Page 12 of Tomb of the Sun King

“Don’t you mean ‘very impressive?’” he blurted awkwardly. “I knowI’mimpressed. I couldn’t even manage to finish college.”

Constance’s face blanched across from him.

“Were you there on a badminton scholarship?” her grandmother asked smoothly.

Padma sat to Constance’s left in all her finery, a serene expression on her face.

“Huh?” Adam replied.

Something kicked his shin under the table. He would’ve thought Constance’s legs were too short to reach that far.

“I mean—not really,” Adam coughed out. “I was… I didn’t have any scholarships.”

“I see.” Padma smiled a bit like the Cheshire cat and took an unhurried sip of her tea.

Adam felt a distinct sense of danger. Constance’s grandma probably wasn’t big enough to rise to his collarbone, but something about the woman was frankly terrifying. He’d spent enough time in the uncharted wilderness to know that it wasn’t the largest threats that you needed to worry about. The small critters were the ones that could take you down with a bite and leave you writhing in a puddle of your own sweat on the ground until your heart stopped.

A clear voice echoed out through the evening air, drifting into the courtyard in rhythmic, practiced tones from a sky soft with the pale pinks and violet of sunset. Adam figured it must be a call to one of the daily Islamic prayers. It sounded nice.

“Goodness, is that muezzin at it again already?” Julian piped up. “I’m afraid that means I have to be getting on—I have an appointment this evening that I can’t shake, as much as I would prefer to spend more time with you charming ladies.”

“How unfortunate,” Ellie returned flatly.

“Your Highness.” Julian rose to bow to Kumari Padma. “And Lady Sabita—always a pleasure. Constance, darling—I’m afraid I have a bit of business outside town tomorrow, but perhaps I might call on you again on Saturday?”

“Constance would be very happy to receive you.” Lady Sabita cast a warning look at her daughter. “Isn’t that right, Jhia?”

“Of course.” Constance’s reply was perfectly courteous—but Adam still found himself checking her hands for potential weapons as she rose to extend one to Julian.

The Mustache planted a well-practiced kiss onto the back of it. “I’ll look forward to it, then,” he concluded.

To Adam’s surprise, Julian turned to him next. “Mr. Bates, why don’t you leave the ladies to their gossip and join me outside for a smoke before I go?” He tossed the women around the table a saccharine smile.

Adam saw Ellie’s hand tighten around the butter knife again.

He didn’t want to join Julian Forster-Mowbray for a smoke. In fact, there were few things he found less enticing—but one of them was seeing what kind of trouble they’d get into if Ellie gave into the temptation to stab the man.

“Sure. Great.” He pushed back his chair. “Why don’t we head right on out and do that?”

?

One of the house’s cadre of servants opened the door to let Adam outside. The quiet street had grown darker since their arrival that afternoon. The shadows lengthened with the evening as lights flickered to life behind the finely carved window screens.

Another muezzin had taken up the call to prayer from a minaret to the east. The sound drifted softly down into the narrow space between the buildings.

Julian took a holder from his pocket and slipped a cigarette out of it, offering it to Adam. Adam took it without a whole lot of optimism. He’d been pretty spoiled as far as tobacco went, living on the coast of the Caribbean for the past seven years.

The Mustache passed him a lighter, and Adam took a draw. He suppressed a grimace and thought longingly of Padre Kuyoc’s cigars.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you carry a knife.” Julian nodded to the sheath at Adam’s belt.

“Uh… yeah,” Adam confirmed awkwardly.

His machete had definitely been attracting more attention in Egypt than it ever had in British Honduras—where anybody who spent more than five minutes outside of town kept a blade on hand as a matter of course.

Not that a few odd looks would stop Adam from wearing it. Nobody was ever going to take his knife away from him again—not if they wanted to keep all five of their fingers.

“I appreciate the value of a good blade—not that I make a habit of carrying one about,” Julian amended. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be entirely seemly in the circles I move in. I gather that your own background is perhaps a bit more… eccentric?”

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