The Bride Box by Michael Pearce Page B

was peaceful, and even Mahmoud, with all the restlessness of a city dweller, succumbed to the effect.
    At last the omda came up again and hovered uneasily. ‘What is it that Your Excellencies wish to know, Effendis?’ he asked anxiously.
    â€˜About the slavers,’ said Owen.
    â€˜If I could tell you, I would, Effendi, but there is little to tell. We heard that they were in the area and I couldn’t believe it. They have not been here since my father’s time. But so it was whispered. And the whispers grew. “How can this be?” I asked. But no one could answer me. “Keep the children indoors!” I said. And it was done. Except that Mustapha must have seen his chance and went out to seek them. Effendi, I cannot understand such evil! But this is a poor village and when men are in need they do evil things.’
    â€˜Where did they come from?’ asked Owen. ‘The slavers?’
    â€˜The Sudan, I think. It is not far from here, at a camel ride. And the border is uncertain.’
    â€˜And where do they go to?’
    â€˜No one knows, Effendi, but surely it must be to the coast. People are not bought and sold in Egypt these days. Not openly.’
    â€˜To the coast, then. And where on the coast?’
    â€˜There are ports in the Sudan.’
    â€˜If there were whispers when they came, there will be whispers when they go. I would like to hear those whispers.’
    â€˜You shall, Effendi.’
    The object of Mahmoud’s inquiries was not the same as that of Owen’s. Although Mahmoud was just as concerned as Owen about the slave issue – possibly more, since he took it personally as an affront to Egypt and yet more evidence of the country falling short of his ideals – what he was here for was to find out what had happened to Soraya. And, he thought, he was making progress. The clerk at the railway halt would surely be able to identify the men who had brought the box to the station. He might be unwilling to but he would be able to.
    And surely, thought Mahmoud, he knew enough now to be able to find the men. They had said themselves that they were the Pasha’s men. They had spoken of ‘our’ Pasha and had even given his name. It was no surprise: Ali Maher, whom he had already been to see. And who had said that he had no connection with Denderah. While all the time he had an estate here.
    Clearly, what he would have to do now was to go to the estate. He would take the clerk with him to identify the men. Then he would arrest the men, bring them back to Denderah and then get on the next train to Cairo. It was all straightforward.
    Except …
    Except that nothing in Egypt was quite straightforward. How, for instance, was he going to get to the estate? It was only a few miles out of Denderah, but how was he going to cross those few miles? In Cairo (ah, Cairo!) it would have been simple. He would have hopped on the train or taken a cab. A horse-drawn cab, admittedly, but there would have been no difficulty in finding one. Just outside his office there was a row of them.
    Here, however, in benighted Upper Egypt there weren’t any. Nor any trains, either. So what was he to do? Walk? Seven miles across the desert? No, thank you! Horse, then? There would be horses here, although so far he had not seen any. But Mahmoud, every inch an urban Cairene, had never ridden a horse and wasn’t sure he knew quite how to manage one. They were a long way up. Not as high as a camel – but that was definitely out of the question! Discreet enquiries confirmed what he had feared: he would have to go by donkey.
    Fortunately, it was easy to hire one. In fact, he hired two, one for himself, and one for the clerk, who was possibly even less enthusiastic about the proposal than he was.
    â€˜But, Effendi, my duties at the station …’
    â€˜Find someone to stand in for you.’
    â€˜But …’
    But in the end a substitute was found – the