The Mamur Zapt and the Spoils of Egypt. Michael Pearce

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

      He shepherded the woman across.

      ‘Captain Owen,’ he said, ‘the Mamur Zapt.’

      Owen rose.

      ‘Miss Skinner.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you, Captain Owen,’ she said, extending a hand, then sitting down in one of the chairs opposite him. ‘But who or what is the Mamur Zapt?’

      ‘It’s the traditional Arabic title of the post I hold.’

      ‘And what post is that?’

      ‘It’s a kind of police post.’

      ‘You are a policeman?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Owen, ‘yes. You could say that.’

      The woman frowned slightly. She was about thirty and had a long, thin, sharp face. Sharp eyes, too.

      ‘There seems some doubt about it,’ she said.

      Paul Trevelyan came to his assistance.

      ‘Captain Owen looks after the political side,’ he explained.

      ‘The post was originally Head of the Khedive’s Secret Police,’ said Owen.

      ‘Ah!’

      ‘But, of course, things are very different now.’

      They certainly were. For this was 1908 and although the Khedive was still the nominal ruler of Egypt and Egypt was still nominally an autonomous province of the Ottoman Empire, the Ottomans were no longer in power.

      Nor were the Egyptians, for that matter. The new rulers of Egypt were the British, who had come into the country thirty years before to help the Khedive sort out his chaotic finances: come and stayed.

      ‘The British seem everywhere,’ said Miss Skinner.

      ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. We’re advisers only, you know.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Oh yes.’

      ‘And you yourself,’ said Miss Skinner pointedly, ‘you are an adviser, too?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Whom do you advise?’

      ‘Oh, lots of people. The Khedive—’

      Formally, that was.

      ‘The Chief of Police—’

      Who happened to be British.

      ‘Mr Trevelyan’s boss?’ asked Miss Skinner.

      The Consul-General. The British Consul-General, that was. The man who really ran Egypt.

      ‘You could say that,’ said Owen, smiling.

      ‘I get the picture,’ said Miss Skinner.

      ‘Miss Skinner’s interests are archæological,’ said Paul firmly, deciding that it was time to re-route her.

      ‘And statistical,’ corrected Miss Skinner. ‘There are a number of things I wish to look into while I am here.’

      Behind her back Paul raised his eyes heavenwards.

      ‘I am sure our Finance Department will be glad to help you,’ said Owen, who had a grudge against the Finance Department.

      Miss Skinner pursed her lips.

      ‘It is the flesh and blood behind the statistics that interests me. I am not sure that Finance Departments are so good at that.’

      ‘I am taking Miss Skinner to see some of the excavations,’ said Paul doggedly.

      ‘Fascinating!’ said Owen.

      The vendors of antiquities, recovered, had regrouped in front of the terrace and were now beginning to slide their wares beseechingly through the railings. Miss Skinner looked down.

      ‘Fake!’ she pronounced.

      ‘But nice, don’t you think?’ said Owen, who rather liked the blue scarab beetles and admired the workmanship that went into the barques.

      ‘I am only,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘interested in the truth.’

      There was something of a pause.

      ‘And where,’ asked Owen chattily, seeing signs of desperation in Paul, ‘were you planning to go?’

      ‘Der el Bahari, primarily.’

      ‘Oh, there are lots of things to see there. You’ll find it very interesting,’ Owen assured Miss Skinner.

      ‘There’s an American team up there at the moment,’ said Paul. ‘I gather they’re making some promising finds.’

      ‘I know Parker,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘I’m afraid I don’t like his methodology.’

      ‘Ah well,’ said Owen, ‘you’ll be able to help him put it right, then.’

      He felt something touching his foot and glanced down. A particularly resourceful vendor had laid out some ushapti images on a piece of coffin and was poking it under the table for them to see.

      Miss Skinner picked up one of the images and turned it over between her hands. She seemed puzzled.

      ‘It looks genuine,’ she said, ‘but—’

      ‘It probably is genuine.’

      ‘But how can that be?’

      Owen shrugged.

      ‘It might even come from Der el Bahari. That’s where a lot of these men came from.’

      Miss Skinner’s eyes widened.

      ‘You mean—these things are stolen.’

      ‘Accumulated, say. Perhaps even over the centuries. The ancestors of these men, Miss Skinner, built the temples and tombs in the Valley of Kings. And ever since they have been, well, revenging themselves on their masters.’

      ‘Then they are grave-robbers,’ cried Miss Skinner, ‘and must be stopped!’

      As Paul piloted Miss Skinner down the steps, the vendors closed in again. The man with the mummified arm pushed his way through the crowd and waved it once more in her face.

      ‘For you, Madame, for you!’

      ‘No,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘no.’

      ‘For you especially,’ the man insisted.

СКАЧАТЬ