The Serpent's Daughter (35 page)

“Where do you want him?” asked Sam. “That nasty cellar sounds like a good spot to me.”

Jade grinned. “I’m sure he’d agree. I’d hate to keep him from his furry little friends down there.” She stopped just as Sam started to drag the man away. “Wait. Not the cellar. I don’t want him using the rats to get loose, like I did.” She looked around the courtyard until her gaze lit on a familiar door. “We’ll put him in the same room they kept Mother in.”

Inez couldn’t figure out how she could have lost sight of her daughter so quickly after Jade and Mr. Featherstone had gone over the rampart wall. Surely it hadn’t taken her and Bachir that long to climb up, but when they got to the top there was no sign of them. Still she hadn’t worried. Bachir seemed to know just where she’d gone. Odd, how she trusted this little man whom she couldn’t even speak to. But she knew he had a stake in this expedition, as well.

She had seen how he watched Yamna during the French-language lesson. His look, though always discreet and respectful, had a note of longing to it, and his praise when she recited her lesson correctly had far more warmth than when the same praise was given to Mohan. No, Inez had seen that look before. It was the look of a man hopelessly in love. She saw it in Sam’s eyes, too.
Is it still in Richard’s eyes when he looks at me?
She didn’t dwell on that thought. There would be time when she returned home.

Mohan also wanted this amulet back and wanted it badly enough to have traveled all the way to Tangier to find Jade. Inez didn’t like to dwell on that last part. It went against all rational thought, and Inez had always been a rational being, even in her wilder youth when she spent days at a time camping with the Gypsies. Oh, she’d had her palm read and played the game of letting one of the old women make a love spell for her, but she never believed any of it. So just how did this man know where to look for Jade? Her head reminded her of the answer. The old woman, that
kahina
person, told him where to look, but that only pushed the question back a step. How did the old woman know
who
Jade was, much less
where
she was?

In her mind she pictured that odd lion’s-claw tattoo that Jade tried to hide. She’d written home about it, glossing over the details. Some sort of native tribute for killing a troublesome hyena, but Inez knew there was more to the story than that. What bothered her most was the fact that she had to read about it in an overdramatized, romantic novel by the wife of a coffee farmer who had been on the expedition with Jade. No, there was definitely more to her daughter than what Jade cared to tell, and that hurt. The fact that it hurt surprised Inez. She missed her daughter. She wanted to be close to her. Instead, Jade had a secret life.
Just like I did at the Gypsy camps
.

A man coming from the opposite direction passed them, a flaming torch in his hand to light the way. The scent of smoke, grease, and burning wood hung heavy in his wake. In an instant a vivid memory flashed into Inez’s brain like a living scene, overwhelming the present as it imposed faces, sounds, and scents from the past.

All around her, men sang and played fierce flamenco-style songs on old guitars while women beat tambourines and danced in a whirl of vibrant colors. Inez had danced with them, flipping her skirts, flashing her legs, and pounding her booted feet. When it was over, she collapsed by the fire, laughing. She saw the old Gypsy woman’s wrinkled face and gap-toothed smile inches from her own face as the woman conjured up her predictions from the campfire.
Freedom is a wild horse. Once you catch it and corral it, it is no longer free. You will lose yourself, my child, and find yourself again in a far land where houses rise from the living clay
.

Inez staggered under the memory’s weight, and Bachir hurried back to her, respectfully supporting her around the shoulders to keep her from sinking. She gratefully gave in to his help as she took a deep breath and rallied herself.

He pointed behind them to the darkened ruin of the old palace. “El Badi,” he said.
“Jinni.”
He pointed from the ruins to Inez as if to suggest the
jinni
were responsible for her present weakness.

“I’m all right,” she said, waving a hand to indicate nothing was physically wrong. She stood up straight and stared at the red buildings around her, seeing them as if for the first time. Inez always thought her home in New Mexico close to the Taos pueblos fulfilled that Gypsy’s prediction, especially when she “found” herself there as a mother with responsibilities. Now she knew the truth. She’d corralled herself in a self-imposed prison of propriety for all those years.
These
houses, manufactured in the same manner, were what the old Gypsy meant.
This,
not the United States, was the far land where she’d “find herself,” not physically but emotionally.

