Blue Damask (12 page)

     “What is it for?”  Elsa held out a hand for it and he laid it on her palm.

     “To keep the
jinn
away,” he smiled.

     “
Jinn
?”

     “Evil spirits that inhabit the wastelands.  Their eerie voices carry on the wind, inciting a man to sin.  They bring sandstorms and scorpions and sometimes wilt a man’s resolve with his wife.”  He smiled at Elsa’s expression.  “All the things a man does not welcome in his life are caused by the
jinn
.”

     He pulled the strings that bound the little fur bundle until it opened and then he pulled out a small scroll.  “This is inscribed with the names of God, in beautiful calligraphy.  Our man is naked now and susceptible to the wiles of demons.  I pity him.”  He tucked the little scroll gently back inside the soft fur and wrapped the bundle with the remnants of the cords before tucking it in his coat pocket over his heart.  “I am protected now.”

     “He stole nothing.”  Marshall shook his head.

     “He was not a thief,” Sonnenby agreed.

     “You think he was looking for your cipher?”  Elsa asked.

     “Not anymore.  Not after finding this.”  Sonnenby touched his jacket over his heart.  “This tells me he wanted something else.  That cipher would be no use to a
Ruwallah.

     Elsa repeated the unfamiliar word, “
Ruwallah”
.  It that an English word?”

     Marshall frowned.  “No, it is the name of a tribe.”

     Sonnenby made a face.   “I wonder…”

     She looked from man to man, both deep in thought.  “Would this tribe benefit from your death, Mr. Sinclair?”

     “Absolutely not!”  Marshall harrumphed.  “They need him to negotiate.”

     “Do they?”  Sonnenby sat down.  “Perhaps they see me as a traitor already.” He looked up at Marshall.  “Who exactly will be meeting with the delegation?”  His voice changed tone, “And I don’t mean the French ambassador.”

     Marshall nodded, understanding.  “We have invited the leaders of the tribe.  We did not specify.  We thought it prudent for them to choose their representatives.”

     “So it could be anyone.”

     “I assume they will send your uncles.  Probably also your brother.”

     “They might.  They might also send cousins.  That would be bad.  The young men do not want foreign rule.  At any price.  They have not grown into greed and still think with their balls.”  He flashed a glance at Elsa to apologize for his vulgarity.

     “You think there is infighting, then?  They have not decided who will sign the treaty?”

     “There is always infighting.  Most likely they will send a representative from both sides of the issue and the men will continue fighting.”  He leaned back and put his hand over the charm in his pocket.

     Marshall looked grim.  “Then you are doubly important.  We must get there before they do and prepare the delegation.  I need you to look through your things right now and tell me if something is missing, then rest.”

     Davies stood close to Sonnenby and moved around the room with him as he examined his discarded clothing and touched the items in his shaving kit.  Davies held the leather satchel open so Sonnenby could dig through it with both hands.  He paused.  Elsa stepped toward him but Davies had an arm on his elbow before she got there.  Sonnenby sank slowly to his knees and put a hand to his head.

     “I don’t think I have recovered,” he said softly.

     Elsa said, “Here.  Let me help you to the bed.  You need to lie down.”

     Sonnenby lurched to his feet and Davies steadied him.  Elsa tried to lead him to the bed with a hand on his other arm, but he stopped and turned his head and shoulders with great effort toward Marshall.

     “The photograph missing from this satchel.  And the silver filigreed frame.”

     Marshall picked the satchel up from the floor and looked inside.  “Just the photograph?”

     Sonnenby nodded and put a hand to his head.  “I have a terrible headache,” he murmured.  Elsa tugged him toward the bed.

     Marshall set the satchel down on the sideboard with a thoughtful frown.

     Elsa asked, “Who was the photograph of?”

     Sonnenby did not answer until his head was on the pillow.  He took a deep breath and answered, “My mother.”

     “Your mother,” Elsa breathed.  She went to the lavatory and came back with a moistened cloth.  “Your mother,” she repeated as she folded the cool cloth and put it on his forehead.  “I have aspirin powders in my room.  I will get them for you.”

