The Serpent's Daughter (28 page)

“And you did nothing about it?” Jade’s voice was low, a menacing growl.

“I planned to. You must believe me, but just then the nurse I was looking for found me and I’m afraid I became rather caught up in my own domestic details. I wouldn’t have thought any more about it, but later on, as I took my aunt to the boat, I heard the police were looking for you. Something about you claiming a kidnapping, and they accused you and your mother of committing murder. I tried to tell that Deschamp chap what I knew, but he wouldn’t hear a bit of it.”

“So you came all the way out here to warn me?” Jade didn’t bother to hide her incredulousness. “How did you even know where to look?”

Mr. Bennington sniffed. “To answer your first question, what would you have me do? I felt partly responsible for not having warned you or your mother of what I deemed was a rude joke. But once I thought your mother was in danger, I couldn’t abandon her. She was always so kind, inquiring after Aunt Viola on board and even offering to stay with her, a dear offer but one I never felt I should take advantage of. I should think you’d be a bit less critical of me, you know.”

“Sorry,” said Jade, her voice softening. “It’s been a trying day.”

“Apology accepted,” said Bennington. “As to how I knew where to look, I wasn’t certain, but I hazarded a guess. I knew Mr. de Portillo had engaged a motorcar to Marrakech. Imagine my surprise when I found that the Tremaines and the Kennicots had also decided to go to Marrakech together. I don’t think the Kennicots planned to leave quite so soon, but it seems you took the second-to-last available car in Tangier, so they joined forces with the last car. It was too much of a coincidence to suit my mind.”

“Impressive bit of detective work, Mr. Bennington,” said Jade. “How in the world did you get here, then, if we took all the cars?”

“It was not easy,” he whispered, pulling himself up very straight and tugging on his tweed shooting jacket. “Especially with the local French constabulary looking for you. If you must know, I hired a camel as far as Rabat and engaged a motorcar there. I only arrived yesterday. Then I heard this commotion in the square and saw those men attacking a native woman. Imagine my surprise when I saw your face and realized it was you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bennington. Perhaps with you telling the officials here what you know, they will apprehend these people.” Jade recalled that she had no idea where de Portillo resided. “I don’t suppose you know where any of them are staying, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Come with me.”

Jade hesitated, partly because she wanted to know where they were going first, and partly because, with her bare feet and aching joints, she really didn’t want to go very far without getting her boots or at least another pair of those slippers.

Bennington noticed she wasn’t right behind him and turned back. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Jade pointed to her feet and legs. “War injury.” As she voiced it, she realized the left knee still throbbed, which meant her attackers were probably on their way back. “We can’t stay here. I should see the slipper merchant, too,” she said, “to get something on my feet.”

Bennington motioned for her to follow him as they passed silently down that alley, paralleling the dried-fruit market just south of them. After a quarter mile, Bennington pointed to a small garden area, hidden behind a house and screened off by latticework. “Why don’t you hide in there,” he suggested, “and I’ll get some shoes for you.”

Jade agreed, opened the old gate, and slipped inside. Through the latticework, she watched Bennington walk off to the open streets and turn north towards the
Souk Smata
where the
babouches
were made and sold. She hoped he could persuade someone to open shop at this hour. Jade found a low bench and sat down to wait, straightening her legs in front of her to ease the pain in her knee.

From the far side she heard the gate creak open. She tried to bolt, but the lattice fence was too high. Someone threw a chloroform-laced bag over her head.

“Very clever to double back,” said an Arabic voice in English. Then his gloatings muted into a distant, throaty buzzing as everything went black.

CHAPTER 21

—The Traveler

INEZ SAT BY THE FIRESIDE, head bowed as she poked at the fire with one of the few branches they had left. They had made it down the mountain, but stopped after again crossing the snow-fed river. Bachir had insisted on halting among the cedars during the day to cut branches. At the time Inez had felt it was a waste of time. Surely, she thought, if they just pressed on they could make Marrakech after nightfall. But apparently Bachir had known the little donkeys’ limits. Pausing to cut the branches had given the animals a chance to rest and forage. Without those respites, they might not have even reached the foot of the Atlas.

