John Schettler - Touchstone

They were both startled to hear English spoken, though the voice was heavily accented. Robert turned to see a tall Arabic man, dressed in white robes with a lavender hem. He wore a dark headpiece banded by three red stripes, and his eyes were bright and animated, between heavy brows and high cheek bones. His moustache and beard were thick and dark, lending him an air of dignity, and at his throat he wore a three leaf broach of finely worked brass.

“You are English, yes?” the man said. “It is quite unusual to hear English spoken here these days. Are you traders?”

“Not English, Americans,” Nordhausen corrected quickly. “Off the Perla …” He was struggling to remember their cover story, still somewhat flustered that this man would speak their language.

“Ah, yes, she was here but three days ago. A brief visit. I do not think the news of the Pasha’s fleet sat well with her. She left very quickly. But how is it you were not with her?”

“We intended to make a visit here,” said Nordhausen. “Tourists, of a sort, you see.” He hoped no further explanation would be needed, looking askance at Maeve for support. Then he decided to rush the net, and volleyed a question of his own.

“How do you come to speak English? That is somewhat unusual for—”

“For an Arab?” The man smiled, taking no offense. “Yes, it is quite unusual. The English are fighting the French, you see, and the Turks have decided the French are a nuisance. Since the Turks are in bed with the English these days, an Arab who wishes to curry favor with the Turks would be wise to learn a bit of English. I lived in Spain once, and learned many languages: Spanish, Portuguese, English, and even French. They are very similar, though English does have its peculiarities.”

“I see,” said Nordhausen. “Then you are a man of letters?”

“I was fortunate enough to attend the university in Cordoba—a very beautiful place, Cordoba.” His eyes seemed to reach for some distant memory, resolving to a narrow eyed smile. “Then you are not with the savants?”

“Not directly,” said Robert. “We were in Toulon, visiting relatives, and heard of the expedition. Being somewhat of a student of history, I was fascinated by the enterprise. Unfortunately, we could not book passage with the French fleet, but we were lucky enough to catch the Perla there before she left.” The innkeeper was completely forgotten now, and they both were fixated on the strange figure before them.

“Forgive me,” said Robert. “I am…” He suddenly realized that he should not give out his real name, but could not remember anything about the cover he was supposed to assume! “Mr. Underhill,” he blurted out at last, grasping at a straw from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings . Maeve’s eyes widened at the name and he blushed red, realizing the stupidity of the remark. Yet it was the only thing that came to mind, and so he stuck with it, in spite of Maeve’s withering regard.

“My amiable sister,” he smiled sheepishly as he gestured in her direction.

“Ah, a great pleasure,” said the man. “I am Khalid al Haram. I trade along the caravan routes, and have worked this coast for twenty years. Most of the trade is moving by ship these days, and so a man finds his English useful. The French are masters of the land, but on the sea, it is the British fleet that holds sway, and answers to little else but the wind. They fought the French here earlier, and caught their fleet at anchor. The little general is marooned! He thought to make his way through Palestine and Syria, but the Turks stopped him at Acre, and so he returned here to Egypt to sulk. Now the British fleet is back again, and with the Turkish ships as well. They landed at Aboukir Bay.”

“Yes,” said Nordhausen. “We saw them. It was quite a sight. In fact, we just came in from the road west of town, and were looking for quarters here.”

“You are right about this man,” Khalid, waved disdainfully at the innkeeper. “He is greedy at heart. The French have paid him a hundred times with notes, and he has never raised a stir with them. If you like I will chide him, and demand the return of your gold. It is unseemly that guests should be treated in this manner.”

“Well… ah…” Robert looked at Maeve, wanting to defer the matter to her, but he realized that he was the man here and, to an Arab, a woman would certainly not be one to make such a decision. Maeve remained discretely silent, intuitively embracing the notion that she should be seen, but not heard, as much as it went against the grain of her nature.

“Leave it be,” said Nordhausen. “We have no complaint. The man is entitled to a windfall now and then, and we can afford to be generous.”

“If it were me, I would have him thrashed until he offered the room as a compliment, but as you wish.” Khalid smiled, then changed the subject. “Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard your transaction. It seems you have been billeted to the room next to mine. I would be most happy to escort you, and show the way.” He gestured to the back hall, where two French soldiers had just emerged. They were looking strangely at Robert and Maeve, and Khalid seemed to quickly warm to the role of host, going so far as to take the professor by the elbow, leaning in as he spoke.

“This way,” and he said it in French, going on to describe the food that would be served at the dinner hour, and adding a bit at the end about the problem of trade in time of war. Robert did not get all of it, somewhat surprised by the switch in languages, but he gathered enough to realize that this man had just deflected the undue interest of the soldiers, who went about their business after hearing their conversation, and left the inn.

Maeve could not help but notice the easy tact of the man, and the casual manner in which he maneuvered them safely away. Still, she thought it quite odd that they would happen upon this fellow, an educated man in the midst of this dry and dusty trading port.

They went down a dimly lit hall, and Khalid gestured to a plain door at the far end. “Your quarters are here,” he said. “If I may?” He entered and looked about him suspiciously, checking this way and that to be certain the room was vacant. “I’m afraid the previous guests did not leave the room in a tidy condition. I will have my manservant visit you later to sweep the floors. Alas for me, I must wait here until this unfortunate business at Aboukir Bay is resolved. There will be a battle, of course.”

“I fear you are correct,” said Nordhausen.

“It is very inconvenient,” said Khalid. “I had several business matters pending, and now I must wait to see who will prevail. The buyers will want to know whether they can still accept French currency, you see. I suppose that is why the innkeeper was so difficult with you.”

“Yes, I understand.” Nordhausen scratched his head as they stepped into the room behind Khalid.

“If Napoleon wins they will continue to accept French bills with no qualms. Who do you think will prevail?”

“Why, I wouldn’t know the first thing about it,” Robert explained. “I am not versed in military matters, but if history serves as any guide, the French have had their way here for the last year or so.”

“Indeed, they have. The Pasha is come to correct that matter. He has, by some accounts, twenty thousand men crowded on the beaches at Aboukir Bay. Why he lingers there is hard to say. Perhaps he cannot make up his mind whether to strike at Alexandria or to march here to Rashid. I suppose he is being overly cautious until he can learn what the French might do.”

Nordhausen saw an angle in the conversation that could help their investigation. “I have heard that the French are working on the fortifications in the area.”