     “Why would a Bedouin want the photograph of your mother?”  Marshall asked. “I put all of your personal things in this satchel when I was at the asylum.  Your cuff links and watch are still here.”

     Elsa sat next to Sonnenby and took his pulse.  Fast.  She did not look up when she answered.  “It is obvious to me, Mr. Marshall.”

     “Indeed?”

     “We are bringing a man to Damascus to represent a tribe in a very important matter of sovereignty.”  She leaned over Sonnenby’s face and asked him gently, “How long has it been since you were in El Zor?”

     He did not open his eyes and his voice was weak when he answered her.  “Fifteen years.”

     Elsa turned to face Marshall and Davies.  “See?  They sent a man to confirm his identity.  Really.  You didn’t expect them to trust that any Englishman you dragged to Damascus was really their
sheikh’s
son?”  She patted Sonnenby’s wrist.  “They would recognize the photograph as your mother, yes?”

     “My mother was…distinctive.  They would know her.”

     “There, Mr. Marshall.  The man was sent to identify Lord Sonnenby.  Perhaps the spy recognized Lord Sonnenby by sight, but proof would be in one of his possessions.  He was looking for something to take back to the others to confirm his identity.  A photograph of the late Lady Sonnenby is proof positive he can take back to his leaders.  I think we can relax. The man was not an assassin.”

     Marshall bent to pick up a shirt and draped it over a chair.  “You are a remarkable woman,
Fraulein
Schluss.”

     Elsa gave him a look that suggested she did not appreciate his sarcasm, but softened her brows when she saw he was serious.

     Marshall continued, “If nothing else is missing, I will be inclined to agree.  Lord Sonnenby looks very much like Medjel.  They would know him if they saw him, but perhaps they want to know sooner.  It does not surprise me that they do not trust us.”  He gestured toward Davies who finished picking up the strewn clothing.  “Just the same, I would like Sonnenby to stay here until the ship reaches the dock.  If you would be so kind,
fraulein
, to stay with him until I return.”

     “The aspirin powders—“

     “Davies will get some from the purser.”

     “Of course, Mr. Marshall.”

     The two men left the room with a soft click of the door behind them.  Elsa patted Sonnenby’s arm then turned the cloth on his forehead over so the cooler side would touch his skin.

     “Does your head feel any better?”

     “It is better.  Thank you.”

     “Do you need another drink?  Water, I mean.” She added hastily.

     “Yes.  I feel drained, like there is nothing inside.”

     “Adrenaline depletion.” She diagnosed as she walked to the side board.  She poured him some water.  “It leaves the muscles as suddenly as it had flooded them before.  The exhaustion is truly devastating, especially if you had been weak to start with.”  She put the glass in his hand and helped lift his shoulders.

     “Weakness.  I despise it,” he said as he handed her the empty glass and closed his eyes.

     She smiled.  “Of course.  Spoken like a soldier.”  His face had regained some of its color.  He needed a shave.  He appeared to be one of those men who need to shave twice a day.  Behind the dark stubble his cheeks were still pale, but not the ghastly gray that had been there before.  She got up and began to smooth and fold his clothing.

     “Don’t do that.”

     “Why not?  I cannot sit still.”

     “I do not like seeing you do a servant’s work.”

     She stopped, one of his shirts over her arm.  “Servants?”  She felt her face get warm.  She had not been raised with servants.  She put his shirt down on the bed.  Some of the shirts would need to be ironed again.  She fingered a button.

     His eyes were closed and he had a hand to his temple.  “Leave it for Davies and the staff.  You are not my servant.”

     “No.  Of course not.”  She frowned.  In her father’s house this kind of work was done every day.  She and her sisters did the wash on Mondays.  They ironed on Tuesdays, mended on Wednesdays.  It was not a servant’s work.  It was their work.  They baked bread and scrubbed floors.  Her brothers tended the machines in the brewery, maintained the family automobile and did house repairs.  “Go to sleep,” she said softly.  She couldn’t think of anything else to say and she wanted him to stop talking.  His words were hurting her and she did not know why.

     “I cannot sleep.  My mind is working too quickly.”

     “Did you sleep last night?”

     “Not a wink.”  He blinked his eyes open at her and she saw they were bloodshot and glassy.

