Free Watson, Ian - Novel 16 by Whores of Babylon (v1.1)

temple. He
arrived at a platform between two warehouses overlooking the wide, murky
water; a cul-de-sac. Several coracles were being poled along: one laden with
cabbages, another with chairs, a third with sheepskins. In both directions
until the waterway bent out of sight the backs of buildings plunged down into
it, some with loading bays. From the mouths of pipes in many walls brown stains
drooled into the water - which did not, however, smell unwholesome, since the
canal flowed along at a leisurely though perceptible rate.
                 He
had forgotten about the canal. Now he recollected how he and Deborah had
crossed it by a minor bridge to arrive at the street where their lodgings were.
That bridge was out of sight - probably to the north - one way or the other,
but which? How to reach it, rather than another dead end? These back streets
might run at right angles for the most part; they were still a maze.
                 Frustrated,
he retraced his steps quickly back to Sin Street , then hastened southwards to the junction
with Marduk
Street , which bridged the canal. Soon he plunged into the quarter - or rather
the triangle with a curved hypotenuse - defined by Marduk Street , the canal, and the Processional Way .
                 He
calmed down and walked more slowly. What precisely was he intending to do?
Watch, like a voyeur? Toss a coin of his own into her lap? No, that was against
custom. He already knew Deborah (though not carnally). Gupta had pointed that
out, damn his tricks.
                 Interfere?
Dissuade?
                 Ridiculous!
                 Why
should he do anything? Why shouldn’t he amuse himself instead by visiting the
Greek Theatre or the Hanging Gardens ? Or spend a whole day exploring the new city over the river? What business of his was
it, anyway?
                 He
continued walking on towards the Ishtar temple. A couple of times he sought to
confirm his route by asking tradesmen. The first tradesman obliged, with a sly
wink.
                 Later
on, the second man he asked said frostily, ‘There are strip shows in the Greek
Theatre quarter.
                Macedonians throng them. The girls
are obliging. Wait till evening.’ Obviously this particular pious citizen
disapproved of the visitor’s seeming - or unseemly - haste to avail himself of
a famous delight of Babylon .
                 ‘I
know there are!’ barked Alex. ‘Damn it, my inn’s right next to one.’
                 ‘Perhaps
you’re too mean to pay a proper price? Do you think, stranger, you can buy with
a copper what is more precious than gold? You can; but it shall do your soul no
good! Maybe you’re frightened of catching a disease which will make your urine
burn and foam? Or is your urgency that of Priapus?’
                 Alex
was on the point of protesting at these insults when it occurred to him that
the man might want to goad him into an accusation, and a quarrel on the street
- with who knew what results?
                 He
simply said, ‘I arranged to meet a friend there.’
                 Reluctantly
the fellow conceded some directions. These turned out to be lies; by the time
Alex realized, more time had gone by.
                 In
a spacious courtyard shaded by cedars of Lebanon many reed mats were arranged
in rows upon the soil, separated by gangways of straw.
                 Some
thirty women sat waiting here and there, cross-legged or with their knees drawn
up, the laps of their plain gowns forming for each a begging bowl. None of
their faces was painted but each wore a band of plaited gold cord round her
head. The temple building was a hall of glazed brick with high clerestory
windows, resembling the nave of an early church; cloisters sprouted to one
side.
                 Deborah
wasn’t among the waiting women. Alex could already see as