WILLIAM DAVEY
The arrival of the train in Cairo jolted me awake, but Dunn was already alert; I could see his eyes even in the dim light from the station platform.
“Cairo?”
“Yes. A message-boy came to the window a few moments ago.” He held a slip of paper in his hand. “Mehmet Nour is expecting us.”
“How long are we to stay in Cairo?”
“We have to take on water and more coal. But the length of the stopover doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see, I imagine. Come.”
He stood up and slid the door aside; passengers crowded the corridor, along with porters and food sellers and luggage. I was still fogged with sleep; I began to pull down my suitcase, but Dunn waved his hand. I followed Major Dunn through the passageway until we reached the end of the carriage, where we disembarked onto a platform. I glanced at a large clock at one end: it showed the time to be just short of 2:00 am.
“Not exactly the Great Western Railway,” Dunn said, shrugging. “Nearly seven hours since Alexandria, and I expect that we will be laid over here for an hour or more.” He led me along the platform toward the station’s main concourse.
Another carriage, with another Arab coachman, was waiting outside. Some non-verbal communication passed between the Egyptian and Major Dunn to confirm that this was the vehicle he expected. Unlike our carriage in Alexandria, the present conveyance did not conform specifically to European custom, for it had an unpleasant odor and we found the floorboards to be damp and somewhat slick underfoot.
“We are apparently headed for his villa,” Dunn said to me. He reached into his own carpetbag and lifted his hand just enough to show me that he had a small pistol in his possession. Any hint of sleep that might have plagued me was immediately banished.
“Will this man have hostile intent?”
“No, I do not expect so. But he has used the knowledge of the Chapters in a way that might lead to complication. He has his reasons for this, as you will see—but it is best to be armed.”
“I wish I had been informed that I might do so myself.”
“You possess more formidable weapons than I do, Reverend. In fact”—he let the pistol go and it landed soundlessly inside the bag—“I daresay that my precaution is no more than a palliation of my own fears. I do not know if it would do any good.”
“Against—”
“Stoicheia.”
The term villa was a frank exaggeration. In Devon, it would have been scarcely allocated the term farm. It lay on the outskirts of Cairo, some distance from the road leading back northward along the Nile. Its buildings, limned by the light of the setting moon, consisted of a main house and two other structures: one, from the odor and the nighttime animal sounds, had an obvious purpose. The contents of the other were unknown until my senses told me that there were stoicheia present, of a different sort than I had hitherto felt.
Dunn may not have had the senses of a practitioner of the Art, but he was on his guard as we approached. The carriage had stopped at the edge of the property; a brisk exchange between my companion and the Arab coachman, which seemed to grow quite warm, concluded with the outcome that the carriage should not go up the lane; thus, we disembarked at the ramshackle gate, the horses snuffling and whinnying as if they, too, objected to the idea of entering the property.
“Major Dunn—”
He gestured for quiet—not with a mesmeric pass, but with the authority of a soldier. I complied, and we walked up toward the main house, our boots sinking into the soft soil as we went.
As we passed the second outbuilding, I saw that there was a sort of yard attached to it, like an animal pen. It was bounded by a low wall consisting of old, irregular stone blocks, between which some sort of woven reed mats had been placed. They were secured by stout pegs, and each had symbols inscribed upon it, impossible to discern in the fading moonlight. Within the pen, I could see several men, Egyptians I presumed, wearing little other than kilts and turbans; they approached—but did not touch—the wall, and watched us as we trudged by.
Can we help you, effendi? I heard in my mind, so clearly and plaintively that it stopped me in my tracks.
I made eye contact with one of the men. He offered me a polite bow. I felt Dunn’s hand touching the sleeve of my coat.
What do you want? What do you need? I heard. I opened my mouth to reply, but I felt Dunn’s firm hand on my shoulder. He spun me firmly to face him, but did not speak: instead he merely shook his head in the negative.
No, I heard the voice say as Dunn and I moved away. No. Do not go in the house. The words were echoed by a half-dozen other voices.
The soldier did not let go of my arm as he directed my steps to the main house.
We were met at the door by an elderly gentleman, who looked like an Arab—but who wore a large, heavy pectoral cross of an unusual design. He was otherwise dressed simply in the Egyptian fashion—a shirt and trousers, with slippers on his feet. He had a neatly trimmed beard and was going bald on the top of his head, but his most striking feature was his steel-blue eyes, illuminated by the candle he held in his hand. I could still hear the voices from the pen outside.
“Come,” he said, stepping aside so we could enter the house.
“Good evening, sir,” I said. “My name is William Davey.”
“You are a friend of the Baron Dupotet,” the man said in perfect English, closing the door behind us. The voices stopped abruptly.
“Yes.”
“I am Mehmet Nour. And you,” he said, looking at Dunn, who had needed to duck his head when entering the house, “must be Major Dunn.”
“Your servant, sir.”
Nour’s right eyebrow elevated just a bit, as if considering this comment.
“This way,” he said, leading us from the entryway into the house. It was laid out simply, with a sort of parlor in the middle and rooms off to each side. To the left, the door was nearly closed; I could hear the gentle sound of soft snoring from beyond. Nour led us, candle in hand, through the other door into another room.
