Ad Dawla followed him, and his offi cers fi led out behind him.

Weary of the long confi nement, Faaria and Amhara followed them out onto the platform where ad Dawla's archers stood along the parapet. In the momentary hush, Faaria could hear the banners fl uttering.

Then she looked toward the north, and her breath caught in her throat. Black along the distant horizon, like a swarm of locusts, the Frankish armies fl owed toward them.

Five weeks it had been, fi ve weeks in which the Franks had attacked again and again, and each time been thrown back. Finally it seemed that they had given up, for they had drawn back into their camps and been ominously silent for days.

Faaria stood behind the merlon and gazed at the Frankish camps scattered through the Kidron valley . They were building more siege towers to replace the ones they had lost to the fi erce resistance.

Sharif came up behind her. "I'm sorry, sister. It's time for you to go inside again. They're bringing up the pitch and straw. "

She drew back against the wall and watched as four soldiers, two in the front and two in the back, labored up the stone steps carrying an enormous cauldron suspended between them. The pitch was cold and viscous, but she knew it would be set over a fi re on the platform until it bubbled and could cook a man.

Behind them, two other soldiers carried bales of straw, and a line of boys followed them with wooden dowels and spools of cord.

"They're going to make throw-torches, aren'

t they?" Faaria grasped her brother's arm. "Let me help."

"No," the ser geant who guided the cauldron-bearers said. "No women on the walls. She'll be in the way."

Husaam al Noori appeared from the other side. "Let her be, sergeant. I know this woman, and she can tie a knot faster than any of these boys. She'll free up a man for the heavy work."

The sergeant nodded and drew her by the arm over to the cauldron.

"Soak the straw in the tar , like this." He demonstrated, sweeping a bundle of the dry stalks into the syrupy pitch and wrapping it like a skirt around a wooden dowel the length of his forearm. "Then tie it up good like this."

* 148 *

Vulture's Kiss "Yes, yes, I know." She took the roll of cord from him and began to work.

Husaam gathered up several spools of twine and set to work at Faaria's side. "This is my cord, you know . Good twisted fl ax, for Damascus carpets." He unwound a length of it and cut it with a small curved blade. "Too good to be thrown burning at the Franks."

Faaria wrapped the cord twice around the straw at the head of the wooden rod and tied it fast. "We're all too good to be thrown away in this stupid battle." She swiped the straw torch once through the pitch and laid it on the platform at her feet.

Husaam cut of f another length. "I don' t mind dying so much myself. But I worry about my family . Sharif was going to make us all rich.""Well, we're together, sayyid." Sharif laid down another bundle of wooden dowels. "If any survive, they'll tell the story of the others."

"Yes, stories." Husaam shook his head. "A pity, my friend, that we could not deliver the stories in your manuscripts."

"They're not lost yet, sayyid. They're in the saddlebag under the straw of your own camels. Let' s hope that whoever reclaims them knows their value."

Husaam shrugged. "Pray God they don't fall into the hands of the Frankish barbarians, who know nothing of science or poetry."

Sharif looked up at the indifferent sky. "Pray God? At the moment God doesn't seem to favor our science or poetry either. Do you suppose He favors the Franks?"

"You have to wonder what kind of God would-" Faaria stopped.

There was something ominous in the air . Something more than the sound of wind and the low buzz of men' s voices. She peered over the wall again and was appalled.

Sharif came to her side and leaned on the parapet wall.

"Unbelievable. They're singing, and marching barefoot-in the middle of a siege. They're mad!"

As the Frankish soldiers in the thousands circled the city walls, the murmur of their voices wafted upward on the breeze. To the defenders the words they sang were unintelligible, all but the constant refrain of "Hallelujah."

Faaria murmured to herself, "A madness that will destroy us."

* 149 *

37.

Jerusalem Valerie descended the wide stone steps of the Old City to the Damascus Gate and threaded her way through the lines of tourists. The noise, a buzzing cloud of Arabic hawking and polyglot tourist chatter, was familiar. The souq was much like the Khan al Khalili in Cairo, but for the omnipresence of Israeli soldiers.

