Marrakesh The Omnibus: Books 1-2 by Graham Diamond

Author:Graham Diamond [Diamond, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Venture Press
Published: 2016-12-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR WAS LOUD AND ABRUPT. Samíah frowned, then sewed a few more stitches before placing the nearly completed garment down.

“Yes?” she called, hurrying for the door. Outside, thunder rumbled and the wind blew wildly. The sky was a cold, chilly gray, and she hoped her sleeping father had had enough sense to shut the window in his room. The knock came again before she reached the door.

“Who is it?” she asked.

The voice on the other side was muffled.

“Who?”

He gave a name. It sounded something like “Gideon.” Puzzled—for she knew nobody by that name and wasn’t expecting any visitors this afternoon—she wondered if it might be the servant of a new client someone recommended. Samíah unconsciously straightened her dress and opened the door a peek. The rain pelted with dramatic fury. Standing in the doorway was a man. A rather youthful fellow, whose clean-shaven face dripped with the deluge, he was tall, lanky, and not bad looking except for the stupid, awkward grin he wore.

“Yes? What do you want?”

He lowered his head respectfully. “Er…Is this the house of Habib?” he asked weakly, one hand covering the top of his bare head in a useless effort to stave off the rain.

“It is.”

The grin expanded. “I, er, was told to come by this afternoon and collect the rent.” He sounded apologetic. He certainly was not the usual image of a rent collector—that hardy breed surpassed in coldness only by the tax collectors. Besides, he was a stranger, and such men were always viewed in the Old Quarter with a measure of suspicion.

“Where’s Mister al-Gamal?” she asked. On this street the landlord had been personally collecting his rent for twenty years. Odd that now someone else was here to do it for him. The whole matter seemed peculiar to Samíah, and she wondered if perhaps this fellow might be a thief. If so, he’d picked the wrong neighbourhood. Patrols of Sultan’s guards were always close at hand.

“Mister al-Gamal broke his leg, mistress,” the man who called himself Gideon told her with a slight stammer. “I’m his nephew.” Here he beamed. “His new assistant.”

The girl was more than suspicious. Still, the man before her, if she was any judge of character, certainly seemed anything but some cunning brigand out to falsely collect rents. Anyway, with that foolish grin he didn’t seem smart enough.

Lightning lashed and the thunder crashed. Gideon got drenched by a burst of gusted rain; he took his hand from his head and looked at her lamely.

“Who’s there, child?”

Stifling a big yawn, Habib ambled from his bedroom, peering into the darkened parlor. The wind and thunder had roused him from a deep, satisfying slumber.

Tilting her head sideways, Samíah called, “He says he’s here for the rent, Papa. But he’s a stranger.”

Habib squinted at the doorway and saw the youth standing there soaked. “Gideon? Gideon, is that you, boy?”

Samíah showed her surprise. “You know him?”

“Ach, certainly I know him, child! He’s our landlord’s nephew! By Allah, Gideon, why are you standing there in the rain?”

The girl opened the door wider.

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