Later,
hanging over some banister, she had seen the Ethiopian pass with his
burden and had stolen down afterwards, stalking like a cat, and had
discovered the lantern gone, the door unlocked.... And then she had
watched until the pair emerged without the burden.
She had not been able to get hold of the key to the door. But she
had resolved to explore and so she had furnished the waterman with
his wine, drugged, Ryder gathered, and so stolen past him on the
other route to those underground foundations to which her suspicions
had been directed by the mortar and dust upon Yussuf.
Evidently she knew the possibilities of the place and the mind of
its master. And when she found the old niche freshly bricked and the
mortar at hand she had not needed more to assure her that here was
the burial place of her rival's lover.
Now, for the boon of his life, he was to relieve her of that rival.
Or try to.
"For once--he might not kill her," she whispered, "but if again--"
Her eyes glowed like a cat's in the dark. "Take her away. Make her
name a spitting and a disgrace.... Her memory a shame and a
sting.... Is she beautiful?" she broke off to demand. "They say--but
slaves lie--"
"Can you believe a lover?" he said whimsically for all his
impatience. "She is a pearl--a rose--a crescent moon--"
"They say she is very pale and thin--"
"She is an Houri from Paradise," he said distinctly. "And now, in
the name of Allah, let me get to her.
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