Page 13 of Her Dark Priests

Chapter five

TORY

Thefirstthingthat hit me when I stepped out of the plane was the heat. It was like walking into a wall of fire, and I gasped, the hot air travelling down my throat and practically choking me. The sun seared into my eyes, accustomed to the dimness of the cabin, and I blinked, fighting for breath as I moved with the crowd out of the plane and down the steps onto the tarmac. I was extremely thankful that I’d decided to abandon the wig in the overhead lockers and let my dark braid hang down my back. I could already feel the sweat run down my skin inside my clothes, and I determined that my first job after I’d checked into the hotel I’d found online was to go in search of some more appropriate clothes.

I stepped onto the ground and froze. My vision seemed to blur and distort, and images flashed in front of my eyes, merging with the people around me and the airport terminal in front of us in such a way that I couldn’t make out what I was seeing. Scents of spices and perfumes drifted past, and sounds I couldn’t possibly hear rang in my ears—swaying trees, the lapping of water, the soft rustling of sand. Adrenaline coursed through my body, and my fingertips and toes tingled as if I’d received a static shock. I reached and grabbed the metal handrail to steady myself, gasping as my skin touched the hot metal. I swayed, holding it tight until the feeling passed.

“Mademoiselle? Are you alright?”

I tuned back into reality, hearing the French words and struggling to translate my reply to the concerned-looking stewardess standing in front of me.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

She smiled and thankfully switched to English. I could normally manage basic French, but I was struggling to focus. “Ah, British? Your first time in Egypt? The heat gets to a lot of people. Just take it slow. Are you okay to walk to the bus?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m feeling much better. I think you’re right, the shock of the heat.” I smiled at her and followed the other passengers to the bus waiting a short distance away. The dizzy, spinning feeling had subsided, and the heat, although still very much present, no longer felt suffocating. I took a few deep breaths as I climbed up onto the bus and found a seat.

Despite knowing absolutely no Arabic whatsoever, except for a couple of phrases from a guidebook I’d picked up, I managed to navigate the airport somewhat quickly. It definitely helped that I had no luggage to collect. All I had now was a couple of outfits in my bag, my purse, and my passport, plus the visa I’d manage to get rushed through by a friend of a friend at the Egyptian Embassy in London. I’d managed to order a special flat bag that fastened around my waist under my clothes for holding my valuables, and though I knew it meant I was much safer from pickpockets, the extra layer around my middle was certainly sticky and uncomfortable, and I was in definite want of a shower.

Assuming, at some point, my father would simply cancel my credit card in order to try and persuade me to come home, I had taken out a decent amount of cash to see me through. With a limited budget in mind, I had opted for a cheap hotel popular with backpackers. The bedroom was tiny, but it had a double bed and looked clean. More importantly, it had an en-suite bathroom and air conditioning. Having checked in and found out that I had been totally conned over my taxi fare from the airport, paying double what I should have, I found the room extremely welcoming. I dropped my backpack to the floor, unclipped the bag from around my waist, and collapsed face down on the bed, my body aching from the travel.

The cool white sheets and pillows were extremely inviting, but I knew West and Davenport would eventually figure out where I’d gone and would more than likely come after me. They were pretty skilled in the whole security scheme of things, but I wasn’t sure how good they’d be at actually tracking me down. Getting out of the city before they discovered where I was staying would be my best bet. I had today to pick up some supplies, and then tomorrow morning I would need to be on a train out of Cairo. My colouring should mean I would blend in pretty well, and I was fairly sure once out of Cairo, if I relied on cash rather than my credit card, even they wouldn’t be able to find me. The thought of West’s face if he did manage to track me down was enough to have me rolling off the bed and heading for the shower.

An hour later, after a half decent shower and some fresh clothes, my secure bag strapped in place again, I headed out of the hotel and into the back of the taxi the manager had kindly arranged for me. I didn’t know whether it was a service they provided, or if she just felt sorry for me already having been duped. My minor embarrassment at having been taken in so easily was then increased by the fact that she’d apparently told my new taxi driver the story and he’d found it hilarious, chuckling as he drove slowly through the crowded streets.