As soon as they had stopped for the night, Inez had learned the wisdom of Bachir’s hesitation. A wind, formed by the descending mountain air hitting the hot air over the plains, blew the dried clay up into a thick red dust. It might have been passable during the daytime, but it obscured what little light was left. Inez remembered the open wells and brick pits from her passage in the other direction. She didn’t relish falling into one of those in the dark. The dust storm didn’t last long, but by then Inez was resigned to stopping for the night.

Funny how easily she’d slipped back into life on the trail. It had been years since she’d bedded down under the open sky, the Milky Way spread overhead like a casket of gems spilt out onto black velvet. She even remembered how to start a fire with flint and iron; a skill, along with her abilities to handle the animals, that went far in winning Bachir’s approval. Those same two skills, along with her beauty and daring, had also won the heart of her husband.

She closed her eyes and recalled the day they’d met. He had come to Andalusia, looking for adventure and the remnants of his own Spanish past. He found her instead, dancing and singing with the Gypsies around their encampment. Richard rode up to the camp on a bay mare and dismounted. Inez took one look at his smiling, tanned face and wavy hair, the color of rich walnut, and felt her stomach flutter. She remembered the assured way that he walked, not cocky or swaggering like a few of the dons’ sons she knew, but like a man in control of his life and with no need to prove it.

She’d danced up to him, swishing her full skirts and twirling in the uninhibited flamenco style of the Roma, as the Gypsies termed themselves. He responded by joining in, clapping the rhythm as he stepped lightly around her. She felt his warmth behind her back, and quivered when his arm brushed hers in passing.

Never had she felt so on fire, so alive, as she did then. They spent the rest of the afternoon together, riding across her family’s estate. Few men could maintain her pace on a horse, and she led him in a wild chase. Eventually, after clearing a stream, he’d caught up to her and, in one sweeping motion, clasped her around the waist and lifted her off her saddle and onto his during a full gallop. Once she rested securely in his embrace, he drew to a halt and kissed her lips, eyes, and hair. She knew then that there would never be another man for her.

Afterward she took him home and introduced him to her parents. They were not impressed by an American cowboy, even if he did own land in New Mexico. They had other plans for their only child. Inez and Richard eloped the next night and were married by a sympathetic Benedictine priest in the village.

That memory fled in the face of another, this time in New Mexico. She and her husband had set up a camp in the mountains where his family had long ago been awarded land. Only they were not alone. A slender young girl in braided pigtails, jeans, and a denim shirt joined them. Together they dug a small pit in which to bury potatoes to bake under hot coals. Richard reclined on the grass with his guitar and played the song he’d learned from the Gypsies. This time it was little Jade who danced while Inez clapped out the rhythm. Inez had always wondered where Jade had learned the flamenco and why she hadn’t joined in the dance herself that evening. Now she knew the answer to that first question.

She still wondered about the second.

The headache, the dank smell, the cold stone floor, and the curious squeaks seemed all too familiar. “I think I’m having what they call déjà vu,” Jade mumbled. “I’ve been here before. ” She shifted her legs, found them unfettered, and sat up. That’s when she heard something clank. A foot of stout iron chain bound her wrists to each other in front of her. Another six feet circled her waist and shackled her to the far wall, giving her just enough length to lie down or visit a slop bucket in the back corner.

“I know I’ve been here before.”

The squeaking, which stopped when Jade moved, started up again.
Probably the same rats, too
. “Hi, fellows,” she said to the rodents. “Remember me? I have it on good authority that you’re actually
jinni
in disguise. So how about getting me out of here again. Can anyone pick a lock?” When the rats didn’t come any closer, Jade slumped against the wall. “I forgot. You aren’t supposed to like iron, are you.”