I stopped at the threshold, unable to continue for a moment. The windowless chamber was lit by two or three dozen candles, leaving no part of it dark. About halfway in there was a sort of ornate wooden wall that reached to about waist level, with a small gate in the middle; on the far wall, I could see a beautifully painted mural of the Saviour, surrounded by a Heavenly host, inscribed with symbols and writing in an alphabet I could not read. A table covered with white linen held some object concealed by another cloth made of the same material; to either side, a lectern was placed, each bearing an open book. One was beautifully rendered in the same unknown script; the other was more like a copybook, with careful handwriting.
Nour did not speak, but opened the gate and stepped within, bowing to the covered table and touching the first and second fingers of his right hand to his lips and then to his heart. Dunn did not follow, but removed his hat, which I had already done.
Nour spoke quietly in a language I did not understand, then set the candle down on another table on his side of the barrier, and turned to face us.
“Tell me what you require, sir,” Nour said, at last.
“I am here at your request.”
“Just so. But you have a mission, I believe? You have not been in Egypt before.”
“I have not. And my mission is not here. I am merely passing through.”
“We are all ‘passing through’, Mr. Davey. We all tarry for a season.”
“I would normally be happy to engage in wordplay with you, sir,” I said. “But Major Dunn and I are expected back in Cairo—our train leaves soon, and we must be on it.”
Nour let his eyebrow rise once again. “You need not trouble yourself about that, Mr. Davey,” he said. “Your train will not leave without you. There is all the time we need.”
“You have some influence with the railroad company?”
“I have some influence with time,” he answered.
It was a rather bold statement, and I would have considered it no more than bravado—except for my experience with the Levantine in Manchester some months ago.
“Convenient.”
“Tell me of your mission,” Nour said, and it was more a command than a request. It was not accompanied by an overt mesmeric gesture, but I felt as if I were being compelled. Suddenly, I perceived that Nour was not alone—that there were others beyond the little barrier.
While Nour was clearly more skilled than someone like Leconte de Lisle, he was by no means my equal—even with the help of whomever, or whatever, aided him. I made a warding gesture with my offhand and stepped forward; whatever was going on here, I was not about to be manipulated. Nour seemed surprised by my sudden action, and took a step back. I reached for the handle on the little gate—
“No,” Nour said, his hands raised. “Do not touch that. You are not permitted.”
My hand stopped short, a few inches from the handle—not because of some compulsion, but by my own choice.
“Then tell me,” I said, “what this is about.”
“Step back,” Nour said.
I glanced over my shoulder at Dunn, who stood completely still.
“He is not a party to this discussion,” Nour said, following my glance. “This is between adepts.”
“Tell me about the men outside,” I said, lowering my hand to my side but remaining ready to deflect anything else that might come from Nour.
“They are not men,” he said. “There is no need to dignify them with that title. Why? Do they interest you?”
“They spoke to me.”
“They will be punished for that. They are to speak to no one. But that is not your concern. What did they say?”
“They asked me what I wanted.”
“Did you tell them?”
“I did not. Mr. Nour, once again I ask you what this is about. Please tell me at once.”
“This is my sanctuary, sir. My domain, as I think you would term it in England. Do not trifle with me.”
“Then you should be so good as to refrain from trifling with me.” I gave in very slightly to my annoyance: it might have appeared as anger to Nour, but I decided that it was necessary for me to take control of the situation, whether I was in his domain or not.
Nour had no answer: the blue eyes merely stared back at me, as if waiting for me to continue.
“Major Dunn and I are here at your request; I am prepared to either step forward”—I lifted my hand slightly, as if I was to reach for the handle to the gate once more—“or back, and return to my carriage and my train. I understand that I am obliged to you for assistance in remaining safe as I pass through this part of Egypt: you have my thanks, and should I return to England safely, I will offer you the thanks of the Committee. But my presence in your domain is at your request. Get to the point, sir—and I would ask that Major Dunn be permitted to observe, if not actually participate in, this discussion.”
There is a point in most conflicts between mesmerists of a certain level of power, when each determines that the other is a worthy opponent—and the effort required to vanquish such an opponent is not worth the price to be paid for it.
Most conflicts of this nature, however, are not between equals. When Forbes challenged me in Vernon’s apartments, he was not capable of resisting me; Leconte de Lisle was defeated without even realizing it. Carlyle was another matter—but neither he nor I had had a particularly strong desire to take the matter to its logical conclusion.
Nour might have expected to best me at once, in his domain, with the power of—whatever there was—behind him: but I proved to be possessed of power of my own.
“Very well,” he said. He touched his cross, and the sensation that I had hitherto experienced faded away, leaving only the three of us—Nour, Dunn, and myself—in the room.
I heard Dunn clear his throat behind me, and wondered what he might have just experienced.
“The beings in the pen outside are photic spirits, Mr. Davey. They are devils of a particular nature. I am given to understand that you have beings of a related type in England, and that they are presenting difficulties for you.”
“That is generally true.”
