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

did. We wish to speak with this man.”
    This seemed to confuse the three men. “Come with us,” said one of them.
    They were led to one of the larger houses in the village. Most consisted of two rooms; one with a fireplace where the inhabitants shared space with their animals, and one for entertaining guests. This house had several rooms. They were plain and unfurnished, but the mere size of the dwelling hinted that its owners might be slightly better off than their neighbors. Inside, a woman was squatting on the floor kneading bread. A girl of five or six years sat watching her. Somewhere in the rear of the house they could hear the clucking of chickens.
    “Sit, please,” said one of the men.
    They sat down with the three men squatting near the door.
    “My husband will not be home for some time,” said the woman through her veil. “Would you care for some water?”
    “Yes, please,” answered Lazarus.
    The woman ordered the girl to fetch it. She returned, struggling with a jug and three cups. They drank the water and watched the woman kneading her bread. The woman eyed them suspiciously, paying special attention to Katarina. When she had finished, she took the bread into the adjoining room and set it to rise by the fire.
    “Who is the master of this house?” Lazarus asked one of the three men.
    “My cousin, Ahmed,” replied one.
    “And who is Ahmed?”
    “He is a man who commands great respect in Qurna as well as the other villages nearby.”
    “Like a chief?”
    “Yes, like a chief.”
    “Why are we here?”
    “Because you entered his village.”
    “Does he know Murad Yasin?”
    There was no reply to this.
    “I say, Lazarus,” said Petrie. “I don’t much like the look of this. Those three are sitting pretty close to the door. It’s almost as if we were being held under guard.”
    “I think that’s exactly what’s happening,” Lazarus replied.
    Darkness had fallen outside. The door opened and two men entered. Their khalats were dusty, as if they had been out in the desert all day. They eyed Lazarus and his companions carefully.
    “What’s all this?” asked the older bearded one. Lazarus guessed this to be Ahmed.
    His cousin explained the situation to him.
    “I am Ahmed el-Rasoul,” said the bearded man, not extending his hand. “This is my brother Mohamed. You three are trespassers here.”
    “We have no wish to trespass,” said Lazarus. “We are seeking a man, Murad Yasin. He came here only hours ago.”
    “Why are you seeking this man?”
    Lazarus chose his next words very carefully. “We wish to purchase items from him. Antiquities.”
    “There are a hundred antiquity sellers in the streets of Cairo.”
    “Ah, but these items are, shall we say, a little special.”
    “Lies. You are working with the police and have been sent here to trick us.”
    “We’re really not working with the police,” Lazarus assured him.
    “And why would the police be interested in you anyway?” asked Katarina in faulty but coherent Arabic, showing that she had been following the conversation well enough. “Got something to hide?”
    “Who is this woman who thinks she can talk to me?” Ahmed asked. “We do not like city people here. And we like tourists even less. And you three stink of wealth and corruption.”
    He beckoned his brother to follow him into the next room, leaving Lazarus and his companions to sit and stare into the grins of the three youths who guarded the door. Lazarus clicked the joints in the fingers and the wrist of his right hand, his mind on the revolver beneath his breast pocket. If they were going to have to fight their way out of here, he was going to have to draw fast.
    There came the sound of arguing from the next room. Ahmed was shouting his brother down, who had apparently stepped out of line.
    “Suppose that fellow means to kill us?” Petrie whispered to Lazarus. “And his brother dared to question him? It’s nice to have a vote of confidence in a situation like