She wondered how long she’d been unconscious. Was it still night? Did Bennington come back with those slippers, find her gone, and look for her? She should have known better than to go back to that caretaker’s hut. Her assailants must have figured out her trick and doubled back themselves. Then it was just a matter of waiting for an opportunity, and she had handed it to them.
Or Bennington handed it to them
. Jade chased away the thought. After all, she had no evidence that he had betrayed her. But cynicism reared up in her mind and taunted her. No one could be that altruistic to travel alone over half the length of Morocco just to save her and her mother, could they?

She heard a key turn in the rusty lock and the door hinges creak.
Company
. A burly Arab stood in the doorway with a lantern in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. He bit off a chunk of meat and chewed, waiting as though wary of some trick.
Probably the same guard as last time
. Jade spotted his crooked nose and the relatively fresh red gashes striping his face.
Definitely the same guard
.

The guard tossed the bone to the floor and wiped his greasy lips with the back of his hand. He hung the lantern from a hook by the door and drew his dagger, a new one since Jade had taken his old one. Jade watched him approach her with the same slow steps that one would use to come close to a chained lion.
Time to test his nerve,
she thought. She waited without making any motion until he was inside her radius of movement. Then she leaped towards him, hands extended like claws, a snarl issuing from her throat. The man jumped up a foot and back two more in a lightning-fast move that would have made her old tomcat, Rupert, proud. Jade leaned back against the wall, chuckling.

“I’m glad to see you’ve retained your sense of humor, Miss del Cameron. You’ll need it.” The hushed voice came not from the guard, but from someone standing just outside the door in the shadows.

“It is safe,” said the guard. “She has not gotten loose this time.”

“Lucky for you she hasn’t.” Jade’s captor stepped into the room and into the lamplight.

“The mules,” exclaimed Inez, pointing to a pair of animals tied under a shelter of poles and palm fronds. She and Bachir had broken camp before dawn and arrived at the south palm gardens by late morning. Inez immediately recognized Jade and Mohan’s animals by the distinctive design on the saddle blankets. After Bachir convinced the Arab overseeing the animal’s care that Inez was the owner’s mother, they were allowed to inspect the panniers, where they found Jade’s boots. Inez stood on her tiptoes and pivoted around, searching for her daughter. “Jade!” she started to call.

Bachir put his hand out and shook his head to stop her. Using Inez’s version of sign language, he touched his chest, then his lips, before pointing to a man who sold grain. Inez understood. He would talk to the man and find out when Jade had arrived.

Inez waited by their animals as Bachir dickered for both information and a reasonable price for caring for their donkeys and the mule. That’s when she first noticed the crowd of men clustered at the far end of the field. They shouted and pressed forward, only to be driven back again. Something was definitely going on over there. Bachir came back with a frown. Inez didn’t wait for him to try to tell her he had no news. She gathered he had little beyond knowing when Jade had arrived. Instead, she pointed to the commotion, grabbed Jade’s boots, and led the way to the crowd.

“Bennington!” exclaimed Jade. “I should have guessed. I’ve got to quit being so trusting.” She stared at his immaculately trimmed, creamy blond mustache and understood the Berber boy’s description. It wasn’t a red mustache, it was a blond one coated in the
bled
’s red dust. A third man peered around the doorframe. “And Mohan,” she said, switching to Arabic laced with French when the first language failed her. “You son of a legless camel and three blind dogs. It was you, not Bachir, who betrayed your people, wasn’t it?” The fact that he was not in chains told her as much, but she wanted to hear it from him.

Mohan straightened to his full five-foot, four-inch height. “I did not betray them. It is for the good of my people, for my daughter, to abandon the infidel ways of the
kahina
. I cannot let you find the amulet. I want her to marry a rich man in Marrakech and live in a fine house, not practice magic.”

“Then you betray yourself, Mohan. What chance would I have to find one silver charm in all of the Atlas or even in Marrakech? None. Unless,” she added, “you
really
believed it would call to me.” Her emerald green eyes locked on him, staring as though to bore a hole in his own eyes.