Bachir waited a moment while she composed herself, glancing nervously back into the dark at the ruins. Inez watched him put out his open palm, the sign against the evil eye, for protection. Once she felt in control of her legs, she smiled and nodded for him to proceed.

Jade almost felt sorry for the guard as they shoved him into the empty little room. This was the third time she’d humiliated him; the first when she escaped from the cellar, the second when she’d scratched him with the
fibula
by the old tomb, and now. Maybe this last time hurt less, knowing she’d needed the help of a man and a gun to get him.
Probably not
. It certainly wouldn’t bode well for him if Bennington found him like this, but she planned to solve that dilemma by taking care of Bennington herself.

After they bound his ankles behind him to his wrists, Jade checked the floor for broken tiles. She pushed into a far corner anything that might be usable to cut his bonds loose. They had no sooner shut the door and drawn the bolt when they heard the front door open.

“The last killing went too far, I tell you.”

Jade recognized de Portillo’s voice even as she and Sam scurried to the safety of the back room.

“You worry too much, Patrido,” said another voice, barely audible in its half-hushed tone. Jade knew it for Bennington’s. “The girl needed to die. She knew too much. Besides, it will be blamed on the two del Cameron women, as will the death of the man I had left in the Azilah tunnels. Not that it matters. By now the young bitch should be on her way to Timbuktu or some Arab sheik’s harem.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill her when you had the chance,” said de Portillo.

“Fool. If the French found her body, they would start to look elsewhere for a killer, which means us. As long as she is alive and presumed on the run, she’s the main suspect and no one will watch you. Besides,” Bennington added, “she needs to suffer for a very long time.”

“Just so you know what you are doing. But I still do not like it. I did not buy into murder.”

“Are you thinking of running out on me now, Patrido?” The voice took on a new note of menace, emphasized by the soft, threatening tone. “I would not suggest that at all. Not if
you
wish to live.”

The voices came closer as the two speakers passed through the courtyard.

“Damn,” said Bennington in a stronger voice, one that made the soft whisper seem more like a facade. “Where is that fool guard?”

“Probably sleeping,” said de Portillo. “Maybe downstairs guarding our new prisoner.”

Jade’s attention went to full alert at that last statement.
Who did they have in the cellar now? It sure as hell better not be Mother again.
She stopped herself when she realized that was impossible. She’d left her mother with Bachir, the Kennicots, and Mr. Tremaine back at the hospital.

“How much longer until the shipment is ready?” asked de Portillo. “It is getting dangerous to remain here.”

“Tomorrow,” said Bennington. “After that fool Wahab talked to del Cameron, I encouraged him to speed up his work.” Bennington laughed. “He didn’t need those two toes to stitch leather, anyway. Come on, let’s visit our friend Mohan and convince him to show me where he hid that amulet.”

“I fail to see your interest in that silver trinket. You can buy them everywhere,” said de Portillo.

“This one is ancient, dating from the founding of Carthage. It will be worth a small fortune to the right collector. Besides, I am very intrigued by the legends surrounding it. It is said to be a thing of power.”

“Then
you
go,” said de Portillo. “I’m staying here to watch over my bags since that fool guard isn’t doing his job.”

Jade heard de Portillo cross the courtyard to the old bathing room where the bags were stored, while Bennington headed to the front to gain access to the cellar. As soon as they were both out of earshot, she turned to Sam. “You take care of de Portillo. Don’t let him get away. Lock him in there, shoot him, whatever.”

“Let me guess, Jade. You’re planning on taking on Bennington yourself. Why? Once he’s in the cellar, we can lock him in there with that Mohan fellow. We’d have them all in one tidy package.”

“I need to follow Bennington and get that amulet back, Sam. Mohan’s the only one who knows where it is.”

“So we get Mohan out when we lock up Bennington,” Sam argued. “He’ll probably be so grateful to be free he’d take you right to it.”

Jade shook her head. “I doubt I’d be able to convince him to reveal his new hiding place as well as Bennington can. I intend to follow them.”