     “You are not well, Lord Sonnenby.”

     “No, I am not.  That is why I was wearing that fashionable jacket with the many buckles on the back.”

     It was too easy to forget he spent a year in an asylum.  “You are much better now,” she soothed.  “The jacket is gone.  You will wear dinner jackets now.  In time you will recover.”

     “Really?  There is a cure?”  He closed his eyes again.

     “For neurosis, yes.  Psychosis, no.  But you are not psychotic.”

     “You can tell after four days?”

     “Five.  And yes.  Doctor Engel knew in the reception room of his practice.  He would not have sent me if he thought you were psychotic.  He told me you needed…”  She stopped, aware she had said too much. She sat in the chair near the sideboard and looked at her hands.

     “What do I need, Elsa?” his voice was very soft.

     “You are getting it now,” she answered just as softly.

     Davies pushed open the door and brought her a packet of medicine powders.  He glanced at the bed.  “Good.  He has finally fallen asleep.”

     Elsa stood at the rail and watched the port of Beirut as the many ships and slid past the
Oriana
on her way to her dock.  The breeze was not so fresh, now, as it carried the scent of fuel and waste and stagnant water from the city.  She turned away and rested her elbows on the rail.  She looked at the deck instead, watching the passengers as they made their last stroll along the promenade before their journey ended.

     Servants and uniformed staff hurried to and fro burdened with every kind of luggage.  Elsa looked down at her feet.  She had her briefcase.  Her luggage had been picked up earlier by Davies and a porter.  She wore the black silk skirt and white blouse she found among Mr. Marshall’s gifts.  A lovely white silk scarf covered her head and the ends crossed her shoulders.  She had not had the courage to refuse the suitcase; though she kept telling herself when her journey was over she would return the beautiful clothing to him.

     She waited.  The ship’s whistle blew and the deck shuddered as the engines reversed the great propellers with a loud rumble.  She looked up and down the deck for Marshall and Sonnenby.  She glanced down at her little watch.  She checked the plate that assured her she was on the Lido deck, port side, amidships.  Yes.  She was in the right place. After a few more minutes of waiting, she saw them approaching.  Sonnenby wore a dark fedora; Marshall was topped by his ever-present bowler.  Both men gave her a slight bow as they joined her at the rail.

     “You are limping, Mr. Sinclair.”

     “Apparently I pulled something, running yesterday.”  He gave her a small smile.  “Any more adventures and I won’t make it to Damascus in one piece.”  He touched the bruises around his left eye, still visible from his encounter on the train.  “Marshall, you will have to do a better job.”

     “Hmph,” Marshall looked at his pocket watch, and then snapped the cover closed.  “My job is nearly over, my lord.  One hour to disembark, and two to Damascus.”

     Elsa raised an eyebrow.  “That soon?  You are responsible only for delivering him?”

     Marshall gave her a charming smile.  “As you say.  In Damascus he will come under the care of the Arab Bureau.  They have brought another man in from the Cairo office to escort him into the bush.”

     “They don’t call it the ‘bush’ here,” Sonnenby said.  He leaned on the rail and watched the city grow bigger as they approached.  Elsa followed his eyes to the white plaster and cement houses.  Cranes and turbines and shipping containers disturbed what might have been a beautiful coastline.  Industry darkened all beauty.  She sighed and Sonnenby turned to her.

     “It is beautiful farther inland,” he said, interpreting her sigh.

     “It is a wasteland farther inland,” Marshall corrected.

     Sonnenby replied without looking at Marshall, “It is a beautiful wasteland.”

     Elsa tried to smile.  Neither of these men must have seen Alpine meadows in the spring, or they would not speak so freely about beauty.  The only thing beautiful she could see was the deep azure of the cloudless sky and the leaping dolphins that sped along beside the ship as it maneuvered into port.  She sighed again.

     Marshall took her elbow.  “When we get to the office you will be debriefed by the men there.  Do not be afraid, and tell them the truth.”

     It had never occurred to Elsa to be afraid, or to lie about anything.  “Why should I be afraid?”  She glanced at Sonnenby.  He did not appear to be looking forward to this ‘debriefing’.