She checked the instructions that Hannah had given her . Auset's mother knew the Old City intimately; it had been her playground during her youth. Auset's grandparents had been shopkeepers in the Jewish quarter, but Hannah had suggested Valerie might be more comfortable in a hostel called Funduq Farisi, in the Arab quarter. Not that any place was more than a few minutes away from any other place through the winding medieval streets. But the Arab quarter was livelier , she said, had more fresh-food stands, more shops. Hannah could be forgiven for thinking she would spend much time shopping.

Funduq Farisi. There it was. A narrow doorway in the Khan el Zeit, the Olive Market, barely visible between two densely packed market stalls, one with a thousand varieties of candy and the other with coffee mugs and plates and other household minutiae stamped with the icons of Jerusalem.

A staircase led up to the reception area of the hostel, and when she walked through the second door she stopped for a moment, impressed.

She stood on the ground fl oor of a caravanserai, or rather a remodeling of one for modern expectations. Rising in a quadrangle around her were two galleries, one above the other , punctuated by archways in the medieval style. Clearly the hostel had been adapted-with the addition of plumbing and electricity-from the skeleton of an ancient merchants' inn, a caravanserai. What was missing, she noted, smiling inwardly, was the smell of camel dung in the courtyard.

"It's about time you arrived."

Valerie spun around to see Auset lounging against the registration counter. "Be glad I arrived at all!" Valerie dropped her backpack to the fl oor with relief. "I'm glad you got my message. But this all would have * 150 *

Vulture's Kiss been much easier if you'd warned me, or anyone, of where you were going."

"I'm sorry. It all happened too quickly" Auset gave her a quick hug. "I didn' t want my parents to know . I was afraid they'd call the police, or that my mother would even come herself to try and bring me home."

"Well, you ended up scaring the hell out of them."

"I was depending on you getting the message on Derek's phone."

"I did, fi nally. But you scared the hell out of Nekhbet too. She showed up suddenly again and insisted I come here to get you out of Jerusalem." Valerie spoke over her shoulder as she signed the register and took her room key.

Auset picked up the backpack. "Why should I leave? What was Nekhbet's problem?"

They walked side by side up the stairs. "She didn't explain much, just said that the Aton was powerful and the Egyptian gods couldn' t protect you here."

Val's room was a modest cubicle, sparsely furnished and already stifl ing hot at mid-morning. Valerie opened the single window and saw to her pleasure that it looked out over the city toward the golden Dome of the Rock.

"They couldn't protect us in Egypt!" Auset snapped back. "Where were they when Yussif and Derek were killed, and when Rekemheb' s mummy was smashed?" Auset dropped down on the one simple wooden chair in the room. "Look, I get it. I know that the gods get strength from their believers, like...who's that little fairy creature who fl its around in Peter Pan?"

Standing in the slight breeze from the window Valerie unzipped her rucksack and unpacked toiletries. "Tinkerbell."

"Yes, like Tinkerbell. But no one believes in them anywhere. They were very fl ashy at Dendara when they swarmed in overhead at night, but for taking care of us, they are useless."

"I think we're supposed to take care of them. But listen, we have more important things to talk about. The amulet, for example. Did you give it to the Cairo Museum?"

"Of course not. How could you even ask? It'

s hidden in my room."

"I saw it at the museum. In a glass showcase."

* 151 *

"Impossible. Maybe it' s a second one that you didn'

t know about."

"There's nothing in the tomb I don't know about. I cataloged every item in the collection. The amulet was on Rekemheb's mummy. There can't be a second one."

"Then I don' t know. And I'm sorry , but right now , I care much more about Yussif and Derek. Did you ask Nekhbet about them?"

Valerie rubbed her neck and felt the trickle of perspiration run down the center of her back. A shower was going to feel good. "That was the fi rst thing I asked her . She said that both men are in the Hall of Judgement, but the judges won' t let them pass until we get more believers to replace them."

"What?" Auset's face darkened. "They're blackmailing us now too? Those men were murdered because they got roped into this prophecy thing anyhow, and now they're denied the reward of the new religion unless we get more converts? To hell with that!"

