The crippled boy flashed me a grin of thanks and stepped forward to assist me up into the saddle. He had a bright, intelligent face and moved quickly in spite of his infirmity. By the time he had me settled on my donkey, Mother was delicately perched on hers and Bing ... well, the reason for Mr. Bing's distaste for riding was quite clear. His legs were so very long, and the animal's so very short, that his feet nearly dragged on the ground. He looked utterly ridiculous, and it was hard to keep from laughing. I did not, however, crack so much as a smile.
"Let's get going," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
My donkey boy lightly flicked his beast about the head with a small, thin whip. The donkey lurched forward, then settled into an ambling walk. The donkey boy turned back and smiled at me. "Miss is wanting to go faster? Gadji's donkey very most fast. Get effendi miss there double quick."
"No, thank you." I held on more tightly just in case he ignored me. "I don't want to risk losing the others."
Looking somewhat disappointed, he shrugged and turned his attention to navigating the busy streets. I risked a glance over my shoulder, not surprised to see Carruthers slinking along behind, trying to hide among the masses of people. I tried to catch Bing's eye, but he was too busy keeping his feet from dragging in the muck.
As we headed away from the museum, the crowd continued to grow, its ranks swelling as more and more people poured in from side alleys and streets. Their mood—not quite menacing, but certainly not friendly—was almost as palpable as the heka in the air around us. I steered my donkey closer to Mr. Bing. Besides, I needed to tell him of von Braggenschnott.
Pedestrians managed to fill in the space between us, and I wasn't able to get close enough to avoid being overheard by Mother.
As we turned down the next street, we came to a full stop. The entire thoroughfare was clogged with demonstrators. Mr. Bing gave an exclamation of frustration.
My donkey boy flicked his whip and called out instructions in Arabic, trying to get my donkey to back up, but there was no room. The sea of people had closed in behind us. We couldn't go forward; we couldn't go back.
"Now what?" I called out to Mr. Bing.
His response was lost over the noise of the crowd. Shouts went up as a procession made its way down the middle of the street, the sea of people parting just enough to make room. As the crowd surged back, it drove a wedge of people between me and Bing. I shouted at him for assistance, but he and Mother had been shoved back up against a shop and were stuck in place. The jostling and pushing continued until my donkey, the boy, and I were pushed into a side alley.
Uneasy now, I searched the faces for the man from the museum but saw no sign of him. It would be just like Chaos to engineer a near riot in order to work their own mischief.
Actually, all they needed to do was be in place to take advantage of such a thing, I realized.
There were fewer people in the alley. I could still see the street as the crowd streamed by, but there was no sign of Mother or Bing. The city, which only hours ago seemed charming and picturesque in its exoticness, now felt ominous and threatening. Not knowing what else to do, I looked down at the donkey boy. "Now what?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Now we wait."
"Where does this alley lead? Can we double back?"
The donkey boy studied the stream of people trying to make their way past us to the main demonstration. He gave me a thumbs-up sign and then, holding firmly to the bridle and whispering something to the donkey, he got the poor beast turned around without tramping on anyone's toes. We began picking our way carefully to the other end of the alley. It was very much like trying to force water back up a spigot.
When we reached the street at the far end of the alley, we found it, too, was wall to wall with people. "We is going this way instead." The donkey boy pointed in the opposite direction. "Take longer but we get there still."
We surged along with the crowd for a bit, and then the boy turned down another alley, where we nearly stumbled into a group of wild-eyed men destroying an office of some kind. This wasn't good. "Maybe we should go back," I whispered to the donkey boy.
Too late. One of them spotted us, then nudged his neighbor. Within seconds all the rioters were staring at us with hard, angry expressions. "Inglaize!" one of them said.
"Inglaize!" another deep voice shouted.
I did not like the look in their eyes.
Neither did the donkey boy. He turned the donkey around and began running back the way we'd come, pulling the donkey along behind him while I held on for dear life.
CHAPTER SIX
Cornered!
WE TURNED ONE CORNER, then another. The crowd followed, their voices getting louder as they drew near.
We slipped into the next alley and passed a tiny, narrow lane with barely enough room for the donkey. I stopped, but the donkey boy shook his head and kept going.
"But the alley is a dead end!" I protested. "We have to take this side street!"
"No. Gadji outsmart them crowds. Watch." He didn't look nearly as panicked as I felt. Perhaps because he wasn't Inglaize.
About halfway between the main street and the dead end, Gadji stopped the donkey. "Get off," he said.
"What?" Was he abandoning me to my fate? I'd be completely helpless—a sitting duck!
"Do you wish Gadji should risk his neck for you or no?"
"Why would you help me against your own people?"
Gadji shrugged. "Effendi miss is paying me. And they is not my peoples. Now, hurry."
As I swung my legs around and prepared to dismount, he reached a grubby hand out to stop me. "Gadji get big tip for this, right, miss? Saving miss's skin much harder than steering dumb donkey."
"Yes, yes. Of course. Please let me down." The sounds of the mob were quite close by now. Surely they would be rounding the corner at any moment.
I dropped to the ground, ready to ask, Now what? but the words froze in my throat at the donkey boy's antics. He had bent over at the waist, as if he was going to be sick, and was pulling at the back collar of his robe. I watched in horror as the hump on his back began to gyrate and wiggle. Thinking it rude to witness his physical struggles, I turned away, only to jerk back around at the sound of high-pitched scolding chatter. There really was no other word for it.
My mouth dropped open in shock as I saw that the hump on his back was gone, and on his shoulder sat a small, scrunch-faced monkey. It was he who was chattering.
"Sefu will help," the donkey boy said, then lifted the monkey up into the saddle I had just vacated. "Your jacket, miss."
Quickly grasping his plan, I started to peel off my jacket, stopped by the wretched reticule. With a sigh of frustration, I took it from my wrist, hung it on the saddle horn for a moment, then slipped all the way out of my jacket.
There was the sound of breaking glass from just around the corner. "Hurry!" Gadji said, and I threw the jacket to him. He quickly draped it around the monkey. Of course, it was far too large and lay in a puddle around the small creature, but in a pinch it might look as if I was just leaning in low to avoid any thrown objects. "Here," I said in a burst of inspiration, and took my hat from my head and plopped it onto the monkey's. Gadji muttered some words in Arabic, then slapped the donkey's hindquarters.
The creature brayed and bucked, then lurched forward in a jolting trot, the monkey crouched low.
As the monkey steered the donkey toward the tiny little back street, the boy grabbed my hand and pulled me into a recessed doorway. If we squashed very close together and sucked in our stomachs, we would—just barely—be hidden from view.