Chapter 29
O mar and Lahcen were eager to help. They immediately rounded up Mustafa and two other boys who worked in the stables, looking after the mules. Omar explained what they were to do and told the other boys to listen to Mustafa and do whatever he said. Mustafa was bursting with pride to be entrusted with such an important job.
Coming up to Melody and putting his small hand on her arm, he said solemnly, “Lalla Melody, we will find Sidi Matthew, I promise.”
While the boys were being given instructions, Fatima wafted down the stairs into the courtyard and demanded to be informed about the cause of the commotion. Melody told her what she and William had discovered and the role that Mustafa and the other boys were now going to play.
“This is ridiculous,” Fatima proclaimed. “Who do you think you are, Melody, and what gruesome gothic novel do you believe you are living in the middle of?”
Finally, Melody could take no more of the woman’s scorn and petty insults. “Fatima, I am not asking for your help in any way. Feel free to go about your day as if nothing was amiss.” Fatima’s response to this was a sniff worthy of the dowager. Even so, she took a seat on the couch, seemingly determined to observe the drama playing out in front of her.
The plan was for the boys to take the carriage back to the Batha district. Mustafa had experienced riding in a carriage, but the other boys were very excited at the prospect. Melody told the boys that once they had useful information about where her brother might be kept or by whom, they should make their way back to the riad, where she, Omar, and Lahcen would determine the next steps.
Although Mustafa was new to Fes, he assured her that the two other boys knew every alleyway in the city and that even he had gained some familiarity with the labyrinth of the Medina since they had arrived days before.
After the boys were sent off in the carriage, Melody returned inside and considered what she might do while she waited. She was surprised to see that Fatima was still on the couch in the courtyard.
“A package of new clothes arrived for you this morning,” the woman said nonchalantly.
“I have bigger concerns than what I am wearing,” Melody exclaimed with irritation.
“Indeed. However, if you are planning to follow those boys through the Medina without attracting attention to yourself, you might consider changing into the less formal djellaba I persuaded you to buy. With the hood up, your hair will be less obvious, and if you put a niqab over your face, you won’t attract attention unless someone looks at you closely.”
Melody had to admit that the woman had a point and now regretted her harsh tone. “Thank you, Fatima. I will do that.”
“Do you have a gun? Because, if you do not, I have one you can borrow.” Fatima said as casually as if she were offering to lend Melody a hairbrush.
“I have a Derringer pistol,” Melody assured her.
“I assume you know how to use it. Would you like to take mine as well? These djellaba have the perfect deep pockets to carry such things in.”
Melody considered the offer. Although Xander Ashby had disarmed Rat in Venice, the villain had not considered that Melody might also be carrying a gun. It had turned out to be very useful that he had never bothered disarming her. Thinking back on this, Melody realised that it was probably best to have as many options available to her as possible, so she gratefully accepted the offer of the second gun.
Thinking about weapons, Melody wondered whether Rat had carried his pocketknife with him when he visited the consul’s home the day before. While he would have had no reason to imagine he was walking into danger, she knew that he often carried the knife with him and found that it was often useful for everyday activities. She hoped that yesterday hadn’t been the exception to this normal behaviour. The knife had been an invaluable part of their escape from Xander and Martha in Venice, and Melody hoped it might be so again for her brother.
Returning to her room, Melody found the package of new clothes on her bed. She unpacked them, discarding the more formal caftans until, at the bottom of the pile, she came across the everyday djellaba that Fatima had convinced her to buy. Rather like the djellabas Rat had been wearing, it was a loose-fitting, ankle-length robe with long sleeves and a pointed hood. It was made of lightweight, beige material with a soft drape that would both keep her cool in the searing Moroccan heat but also allow for ease of motion.
When Fatima first suggested this material, Melody felt it was too drab. The other woman pointed out that Melody wanted a more everyday djellaba and that this was precisely the kind and colour of material that a typical Moroccan woman would choose. The one concession to Melody’s desires was some pretty but subtle embroidery around the neckline and cuffs.
Melody quickly undressed and slipped the djellaba over her head. Pulling up the hood, she looked at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t bothered to re-pin her hair but could see how, if she pinned it very carefully so that none of her auburn curls escaped, it would not be immediately apparent that she wasn’t Moroccan.
While Melody and Fatima hadn’t requested that the tailor make a niqab, it seemed that, fortuitously, he had assumed that one was necessary and had added it to the package. It was made of the same beige material. Melody quickly put it on and then turned back to the mirror. While her blue eyes were not a typical colour for the natives, she had seen some people, particularly Berbers, with colouring more commonly associated with Europeans. With only her eyes visible now, she believed she would not stand out and could pass as a local. While not all women who went out in public had their faces covered, many did, and it would not look at all out of place for Melody to do so.