     Marshall tried to look reassuring, but he only made his face appear more stiff and disingenuous.  “I know that some people are nervous being questioned by the government.”  He made it sound like a reasonable fear.

     “Of course,” she answered and pulled her elbow from his hand.  He let her go and touched the rim of his hat.

     “I will also be questioned.  If you find yourself at a loss, just tell them to ask me.”

     “To what will these questions pertain?”

     “Yours may be merely about Lord Sonnenby’s health and state of mind.  Perhaps they will ask about the car, and the gun battle. I did not tell them about the incident in my lord’s stateroom.”

     “Why not?”  Sonnenby turned from the rail.

     Marshall appeared uncomfortable.  “What can be said but that someone in staff’s uniform rummaged through your belongings, but did not steal anything?”

     “He stole a silver frame.”

     Marshall stroked his mustache with his index finger.  He glanced at Elsa as if unsure he should speak in front of her.  He couched his words carefully.  “You will have to make your decisions yourself, Sonnenby.” He leaned forward slightly and his voice was intense.  “Keeping this incident to ourselves gives you…” he closed his eyes.  “…room to negotiate.”  He opened them again and they glittered with something unspoken.

     Elsa watched the two men stare at each other.  She tried to understand what was communicated between them.  She found the British particularly difficult to read.  Germans were easier, though they also had a stiffness that had to be deconstructed.   The Italians were simple to decipher.  And the French as well. But the British, not so much.

     She shook her head as she looked from man to man.  Sonnenby was slightly taller.  She noticed Marshall leaned a little forward on the balls of his feet to compensate.  They stared hard at each other until finally Sonnenby nodded once and narrowed his eyes before turning back to the rail.  Marshall relaxed and tried to smile at her.

     “Once debriefed, you will stay in Damascus in a very nice hotel while Lord Sonnenby makes his way into his…beautiful wasteland.  When he returns you will accompany him on the journey to England.  A ship again, then a train to Paris, and from there to London.  After a short stay in London I would appreciate it if you would accompany Lord Sonnenby to his estates and meet with his doctor there before returning to Vienna.”

     Sonnenby did not turn away from the rail, but continued to stare at the approaching city.  “Then the asylum vacation is over?”

     Marshall paused before answering.  “If the negotiations are resolved favorably, you will be released.”

     Elsa saw Sonnenby’s shoulders bunch beneath the expensive fabric of his jacket. “And if it is not favorable?”

     Marshall did not answer, but looked at his pocket watch again.  Sonnenby didn’t feel the need to turn around.

     They were met at the port by a large car.  Inside the chauffeur was silent, but the ministry man who sat beside him was all smiles and effusive greetings.  He was interested in any news from London, and even expressed an interest in the post-war developments in Vienna.  Elsa found Mr. Bain very charming and gave him some sincere smiles in return.

     The conversation was lively while the car wove through the narrow streets of Beirut, but as the many smaller streets started to flow into one wider one, the talk slowed.  Soon conversation stopped altogether as the single road that left the city stretched out before them to the horizon.  The road to Damascus.  The car climbed a steep bluff that led up from the shore and as it crested the top she could see for miles.  In the distance weathered mountains met the sky in a hazy blur.  On either side of the road low whitewashed houses and rough yards moved by her window every few minutes.  As in Istanbul, the occasional small boy and donkey responded quickly to the driver’s horn and moved clear of the vehicle.

     Elsa sank back into the seat.  It was obvious that the rest of the way to Damascus would have little variation in scenery. Beautiful wasteland, indeed.  She felt Sonnenby move in his seat beside her and turned her head.  He was watching the dry grayness and intermittent green gardens with intense interest.

     “Are you remembering this?” she asked him.

     “I am.  It had been a long time.  I used to be one of those boys with a donkey and a stick.”

     She sat up a little straighter.  “Did you, now?”  She followed his gaze to a group of boys with long sticks encouraging donkeys laden with straw to cross the road in the dust behind them.  “A nobleman’s son?”  She realized she had been making some assumptions about his youth.

     He shifted in his seat so his shoulders blocked Marshall from her sight.  He gave her a smile.  “My father admired strength and agility, since he possessed so little of it himself.  He encouraged me to run about outdoors.  The only thing for a boy to do in this land is to do what the other boys were doing.  So I did that.  I returned from holidays tanned and strong.”

