that she could feel his breath on her face, and said in broken English, “Lady—quiet please.”

In response she screamed as loudly as she was able, and he quickly put his hand over her mouth. Just as quickly, she bit down hard on his hand and between the three men, they managed to insert a gag into her mouth. For the remainder of her journey she lay on her back, fuming, while the men kept a careful watch around them. Trying to breathe evenly, she assessed the situation. Not good, she concluded—although it appeared they were instructed not to cosh her, which was a hopeful sign. For a wild moment she wondered if the prisoner was behind this abduction but rejected the idea—there would have been no need to have the associate warn her off. For the same reason, it seemed equally unlikely that the associate had masterminded this insult; his manner toward her had been deferential. The baron, then, she guessed; unhappy that she had not willingly come to the French consulate. Or Drummond, perhaps—but to what end? None knew she intended to slip away except Dimitry and Bing. Frowning, she gave it up and awaited events—she had every confidence that Bing would marshal her allies; she had been warned about the British consul but she would certainly seek out Robbie and with any luck, find Dimitry—perhaps even return to the Osiris Inn. Hattie had only to be patient, matters were not as grim as they seemed, and she had Bing’s pistol.