If Sam wanted to argue the foolishness of her scheme some more, he lost his chance as Bennington and Mohan came back up the steps.

“Remember,” Bennington said, “give me this rare amulet and you’ll live. Lead me on a wild goose chase and you’ll die slowly and very painfully.” Their footsteps died out as they wended around the entryway’s turns towards the door.

Jade faced Sam and claimed his mouth in one brief but smoldering kiss. “Wait for me,” she said as she released him and raced down the courtyard to the door.

“Jade,” Sam hissed after her, trying his best not to alert de Portillo, but he was too late. The Spaniard had heard the extra pair of feet in the courtyard and hurried out of the storeroom.

“Is that you, Hassan? Where the devil have you been?” yelled de Portillo.

“Hiding,” said Sam as he raced up behind de Portillo and landed a solid punch to his temple.

Bachir pulled Inez back into a darkened side street as Mohan’s pleas alerted them to the approaching danger. Mohan spoke French, so she couldn’t make out the words but thought he said something about a body. Behind her, she heard Bachir’s sudden intake of breath, followed by a whispered repetition of Mohan’s words.

“El Badi,” Bachir hissed.

Oh,
thought Inez.
So that’s what he said.
Inez waited for Mohan and whoever was with him to pass, eyes alert and muscles tensed for flight or fight. As soon as the whimpering Berber stumbled by, Bennington right behind him, Inez felt her ire rise and her fists clench. That man had used her and imprisoned her daughter, and no one did that to a del Cameron. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of following Bennington and capturing him herself. That idea vanished with the sight of her daughter skulking past her in the shadows, tailing the others.

And just where is Mr. Featherstone?
Inez reverted to the role of protective mother. Then she remembered that de Portillo was part of this smuggling group, as well. If Jade and Sam had arrived at the house together, and Sam now stayed behind, it must be because he was either dealing with de Portillo or lying in wait for him. Either way, he probably needed assistance. She turned to Bachir and pointed to him. “Sam Featherstone,” she said, and then motioned up the street where they had been heading. She next pointed to herself, then back down the street where Jade had gone. “Jade. El Badi.”

Bachir stubbornly refused with a firm shake of his head and his arms folded across his chest. He pointed to himself, then to Inez to show he intended to stay with her. He hadn’t counted on the imperial nature of Doña Inez Maria Isabella de Vincente del Cameron.

Inez straightened to her full height, chin raised. Despite her tattered clothes and sooty face, she looked every inch a queen, or in this case, a descendent of the first
kahina
. She shooshed him with both hands and, without another word of argument, turned and followed her daughter, leaving Bachir to find Sam.

Jade tailed Bennington and Mohan, at times relying more on sound than on sight. After the first turns out of their immediate alleyways, Mohan stuck to the lamplit street. Jade knew she’d be more easily spotted if Bennington turned around to look behind him. That meant staying farther back and hugging the walls. Twice she flattened herself into an entryway, her back pressed so tightly against the door that if anyone had opened the portal from inside, she’d have fallen backward.

Once she felt she was being followed, but couldn’t see anyone. Since her left knee didn’t ache, she brushed it off as an overactive imagination or more likely Sam and continued on. Wherever Mohan was going, it was not back to the old tomb. It was only when she saw the El Badi Palace ruins that she knew where he’d rehidden the amulet.

El Badi’s broken shell loomed ahead, the wall around it visible only as a black emptiness in the distant light from the torches scattered along the street intersections. From this distance the walls were apparent by the absence of anything else. To the east, north, or west, the eye sought out and found dim streets; here the impression of a doorway, there a rooftop with stars overhead. To the south loomed nothing but unbroken wall, an empty black space, and where there were gaps, more black wall beyond. Only the stars flickering above let the eye know when the wall ended and the sky began.

By day, the old palace was more a corpse than a building; the few shreds of majesty it wore were more mocking than grand, like a tarnished imperial ring on a desiccated mummy. By night the flickering torchlights transformed this sleeping corpse of a ruin into the waking dead, as sandy red walls became black like old, smeared blood that flowed with every shimmy of the torch’s fire. Every shadow jiggled as though alive, rendering the ancient palace truly frightening.