Garment of Shadows by King Laurie R

Author:King, Laurie R. [King, Laurie R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical, Adventure, Age Range 2 Older Audience, Adult
ISBN: 9780553807998
Google: CU0ZaMGs8bMC
Amazon: 0553807994
Goodreads: 13330537
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2012-09-04T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“The lad stole a donkey and followed you from Fez this morning,” Ali told Holmes and me, in English. Idir was hunched by the fire shoving bread down his throat, to the amusement of both Lyautey and Abd el-Krim, who had rumpled the boy’s head with the familiarity of a father. “He reached the last village at the same time a horse with an empty saddle trotted down from the wadi track, and the boy did not hesitate to change mounts. I suppose he figured that even if the beast wasn’t yours, it would still be faster than the donkey.”

“I thought you said he would go searching for Mahmoud,” I complained.

“I thought he would.”

“A most determined young person,” Holmes said.

“Have we ever met a passive child?” I lamented.

Ali ignored my grumble. “We must finish here, or we will be caught by night.”

“But they’ve come to no agreement.” My protest surprised him.

“Did you anticipate they would?”

“Wasn’t that why we came?”

“That would have been icing on the cake.” The English simile sounded peculiar coming from that bearded mouth. “The point was to have the two men speak directly, and to see that the other was a man to respect, not a faceless threat. No: This has been a good day’s work.”

The three of us looked over at the trio near the fire: rebel leader, French blueblood, and mute urchin. Abd el-Krim poured the dregs from the pot into his tin mug, and set it before the boy, sharing a glance with Lyautey at the eagerness of the filthy little hands. Lyautey took out a cigarette case and offered it to the Moroccan, who chose one, pulling a twig from the fire to light first the Frenchman’s, then his own.

It is remarkable, how symbolic an act the sharing of tobacco can be.

Ali had finished his latest carving—a hawk in flight—and tossed it to the boy, then caught up one of the blankets and set Idir to saddling the horses. The shadows were growing longer; if we did not leave here in the next hour, we would be travelling that narrow, cliffside track in the dark. Or huddling here in our saddle blankets until dawn.

Abd el-Krim crumbled out the end of his cigarette, putting half of it away in a pocket. “I will consider what you say,” he told Lyautey.

“My great hope is that we can forge a union,” the Frenchman replied, “one that can only make both our people stronger.”

“I cannot draw back from pushing the Spanish to the sea.”

“I understand that. In your position, I would do the same. I only hope, for the sake of the soldiers themselves, that your own men show some mercy.”

Abd el-Krim did not reply; the purse of his lips was perhaps answer enough.

“The world will be watching,” Lyautey reminded him. “Newspaper men are everywhere.”

“Them!” Abd el-Krim said, a noise of dismissal.

“They are a tool, which a wise man uses like any other,” the Frenchman suggested. “In this century, international eyes are becoming a powerful force. Think of your compatriot, Raisuli, when he—”

“He is not my compatriot.

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