was close by. One turning and then another brought them to the riverbank and a large old house built on stilts to raise it above the perennial floods. At the top of the stairs they were greeted by a waiter in a coffee-coloured kaftan.
“Asalaam’u,” intoned the waiter. “Blessings be upon you.”
“Salaam,” replied Hakim Rassoul. “My table, if you please.”
The waiter led them through the restaurant and out onto a shaded terrace overlooking the river. Two or three other tables were already occupied. Woven grass mats propelled by an old man on a stool in a corner of the terrace fanned the air and made a light rustling sound. “Ahh,” sighed Hakim, folding himself into his chair, “it is a refuge for the weary, careworn soul.”
“You ought to be a poet,” observed Burleigh. “Your only care is how to spend your secret fortune.”
“Oh, my friend”-Hakim pouted-“have you no heart? Look! Behold that wonderful river.” He waved a long- fingered hand at the grey-green slow-flowing water. A graceful felucca with tawny sails was passing just then, joining the busy river traffic of boats and barges on their way downstream. Feathery fronds of papyrus swayed in the breeze off the water, tossing their golden heads in chorus. “Beautiful, is it not?”
“Indeed,” agreed Burleigh. “Very.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now then, what do you have for me? What will I see when we return to your den?”
The waiter poured water from a silver ewer into small glass beakers and into a silver bowl. “We will eat whatever Hammet has prepared today,” declared Hakim. “Bring it at once-and a dish of his spiced olives while we wait.”
That done, he turned to his guest. “What will you see? You know that things have been very slow lately. The market has become stubborn. However, I have a very nice sphinx-exquisite detail, fully intact, red granite with eyes of sapphire and gold headdress, big as a house cat. I could have sold it seven times over by now, but I saved it for you, my friend. I wanted you to have first choice.”
“It sounds expensive. What else?”
“Alas, as I say, it has been a slow season. Still, there has been some heavy excavation in one of the valleys west of Luxor this past winter. Some very good pieces are becoming available just now.”
“Who is excavating?”
“A man named Carter. He is funded by a wealthy backer-a lord somebody-I forget his name…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Cavanaugh, perhaps.”
“Carnarvon,” corrected Burleigh.
“You know him?”
“Not yet. But I hope to before the week is out.”
The waiter returned with a bowl of plump purple olives, pitted and stuffed with a white pasty substance. “Taste these and know what a delight an olive can be,” said Hakim, offering the dish.
Burleigh took one and popped it into his mouth. “Very good.” He chewed a moment. “Are they finding anything? Anything worthwhile?”
“They are digging up the entire desert. It is all very hush-hush.
…” He smiled, reaching for a fistful of olives. “But, naturally,” he continued, tossing stuffed olives into his mouth, “I have my sources.”
“Naturally.”
Hakim swallowed, then leaned forward, dropping his voice, although there were no other diners within earshot. “Rumour has it that they are on the very brink of a major discovery-a royal tomb, no less.”
“Is that so?” wondered Burleigh thoughtfully.
Hakim nodded. “Any day now-so my sources inform me.”
“It seems I have come at the right time.”
“Most fortuitous,” agreed the broker. “Trade will flow again soon, Insha’allah!”
Three kaftanned waiters trooped to the table bearing armloads of plates and platters. Without a word, they began laying down the food: honey-glazed quails stuffed with plums and pine nuts on a bed of delicate jasmine- scented rice flavoured with coriander. This was accompanied by dishes of pickled slices of Nile perch and tiger fish with onions and whole peppercorns, pale green slices of melon, and figs in wine.
Hakim Rassoul smacked his lips and, tucking his white linen napkin into the neck of his robe, fell to with gusto, never once resorting to the use of knife and fork. His pleasure in the meal outstripped enjoyment and proceeded well on the way to rapture. Burleigh, whose appetite had been annihilated by the heat, watched in amazement, his own efforts feeble by comparison.
It was some time before Hakim could speak again. “Heaven should have such food,” he announced, pushing his plate away at last. “You have been in the presence of greatness, my friend.”
“I do not doubt it,” agreed Burleigh mildly.
Coffee was brought, and they finished their meal in amiable conversation about the international trade in antiquities, then returned to the warehouse to resume their business. It was late afternoon when Burleigh took his leave; the taxi was still waiting-he had to wake the driver-and Burleigh settled into the back, deep in thought. Upon reaching the hotel, he roused himself, paid the driver a substantial tip, and went in. Three paces inside the lobby, he spotted his quarry: a tall, slender, impeccably dressed man standing at the front desk, drumming his fingers on the marble counter.
Burleigh paused, straightened his jacket, then strode forward, coming up behind the man, whose back was turned to him. He gave a little cough to announce himself and said in a firm, resonant voice, “Excuse me, but is it Lord Carnarvon?”
The man turned, took him in at a glance, and offered a polite smile. “Yes? Whom do I address?”
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, offering his hand. “I am Archelaeus Burleigh, Earl of Sutherland. I was informed you were staying here. We have mutual friends, I think. May I offer you a drink?”
CHAPTER 21
In Which Social Climbing Is Indulged
I’m sorry, Etzel,” Wilhelmina said, clasping the big man’s hands in both her own. She gave them a squeeze for emphasis. “I should have talked to you first. I know that. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to think, and before I knew it, we had agreed.” She watched the wide, round face for any flicker of forgiveness; but the pale blue eyes remained downcast, the mouth pressed firmly together.
“We are partners,” he said, without raising his head.
“I know,” Mina assured him. “I know-and that’s why I feel so terrible about this. I just… please understand, I just saw the opportunity and took it. It was wrong of me to do that, and I am sorry. I really am.”
She felt herself caving in under her friend and partner’s unhappiness. Her lower lip quivered, and her voice became shaky. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Please, say something, Etzel. Tell me you forgive me. I’ll never do it again.”
Englebert drew a deep breath and heaved his round shoulders. “Ah, mein Shatz,” he sighed. “How can I say no? We are partners, you and I.” He looked at her sadly. “Of course, I forgive you.” He raised a hand and rubbed away her tears with his thumb. “Do not cry. I am not angry with you.”
“Then you do forgive me?” she sniffed.
“I have already said that I do,” he replied. “How could I stay angry with you? If not for you, Mina, I would be back in Rosenheim trying to please my father and brother. I would not have a Kaffeehaus at all. Of course, I forgive you.”
She took his hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Etzel. It will all work out fine. I promise.”
He pursed his lips and nodded, thinking to himself. In a moment, he said, “I have no doubt it is for the best. To be in business with Master Arnostovi-who could have imagined such a thing?”
“He is giving us a refund on the rent of this place, and we get first pick of his best properties as soon as any become available. Oh, Etzel, we’ll have the finest coffee shop and bakery in all of Prague-in all of Europe!”
At this, his good-natured face broke into a cherubic smile. “We already have this, I think.”
