Free Silver Tomb (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 2) by P. J. Thorndyke

support for the Mahdist cause in the Soudan. They do not like us city people, the police in particular.”
    “They’re practically savages,” said Brugsch. “They’ve been isolated from the urban centers and been beyond the reach of authority for so long that they’re more or less independent out here.”
    “In short, you’re scared,” said Lazarus.
    The captain snorted. “I have a boatload of reinforcements en route. When they arrive, we shall enter the village and begin interrogations.”
    “And in the meantime Murad may slip away, along with anybody else of value to us.”
    “I advise against entering the village, if that’s what you are intending, Mr. Longman. If I would be putting myself in danger by entering, then it would be near suicide for three Europeans to do so.”
    “Now see here,” said Petrie. “I’ve entered many such villages in the course of my excavations and although I must admit that there is little to recommend them, I found the people to be generally willing to help in any matter so long as they are dealt with fairly and with respect.”
    “Yes, but in your expeditions you were always accompanied by guides and hired guards,” said Brugsch.
    “We do not require armed thugs,” said Lazarus. “Isn’t that right, Flinders?”
    “What? Ah! Oh, yes…”
    “Well are we going in or not?” Katarina asked.
    “Gentlemen!” exclaimed Brugsch. “I must protest at the suggestion of bringing a lady into such a disease and poverty-stricken hell hole!”
    “Are you going to accompany me or stop me, sir?” asked Katarina, her eyes daring the German to pick one of the two.
    He lapsed into an embarrassed silence. Katarina turned to face the village. Lazarus led the way and the trio plodded off towards the cluster of mud brick hovels and cone-shaped grain silos that lay partly shaded by sprouting palms.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    In which a village fights for its independence
     
    A ‘disease and poverty-stricken hell hole’ was an apt term for the village. Children that looked like they had never had a bath in their lives capered about in the gutters, some of them with nasty eye infections which drew buzzing hordes of small flies. Haggard men, little more than skeletons, worked away in the irrigated fields and women in their black gowns plastered the houses and washed clothes out on the street. There were none of the water vendors, coffee sellers or shoeshine boys one saw in Cairo; a city that catered and profited from the needs of wealthy travelers. Here, all were engaged in a daily struggle for existence and the mere presence of travelers seemed to be a rare and unwelcome occasion.
    “You’ve noticed that we’re being followed?” Petrie asked Lazarus. “Yes? That’s good.”
    Lazarus had indeed become aware of the three young men who had been trailing behind them ever since they entered the village. They seemed to be carrying clubs of some sort.
    A woman poked her head out from a nearby window and they saw her eyes widen as she noticed them. She shouted out something in Arabic, but Lazarus wasn’t quick enough to make out what she said or if it was directed at them. Somewhere else a window shutter slammed closed and there was the sound of bolts being drawn on the heavy wooden door. It had gone eerily quiet, and Lazarus hadn’t even noticed when all the children had vanished. He halted suddenly and muttered under his breath, “To hell with this,” and spun around to face the three men following them, his hand passing underneath the left breast of his jacket.
    “Is there something we can do for you three?” he asked in Arabic.
    They grinned at him and one of them spoke. “We wish to ask you the same question.”
    “Why have you come to our village?” asked another.
    “We’re looking for a man,” Lazarus explained. “Murad Yasin.”
    “There is nobody here in Qurna by that name,” said the first man.
    “He’s not from this village but he arrived here moments before we