"I think-"

"And the new believers?" Auset was on her feet now , the better to vent her fury. "Are they going to be blackmailed too, blocked from the afterlife unless their relatives bring in a few more souls?" She blew out a long breath and leaned against the wall, her arms folded under her bosom.

Valerie nodded tentative agreement. "When you put it that way , it's pretty outrageous, isn' t it? But Nekhbet knew we'd be outraged and pointed out that the deaths of the men are a blow against them too.

All that's left now of the prophecy are you and me. Two bitter, cynical women who are this close-she held up thumb and forefi nger a few centimeters apart-to renouncing the whole thing."

"Closer than that," Auset groused.

"So they're desperate too, and the kas of the two men are their only leverage to get us to act. I've already agreed to try a little proselytizing.

I know a few urban pagans in Brussels who would be open to their religion, even enthusiastic. But I can' t contact them until you leave Jerusalem."

Auset sprang up, hands on hips. "That just sounds like another kind of blackmail. Nefi 's happy here, and before I drag her back to Cairo, and to the claims that everyone's making on us, I have to know it's better there than here."

* 152 *

Vulture's Kiss Valerie had no good answer ready and knew when to stop arguing.

At the sudden lack of pressure, Auset softened. She reached for the doorknob.

"Look, my creepy uncle and his wife are visiting tomorrow ,.

and I have to help my grandparents get everything ready . You know: shopping, tidying up. I'll try to get away tomorrow afternoon to give you a tour of the city. We can talk about Nekhbet's worries then."

"All right, but I'm warning you. I'm not leaving without you. In the meantime I need a shower."

"Yes, you do." Auset smiled for the fi rst time and let herself out.

The bathroom, Valerie saw, was typical of the accommodations she'd enjoyed lately-that is, miniscule. But as long as there was warm water-there was-and the drain wasn' t blocked-it wasn' t-she was satisfi ed. She showered blissfully , noting however that the ten-centimeter chip of soap was wearing thin and would serve for one wash only. Fine. She had no plans for the rest of the afternoon and could buy more.In clean clothes and with the warm air drying her hair, she ventured back into the dense activity of the Khan el Zeit. The sheer volume of its merchandise displayed on every wall and surface and dangling overhead, the bombardment of colors and sounds, all were a comfort, a reminder of vitality in the face of bereavement. She let the sensations wash over her like a wave: the cacophony of hawkers calling in Arabic, Hebrew, and English; the haggling customers; the smells of sheesha smoke and cigarettes; the oils for sale in the next shop.

A shuffl ing street-sweeper pushed refuse in front of his broom along the center of the street toward the block of harsh sunlight where the tunnel opened to a square. She startled as a cart rumbled past her drawn by a single man, no different from its biblical equivalent except that its tires were rubber. Grit dropped from it onto the street he had just swept and fell back into the cracks between the bricks. Two thousand years of grit.

Derek, she thought with a wan smile, would have hated it. No matter. She would have dragged him here, made him appreciate what * 153 *

the souq was-civilization's fi rst hub of commerce.

She studied the people: the swarthy faces of the Arabs, the slightly paler ones of the Jews, the-by contrast shocking-whiteness of the Western tourists, and she knew none of them would be Derek.

A hand touched her back.

* 154 *

Vulture's Kiss

38.

The Holy City She fl inched from the touch and spun around, one hand lifted in defense.

"Oh, I'm sorry ," Najya Khoury said. "That was stupid of me, considering what you've been through."

"That's all right." Valerie laughed nervously . "I'm just a little jumpy. I never expected to run into you in the Old City."

"But you told me you were coming in this morning, and I was on my way to your hotel. I wanted to give you a tour of the Old City before anyone else does. Have I interrupted anything?"

Valerie felt reprieved. "Yes. A day of morose wandering. A tour is just what I need to take my mind of f things." She grew serious again.

"I'm really glad to see you."

Najya cleared her throat as she pointed with an open hand. "And this, mesdames et messieurs, is the Eastern Gate, which has had fi ve or six names over the centuries: The Lion's Gate, Jehoshafat's Gate, St.