Finally, satisfied with her disguise, Melody placed her Derringer in one of the djellaba’s capacious pockets. On a whim, she wondered whether Rat had taken his lockpicks with him. He would have had no reason to suppose he needed them, and so there was a chance they were still in his room. Of course, not only did she have to find them — and she didn’t feel comfortable rooting through Rat’s belongings more than necessary — she had to be able to use them.
After discovering in Venice that her brother had this skillset, Melody had bothered him enough with pleas to teach her that he had shown her the picks and given some rudimentary guidance on their use. However, almost all this instruction had been on the ship to Tangier or during the carriage ride to Casablanca and there hadn’t been many opportunities to learn using an actual locked door. Instead, Melody knew the theory of how lockpicking worked. Nevertheless, it couldn’t hurt to take them with, if she could find them.
Melody made her way to Rat’s bedroom and, not bothering to knock, went inside. Her brother had always been extremely tidy and organised, and his bedroom looked as she expected; not a book or a cravat out of place. She considered where he might keep the lockpicks if he didn’t have them with him. Melody had no interest in rifling through her brother’s more intimate attire. However, she knew that he usually kept some books, notepads, pens, and other practical items next to his bed.
Moving over there, she saw that the bedside table had a small drawer. Opening it, she found the items she would have expected, and there, at the very back, she found the lockpicks. Melody drew out the picks, feeling mixed emotions; on the one hand, she had come looking for them and was happy to have them with her in the hope she’d be able to use them if necessary. On the other hand, if they were here, then Rat didn’t have them with him. Melody could only imagine Rat’s frustration if he was presented with the possibility of escape and realised that he had left the picks behind.
Quickly pocketing them, Melody wondered if there was anything else she might need. Feeling around in the back of the drawer, she felt a small, cold, metal object and realised that it must be the torch that Lord Langley had given Rat as a gift. Small and nickel-plated, the electric torch had an adjustable aperture to make the beam of light wider or narrower. Again, it had come in very handy in Venice, and Melody saw no reason not to take it with her.
Leaving Rat’s room, Melody closed the door behind her. A great wave of anxiety washed over her; would this plan work? What if it didn’t? Melody realised that it was of no help to Rat if she succumbed to worry and second-guessed the scheme they had put into place. While it may not be perfect, it was a start. Something else she had learned from watching and listening to Wolfie and Tabby Cat conduct investigations over the years was that one started with a supposition and pivoted and adjusted as new information became available. It was neither likely nor necessary that a theory or plan was perfectly correct from the start. What was necessary was that one not become too wedded to an initial idea and, instead, were open to modifications.
By the time she returned to the courtyard, Omar and Lahcen had changed into more appropriate clothes and were joined by some of Fatima’s men. This gave Melody pause. Despite all they had learned, she was not totally convinced that an enemy informant hadn’t infiltrated their group. Sighing, she realised that she had no proof that this was the case and even less idea which of the men it might be. They needed all the hands they could muster to find Rat, so she would just have to hope that she was wrong. Certainly, she could think of no good reason to give not to accept the men’s help.
“Lalla Melody, the men are willing to fan out through the Medina if you have any idea where they should start looking,” Omar offered.
Melody spread her hands out and shrugged her shoulders in helpless resignation. She had no idea where they might start to look. “Lahcen and his people must have far more idea where our villain might be holding my brother.”
Lahcen replied, “As you know, the Medina is a labyrinth of narrow streets, crumbling buildings, and hidden spaces. Any abandoned or partially used structure could serve such a purpose. It is even possible that they transported him out of the Medina. There are various places beyond the walls of Fes that might be secluded enough to serve as a prison.”
As depressing as the thought was that they might be unable to narrow their search, Melody tried to be as logical as possible. “Let us assume, for the time being, that they have taken him somewhere close by, or at least somewhat close by. While I assume the consul has use of a carriage, surely it isn’t used by other people in his household. Or at least if it is, wouldn’t that be cause for comment?”
For a moment, it crossed Melody’s mind that it might be the consul himself who was involved, but she quickly dismissed that idea. Why would the highest-ranking British official in the region be involved in kidnapping anyone, let alone a fellow British citizen? This was just too outlandish a theory even to consider. Instead, it made much more sense that one of his servants, perhaps a Berber, was in the employ of the French Government and involved in whatever intrigue Brett Rothnie had uncovered.
Following this thought, Melody continued, “So, let us work on the assumption that my brother is being held in the Medina and within a reasonably short walk from the consul’s home.” While she didn’t explain her reasoning, no one challenged her theory.
Lahcen considered her words. “There are various warehouses that have fallen into disuse because the buildings are in bad shape. Since the French took so much control a few years ago, Fes’ utility as a major trade hub has declined. Many of the warehouses that once stored goods for the caravan trade routes have fallen into disuse. Maritime trade has become the preferred method as the Europeans favour cities like Casablanca for their ports. The smart merchants have adapted by moving their warehouses nearer these major ports.”
Finally, Melody thought, they had a place to start!