Nile Shadows

Cream, sugar, what?

Before Joe could say anything Liffy had made a quick pass over Joe's teacup, and his own, with what appeared to be a small pocket flask. Liffy flashed a brilliant smile.

A new invention, he explained quickly to Ahmad. A tricky combination of essences that takes the place of the usual sugar and things. Discovered, some say, in a remote desert in the New World where it is known locally as Irish-Hopi tea. Perhaps you'd like to try a splash yourself?

Ahmad's huge nose twitched above the little table where they huddled. He hovered, sniffing. He frowned.

Cognac?

Liffy nodded.

Egyptian cognac?

Liffy nodded again.

Foul, muttered Ahmad. Deplorable. But drink away at your cups of wretched Irish hope, the two of you, and meanwhile let's get down to business, social business, the only kind worth mentioning. Now then, before Joe can hand over his flowers he must first get in the door. And since he hasn't been invited to the houseboat, how will he accomplish that?

Ahmad smiled knowingly in answer to his own question. With a flourish he reached under his faded lavender nightshirt and produced a tattered piece of hard thick paper, which he placed on the table with great ceremony. The paper was badly stained, its faint engraved lettering illegible. Liffy and Joe leaned forward, studying it.

What in the world can that be? asked Liffy, mystified. Is it a secret pass of some kind? Your own ultimate forgery, good for anywhere in a universe of receding stars? Is that why the lettering is so dim? A carte blanche, perhaps, issued by the last pharaoh on his deathbed and good for immediate access to all secret tombs? A reissue of the same, promulgated by the last caesar on his deathbed? Or perhaps a highly prized invitation to Queen Victoria's birth? . . . What on earth is it, Ahmad? What could this curious document be?

A formal invitation, announced Ahmad triumphantly, to the grand costume gala that was held in old Menelik's crypt to honor him on his ninety-fifth birthday. Now that was music, and if anything will get Joe across the gangplank and into the houseboat, this will.

It will? asked Joe in wonder. Is it possible someone could still read it?

No one has to read it, said Ahmad. A piece of memorabilia as unforgettable as this need only be recognized by its general size and shape and disposition. And it will be recognized by those who know it, by those who have traveled that joyous underground route, as the saying goes.

Excellent, said Liffy. Excellent. An invitation in time saves . . . well yes, of course it does. Now then, Joe, let me brief you on the more current intelligence making the rounds in the bazaars. But first, a warning.

The Sisters are to be visited only at night. All informers agree on this fact, straight off and straightaway.

At night? repeated Ahmad thoughtfully. That, I daresay, is true.

Liffy nodded at Ahmad, his manner grave.

Precisely. There'll be a moon tonight and lunar facts, after all, are lunatic by definition.

Liffy turned back to Joe.

Simply a matter of vanity, perhaps? A sure knowledge that sunlight would show up unwanted wrinkles?

Possibly, intoned Liffy. Or possibly the information these tiny twins are heir to can only be grasped in the sudden intuitive glimpses that come where moonlight reigns.

In any case, continued Liffy, night is the milieu for this approach of yours. Night with its curious echoes and its soothing breezes off the Nile. If anyone tries to visit the Sisters at any other time, according to reliable gossip, they just won't be there. Of course they have to be there really, somewhere on the houseboat, because they never leave it and haven't in decades. But it seems the place has as many hidden passageways as the Great Pyramid, so when the Sisters are being elusive, well, they're as inaccessible as Cheops, at least so far as modern man is concerned.

Cheops, the prototypical little man obsessed with erections, muttered Ahmad with disdain, stirring his tea.

Precisely, said Liffy, throwing Ahmad a vigorous nod.

He turned back to Joe.

Now then, as for the houseboat itself, as for this shadowy structure looming at the end of a gangplank, this floating vision Ahmad so tactfully refers to as their particular queendom. . . . It seems this houseboat has had a very special relationship with British intelligence for some time. In fact there are those who claim that without this houseboat, there would be no British intelligence in this part of the world. Just none at all, nothing but blather and sand. So I guess it would have to be called the premier safeboat in the Levant.

Liffy delicately touched the ends of his fingers together, one hand against the other, making a sphere. A demented gleam crept into his eyes.

And now we may be drawing near the very heart of the clandestine matter. Breathe evenly, please, let the muscles in your neck relax and just consider the year 1911, if you will.

Ahmad sighed.

Now that's a year worth mentioning, he muttered. Not quite as grand as 1912, but a stunning performance all the same.

Precisely, said Liffy, vigorously nodding at Ahmad again. That was a year, too. I can see we're on solid ground here. Now then.

He turned back to Joe.

The year for what, you say? Well for one thing, that was when Churchill was given the Admiralty for the first time. And during his first year in his new post, that august presence set two goals for himself. The first was to convert the fleet from coal to oil, and the second was to secure a certain world-famous houseboat on the Nile as his secret flagship.

Abruptly Liffy puffed out his jowls in Churchill's familiar scowl. His head sank into his shoulders and he glowered resolutely at Joe.

As is well known, young man, he boomed, I achieved the first goal. As of 1911, oil was in and coal was out. But as is less well known, I also achieved my second goal. That houseboat did become my secret flagship, and a very pleasant home away from home it always was, too. Once the particulars had been arranged, I immediately fired off a congratulatory cable of welcome to my new companions-in-arms.

THE SISTERS,

THE NILE.

LADIES:

GLAD TO WELCOME YOU ON BOARD. THIS IS GOING TO BE MORE FUN THAN

CHINESE GORDON'S LAST STAND AT KHARTOUM IN '85.

YOUR OLD PAL,

WINSTON.

The following day, boomed Liffy, glowering, jowls set, I received a return cable at the Admiralty in London.

YOU CHERUBIC LITTLE UPSTART. YOU WERE STILL IN SHORT PANTS IN '85, SO HOW

COULD YOU POSSIBLY KNOW WHOSE STAND WAS FUN THAT YEAR, LAST OR

OTHERWISE?

ANYWAY, NOW THAT YOU'RE IN CHARGE OF THE BOATS OF THE EMPIRE, KEEP A FIRM HAND ON THE THROTTLE AND CRANK UP THE STEAM, GIVE THE BOILERS

HEAD AND STOP DRAGGING ANCHOR.

AND WE'RE GLAD TO HAVE YOU ON BOARD, WINNIE. ANY OLD TIME.

US.

THE NILE.

Liffy laughed.

Awesome, he said in his own voice. They seem to have known everyone in their time. But remember, only at night.

***