He must have seen my face in the mirror, because he finally managed to straighten his face.

“It happens to lots of newcomers,” he reassured me, his deep voice still holding a trace of laughter.

“Mmm,” I hummed, not quite believing him. It was only a tiny amount of money, but I was annoyed, more with myself than him. My father and West already thought I couldn’t take care of myself, and here I was getting duped at the earliest possible opportunity.

“Really, it happens all the time. Would you mind...?”

I met his eyes again in the mirror, and he smiled.

“I can give you some tips? The souq is a very busy place. Many tourists, and many people wanting to take advantage of tourists. A woman on her own needs to be careful.”

I bit back a snappy remark that I could take care of myself even as a woman, realising he meant it kindly, and just nodded.

“Lots of pickpockets, people after money, passport. Keep most money safe, only keep a little in pockets to spend today. They see you have little money, they not interested. Not rich tourist.” That made sense. As he spoke, I unzipped my bag and transferred maybe thirty pounds worth of Egyptian currency to my outer pocket. I wore jeans, they were the only thing I’d had at hand that didn’t have a designer tag when I’d packed, and I was already very hot, but the pockets were tight, and I’d definitely notice someone slipping their hand inside. My basic cotton shirt was more expensive, but it was quite old and worn, so I hoped no one would notice. I’d worn it over a vest, rolling my sleeves up to just below my elbows. I’d read enough to know about dressing modestly out of respect for the culture.

The driver pulled up outside the mosque, and I stared up out of the window at the beautiful building.

“This Al-Azhar Mosque,” the driver informed me. He turned round, looping his elbow over the back of the seat. “To get to souq, you go through that passageway there and head for Hussein Square. Very busy, very noisy. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” I replied and peeled off a couple of bills.

“See, is too much again!”

I smiled. “Extra for the advice, thank you.”

He grinned and took the bills. “Okay, I give you more for free. You buy pretty things in souq, you... er... you not take first price. Go lower, only pay half. If they say no, you walk away.”

I nodded. “Haggle for half, got it. Thank you so much.” I climbed out of the car, and the heat hit me again. As much as I was looking forward to wandering the streets of the famous Khan el-Khalili, I needed spare clothes more suited for this climate than my own. Sweat trickled down the small of my back, and I paused as the driver pulled away, staring up at the huge mediaeval mosque as I sipped a bottle of water I’d bought from a vending machine in the hotel lobby. The sky was a beautiful azure blue, and the sun shone harshly down, reflecting off the pale stone buildings, making me squint. I mentally added sunglasses to my list.

Following the driver’s directions, I headed through the passageway he’d indicated and into the souq. After a few minutes, I stopped and just stood, the crowd pushing and milling around me as I took it all in. The scene in front of me was like something out of Arabian Nights. Mediaeval Islamic buildings stretched up along the street, with dozens in tiny alleyways branching off in all directions. The driver had been right, the noise was incredible. I could hear honking car horns from the bigger roads, thousands of voices, street sellers calling at passers-by, braying donkeys, and screams of children as they played, weaving in and out of the crowd chasing each other through the streets. The scents of incense and coffee filled the air and my senses, as did spices so heavy and heady they stung my eyes and caught in my throat.

I followed the crowd moving down the streets, stopping now and then to marvel over the stalls and shopfronts. Everything you could imagine was on sale, and I was amazed by it all. Stunning traditional stained glass Arabic lamps were sold next to tacky key chains. Intricate silverware and incredible handmade carpets were followed by another stall selling plastic Egyptian gods and fake papyrus scrolls. Huge bags of spices in every colour, perfumes, and essential oils dazzled the senses. As I passed, the shopkeepers called out to me, asking me to stop and look more closely. Some, to my amusement, even asked how they could take my money today.

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