Saad ben Salah stood up and moved toward me. His young face was twisted in an expression of rage and hate. “By the beard of the Prophet,” he said, “I won’t allow you to speak that way to my mother!”
“I only speak the truth,” I said. “Isn’t that so, Umm Saad?”
The boy glared at me. “My mother had nothing to do with the fire. That was my own idea. I hate you, and I hate Friedlander Bey. He’s my grandfather, yet he denies me. He leaves his own daughter to suffer in poverty and misery. He deserves to die.”
I sipped some coffee calmly. “I don’t believe it,” I said. “It’s commendable of you to shoulder the blame, Saad, but it’s your mother who’s guilty, not you.”
“You’re a liar!” cried the woman.
The boy leaped toward me, but Kmuzu put himself between us. He was more than strong enough to restrain Saad.
I turned again to Umm Saad. “What I don’t understand,” I said, “is why you’ve tried to kill Papa. I don’t see that his death would benefit you at all.”
“Then you don’t know as much as you think,” she said. She seemed to relax a little. Her eyes flicked from me to Kmuzu, who still held her son in an unbreakable grip. “Shaykh Reda promised me that if I discovered Fried-lander Bey’s plans, or eliminated him so that Shaykh Reda would have no further obstacle, he would back my claim to be mistress of this house. I would take over Friedlander Bey’s estate and his business ventures, and I would then turn over all matters of political influence to Shaykh Reda.”
“Sure,” I said, “and all you’d have to do is trust Abu Adil. How long do you think you’d last before he eliminated you the way you eliminated Papa? Then he could unite the two most powerful houses in the city.”
“You’re just inventing stories!” She got to her feet, turning to look at Kmuzu again. “Let my son go.”
Kmuzu looked at me. I shook my head.
Umm Saad took a small needle gun from her bag. “I said, let my son go!”
“My lady,” I said, holding up both hands to show that she had nothing to fear from me, “you’ve failed. Put down the gun. If you go on, not even the resources of Shaykh Reda will protect you from the vengeance of Friedlander Bey. I’m sure Abu Adil’s interest in your affairs has come to an end. At this point, you’re only deluding yourself.”
She fired two or three fleehettes into the ceiling to let me know she was willing to use the weapon. “Release my boy,” she said hoarsely. “Let us go.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I said. “I’m sure Fried-lander Bey would want to—”
I heard a sound like thitt! thitt! and realized that Umm Saad had fired at me. I sucked in a deep breath, waiting to feel the bite of pain that would tell me where I’d been wounded, but it didn’t happen. Her agitation had spoiled her aim even at this close range.
She swung the needle gun toward Kmuzu, who remained motionless, still shielded by Saad’s body. Then she turned back toward me. In the meantime, however, the Stone That Speaks had crossed the few feet between us. He raised one hand and chopped down on Umm Saad’s wrist, and she dropped the needle gun. Then the Stone raised his other hand, clenched into a huge fist.
“No,” I shouted, but it was too late to stop him. With a Sowerful backhand clout, he knocked Umm Saad to the oor. I saw a bright trail of blood on her face below her split lip. She lay on her back with her head twisted at a grotesque angle. I knew the Stone had killed her with one blow. “That’s two,” I whispered. Now I could give my complete attention to Abu Adil. And Umar, the old man’s deluded plaything.
“Son of a dog!” screamed the boy. He struggled a moment, and then Kmuzu permitted him to go to her. He bent and cradled his mother’s corpse. “O Mother, Mother,” he murmured, weeping.
Kmuzu and I let him mourn her for a short while. “Saad, get up,” I said finally.
He looked up at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much malignity in a person’s face. “I’ll kill you,” he said. “I promise you that. All of you.”
“Get up, Saad,” I said. I wished this hadn’t happened, but it was too late for regrets.
Kmuzu put his hand on Saad’s shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off. “You must listen to my master,” said Kmuzu.
“No,” said Saad. Then his hand flashed out quickly for his mother’s needle gun. The Stone stamped down on the boy’s forearm. Saad collapsed beside his mother, holding his arm and whimpering.
Kmuzu knelt and took the needle gun. He stood up again and gave the weapon to me. “What do you wish to do, yaa Sidi?” he asked.
“About the boy?” I looked at Saad thoughtfully. I knew that he bore me nothing but malice, but I only pitied him. He had been only a pawn in his mother’s bargain with Abu Adil, a dupe in her vicious scheme to usurp Friedlander Bey’s power. I didn’t expect that Saad could understand that, of course. To him, Umm Saad would always be a martyr and a victim of cruel injustice.
“What is to be done?” Kmuzu said, breaking in on my thoughts.
“Oh, just let him go. He’s certainly suffered enough.” Kmuzu stood aside, and Saad got to his feet, holding his bruised forearm close to his chest. “I’ll make all the proper preparations for your mother’s funeral,” I said.
Once again, his expression twisted in loathing. “You will not touch her!” he cried. “I will bury my mother.” He backed away from me and stumbled toward the door. When he reached the exit, he turned to face me. “If there are such things as curses in this world,” he uttered in a feverish voice, “I call them all down on you and your house. I will make you pay a hundred times for what you’ve done. I swear this three times, on the life of the Prophet Muhammad!” Then he fled the dining room.
“You have made a bitter enemy, yaa Sidi,” said Kmuzu.
“I know,” I said, “but I can’t worry about it.” I just shook my head sadly.
A telephone on the sideboard warbled, and the Stone answered it. “Yes?” he said. He listened for a moment, then held it out to me.
I took it from him. “Hello?” I said.
There was just one word from the caller, “Come.” It had been the other Stone.
I felt chilled. “We’ve got to get to the hospital,” I said. I glanced down at Umm Saad’s body, undecided what to do.
Kmuzu understood my problem. “Youssef can make the arrangements, yaa Sidi, if that’s what you wish.”
“Yes,” I said. “I may need both of you.”
Kmuzu nodded, and we left the dining room with Labib or Habib right behind me. We went outside, and Kmuzu drove the sedan around to the front of the house. I got in the back. I thought the Stone would have an easier time cramming himself into the passenger seat.
Kmuzu raced through the streets almost as wildly as Bill the taxi driver. We arrived at Suite One just as a male nurse was leaving Papa’s room.
“How is Friedlander Bey?” I asked fearfully.
“He’s still alive,” said the nurse. “He’s conscious, but you can’t stay long. He’s going into surgery shortly. The doctor is with him now.”
“Thank you,” I said. I turned to Kmuzu and the Stone. “Wait outside.”
“Yes, yaa Sidi,” said Kmuzu. The Stone didn’t even grunt. He just cast a quick, hostile glance at Kmuzu.
I went into the suite. I saw another male nurse shaving Papa’s skull, evidently prepping it for surgery. Tariq, his valet, stood by looking very worried. Dr. Yeniknani and another doctor sat at the card table, discussing something in low voices. “Praise God you’re here,” said the valet. “Our master has been asking for you.”
“What is it, Tariq?” I asked.
He frowned. He looked almost on the point of tears. “I don’t understand. The doctors can explain. But now you must let our master know that you’re here.”
I went to Papa’s bedside and looked down at him. He seemed to be dozing, his breath light and fluttery. His skin was an unhealthy gray color, and his lips and eyelids were unnaturally dark. The nurse finished shaving his head, and that just accentuated Papa’s bizarre, deathlike appearance.