     Marshall did not look up from a letter he was reading.  “And fluent.”

     Sonnenby turned to acknowledge his comment.  “
Na’am
.”

     Marshall looked out his window, his face impassive.

An hour later the car pulled up in front of the hotel in a yellow cloud of the ubiquitous dust.  Bell hops and doormen in uncomfortable uniforms were quick to open the doors and the boot.  Elsa was about to get out when Mr. Bain spoke her name.

     “Miss Schluss, if you would wait in the car, please, the ministry awaits our arrival.”  Both he and Marshall tucked their hands into their jackets and pulled out dual watches and flipped them open simultaneously.  Davies gave her a quick wave as he got out of the car.

     She leaned back in her seat and touched her briefcase.  “Of course.”  The hotel was three stories tall and each level had a wide balcony that shaded the one below it.  Bright colors were painted on the awnings and shutters, though the building itself was a brilliant white.  The grounds were green with cypress and cedars, and a tall fountain was the focal point at the center of the circular drive.  The exchange of information and luggage occurred at a professional clip.  Both watches snapped shut as the government men returned to their seats for the short ride to a nondescript white building with many windows and two floors.

     This time Elsa was handed out of the back seat and escorted through large double doors.  Marshall and Sonnenby followed behind.  The corridor was long and cool, with a fresh breeze that seemed to change direction no matter which way the hall turned.  She was ushered into a small office and handed a glass of cool water.  Sonnenby caught her eye before he disappeared with Marshall into the next room.

     “
Fraulein
Schluss,” a man behind the desk stood, then shook her offered hand.  “Please allow me to introduce myself.  I am John Frank, with His Majesty’s Foreign Service, the Arab Bureau.  I will be debriefing you on your recent travels from Vienna to Damascus.”  He moved his hand to a sturdy chair next to a wooden desk.  “Please be seated.  This won’t take long, and you will be free to return to the hotel.”

     She sipped the water and looked around.  Austerity seemed to be the décor of choice, though that should not have surprised her considering the recent war.  The men staffing the office were sharply dressed and walked with a straight military bearing.  Men in military uniforms with pistols in holsters walked past the open door from time to time.  Clocks were on nearly every wall.  The one in front of her proudly read the time in London and Paris as well as Cairo and the local time in Damascus.  She heard French being spoken in the next room.

     Everything was very ordered and very efficient.  Telephones rang.  Business was being conducted.  Typewriters clicked and clacked and the little bells on the carriage return chimed.  Decisions were being made.  She felt rather comfortable among all this competency.

     Mr. Frank drew up a chair across from her, and next to the desk.  He rested his elbow on the edge and flipped open a notebook.  She smiled politely at him, knowing that by avoiding putting the authority of the desk between them, he was trying to establish a sense of equality and camaraderie to encourage her to speak freely.  She was ready to comply.  She folded her hands in her lap and pressed her knees and ankles together in a professional manner.

     “When Lord Sonnenby was first brought to you, he was in a straightjacket, is this correct?”

     “Yes, it is.”

     Mr. Frank wrote in the notebook for a few seconds.  As he wrote he asked without looking up, “And why was that, Miss Schluss?”

     She paused until he did look up.  “I don’t know, really, Mr. Frank.  I had heard he attacked two orderlies in the asylum.  It is possible his keepers did not want any trouble on the journey from London to Vienna.”

     “Indeed.”  Mr. Frank bent over his notebook again.  “And yet on the train he broke out a window and escaped—“

     “Briefly,” Elsa inserted quickly.  She wondered if he knew it was her fault Sonnenby had gotten away.

     “Yes, he was briefly free before being caught and returned to the train.  He cut his arm on the shards and it had to be stitched.  Is this true?”

     “It is.”

     “And you did the surgery?”

     “I did.”

     “I read here that you were a surgical nurse in a field hospital during the war, and in a hospital in Munich.”

     “That is true, sir.”

     “And the next day an assassin entered his compartment on the train and tried to stab him to death.  Yes?”

     She cleared her throat.  “Yes.”