“I should like to make you aware of another sort of being,” Nour said. “I have asked that you come here so that I could provide you with first-hand knowledge.”
“I am obliged to you, Mr. Nour,” I said, feeling in no way obliged. If I had been aware at the time what had already transpired, I suspect that I would have been less short with him.
But my knowledge at that time was incomplete.
“Come,” he said, taking up the candle. Once again, he made obeisance to the altar and then opened the gate and stepped through; I made room for him, as each of us avoided coming into contact with the other.
We came within several feet of the outside pen. Nour set the candle down on the ground beside him. There were six individuals, gathered together at about the same distance from the wall within as we were without; Nour stood a little in front of the two of us, his hands raised slightly.
“These creatures were foolish enough to stray close and be captured. I have turned them to useful work.”
“At what price?”
“Price?” Nour looked over his shoulder at me. In the moonlight, his expression, a mixture of light and shadow, had a distinctly unpleasant appearance. “They are doing the Lord’s work now. The price for me is merely vigilance.”
“He is very proud of that,” one of the photic spirits said, crossing his arms in front of him. Nour’s face was suffused with anger and his shoulders tensed.
Before Nour could reply, I said, “Should he not be, sir? You are captive—and he is your gaoler.”
“You should not speak with them, Mr. Davey,” Nour said, turning to face me. “You have no idea—”
I held up my hand; Nour let the sentence trail.
“He is our gaoler,” the spirit continued. “For now. His prized vigilance cannot last forever. Neither,” he added, “can his life.”
Nour turned to face them. He raised his hands, and the beings stepped back; the one who had spoken staggered, as if physically struck.
“We shall see who lives longer, devil,” Nour said, his hands still raised.
“He does not fear us, but he should,” the being said raggedly, his left hand clutching his chest. “But there is something he does fear.”
“What is that?” I asked.
The being lowered its hand slowly to its side as it stood erect. It pointed past us with its other hand, toward the flat land to the west—the cultivated fields, and beyond, the desert.
“Our father,” he said.
With a sensation that I had experienced just a few days earlier on Malta, I was then nearly overwhelmed with the presence of a being: powerful, malign, and—unlike the pale points of light in the cave—immense. From our remove, it appeared to be a vague sort of storm, a distortion in the air, whipping up sand and dust.
I heard a sound that was like a distant chorus of pain, a moan that chilled me despite the tropical heat. It reminded me once more of the sound I had heard from the Levantine’s pocket watch in Manchester.
The being inside the pen began to speak, but its words seemed to dissipate, despite obvious effort on its part to articulate them. I had before heard, or almost heard, words in that language—at the Crystal Palace on the day James Esdaile died.
But, as in the Crystal Palace, the being seemed to be without the capability to work its will.
“I am not afraid of that, either,” Nour said, again without turning to see the manifestation. “As long as you are here and my captives, it dares not attempt to do me any harm.”
“Every day we gain back a little of our strength,” the being said. “And though you use us to borrow moments, every day you grow a little older. And our father grows slightly more impatient.”
Nour lowered his hands and turned, stepping between us to face the distortion. He placed one hand on his pectoral and raised the other in a gesture that seemed mesmeric; he spoke a series of words in a language I did not understand, then lowered his ring and little finger and made the sign of the cross.
The distortion slowly faded and the sound died away. Nour turned to face us, and he looked as if he had expended considerable effort in dismissing the phenomenon.
“There are only so many moments he can borrow,” the photic spirit said quietly. “Time can be slowed, but it cannot be stopped. No human lives forever.”
Nour did not answer. He took up his candle and led us back to the main house. We followed, while the photic spirits murmured amongst themselves.
Once we were inside, Nour looked at us. He appeared gray and shaken, but his eyes were still deep and animated.
“I am looking for a way to banish the great devil,” Nour said. “The one they call their ‘father’—it is far more powerful than these photic spirits.”
“You play a dangerous game, sir,” Dunn said. “If I may say so.”
“It is no game,” Nour answered.
“Whatever it might be, it is fraught with danger, as my companion intimates,” I said. “My mission—I believe—involves another being of this sort, similarly held at bay. I know what the other one wants; what does this being desire?”
“I am not sure. In my limited intercourse with it, I have sensed a sort of childish nature: it has simple, straightforward wants, and a long-standing enmity for the great Nile and for the sea beyond. I believe that it is a remnant of a race that existed before the Flood, and considers all that came after the great inundation to be its enemy. But I will defeat it and put it in its place.
“If you know of another such,” he concluded, “you must do the same.”
It was clear that there was much about this being, and his conflict with it, that remained unspoken. In other circumstances, I might have wanted to inquire further; but an understanding was not necessary to accomplish my goal. I let the matter lie and said, “That is my objective, sir.”
“Then I wish you well with it. I cannot borrow too much more time for you, Mr. Davey. You must return to your train. But think well on what you have seen tonight.”
“I will do that.”
Nour opened the door and gestured us out. Dunn offered Nour a polite bow, and then set off at a brisk pace down the lane. The photic spirits watched us as we went.
“No human lives forever,” I heard one of them say as we went past the pen. Neither Dunn nor I turned our heads as we walked away.