Certainly.
But surely only of those fine men who are on the permanent strength?
I want the names of all those who are working on the barrage at the moment.
But, Effendi, they are legion!
How legion are they?
The clerk consulted his ledger.
At this time of year, Effendi, he said impressively, sixteen thousand.
Not working on the barrage at the moment, there arent. About two hundred, Id say.
But, Effendi, they are for the most part worthless fellows, mere villagers, who come up here for the Inundation, work for a few weeks and then return to the dreadful place from where they came!
But, Effendi, they are for the most part worthless fellows, mere villagers, who come up here for the Inundation, work for a few weeks and then return to the dreadful place from where they came!
They are the ones I am particularly interested in. First, Id like disciplinary cases-
But, Effendi, they are all unruly, mere savages-
Then injuries.
But, Effendi, what does it signify if a few are injured? When we think of the general good? If a few fall by the wayside or into the river?
And the dismissals.
Effendi, at the end of the Inundation they are all dismissed, and a good thing too-
The ones who are dismissed before the end.
But, Effendi, why bother about the few whom Macrae Effendi and Ferguson Effendi have shrewdly seen have got it coming and wisely advanced the hour?
Just see I get the names tomorrow, said Owen.
When Owen went into his office the next day, Nikos, his official clerk, had the list in front of him. Owen was taken aback by the remarkable burst of productivity. Then he saw the reason. The list had only five names.
No dismissals, two injuries, minor, the rest, wages docked for being late, said Nikos. That what you wanted?
Owen frowned.
I want to know first if it is true, he said.
Nikos nodded.
Ill check, he said.
And while youre doing that, can you look a bit more widely?
What for?
Possible reasons for a grudge. Im after motive.
Nikos was looking through the list.
Theyre all Corvee men, he said. You can tell by the payroll numbers.
They will be at this time of year. Its the height of the Inundation.
I was just wondering if that could be anything to do with it.
The Corvee was the name given to the system by which the Government had traditionally summoned up labour each year to maintain the river banks and watch the dams when the Nile rose. In the past the system had been full of abuses. Virtually every able-bodied man between fifteen and fifty had been called up and obliged to work unpaid for a substantial part of the year away from his own land. Worse, the great Pashas, or noblemen, had frequently contrived to divert them to work on their own estates, flogging them if they refused. Anyone then might well have had a grudge against the system.
But not now. When the British had come they had abolished the Corvee, at least in its old form. Now the work was voluntary, paid, and for a shorter period. And the Pashas abuses were twenty years in the past. Surely, thought Owen, no one could harbour a grudge for so long? Even in Egypt, where grudges were sometimes nourished for generations.
When Owen entered the Gardens he experienced a mild shock. They were covered with water. For a moment he thought that something must have gone wrong at the regulator and the canal overflowed. But then he realized. This was Thursday and watering day throughout the city.
Every Thursday water was pumped up out of the river and distributed through the city in pipelines to parks and public gardens, where it was drawn off locally into systems of raised earth ditches, called gadwals.
That was what had happened here. The Gardens looked like a vast shallow lake out of which the trees and shrubs jutted incongruously. In the water between them hundreds of birds were playing. Palm doves crouched and crooned. Hoopoes hesitated inhibitedly like bathers on an English beach. Bulbuls and sparrows, not at all inhibited, splashed water over their backs in a furious spray. Brightly-coloured bee-eaters, never still, swerved and dived. Buff-backed herons stalked and stabbed. There were even some green parakeets, released deliberately from Giza Zoo to see if they would breed wild.
Owen hesitated a moment, wondering how to cross the Gardens and get to the regulator dry. Across the water he saw the gardener, up to his ankles and bent over a gadwal, and made a gesture of inquiry. The gardener pointed to a path leading up into the trees. It ran along the slight crest beside the valley hed walked through previously and took him nearly to the regulator.
At the regulator things were quieter. A solitary cart had been backed up to the breach and from its rear men were lowering sandbags precisely into position with a rope and pulley. Ferguson was lying on his front peering down into the breach and directing proceedings. He stood up when he saw Owen coming.
Weve got something for you, he said.
He called down to Macrae, who came up and joined them. They walked down the canal to where what looked like a piece of broken pipe had evidently been heaved up out of the water.
What is it?
Its part of the culvert. From just beside the regulator gates. It was blown out by the explosion and carried here by the water. The thing is, though: see those? Theyre burn marks. That means, thats where the stuff was put. Just shoved up inside, Id say.
Aye, said Ferguson. That would have been enough. Its the position, you see. It would have cracked the concrete that held the frame just by the hinge. The weight of the water would have done the rest. Whoever did it knew just what they were doing.
And you still say, said Owen, that it wasnt one of your workmen?
Chapter 3
The gardener came running.
Effendi! Oh, Effendi!
He arrived panting.
Oh, Effendi! Another one!
Another what?
A bomb! Oh, Effendi, come quickly!
Another! Jesus! Where?
The gardener pointed across the Gardens.
The Rosetta? Jesus!
They ran straight across the Gardens, splashing through the water. Birds scattered. Herons rose with a clap of wings like a gunshot. The palm doves rose in a flock. Hoopoes hesitated no longer and made for the trees.
The gardener ran ahead of them, his bare feet kicking up the water. He led them across the lawns and then up on to the crest along which Owen had passed previously. Down into the bamboo clumps of the valley and then left along the stream, almost to the spot where the ghaffir had been taking his repose. There, virtually beneath the baobab trees, the gardener halted.
But-? began Macrae.
There, Effendi, there! pointed the gardener with trembling finger.
He was pointing towards a gadwal.
Leave this to me! said Macrae, shouldering Owen aside.
Aye, said Ferguson. We know about these things.
He pushed Owen behind a tree and then went forward to join Macrae.
Bloody hell! they said in unison.
Owen, who had served with the Army in India before coming to Egypt, and thought he also knew about these things, re-emerged from behind the tree and went cautiously up to them.
They were peering into the gadwal. Lying in the bottom were a pair of detonators.
It is easy to see, Abdullah, said the ghaffir superciliously, that you are not a man who knows about dynamite!
How was I to know? said the gardener defensively. It looked like a bomb to me!
How did you find it? asked Owen.
I was clearing the gadwal, said the gardener. You need to, to make sure that the water can flow along it. Youd be surprised what gets into it. Leaves, sticks, that sort of thing. All these birds! And then the people-they put rubbish in it, though youd think they knew better. So before I let the water through I go along and see there are no blockages. I mean, you dont want water coming over the sides until youre ready, do you? What would be the point of that? You may not think I know about dynamite, he said aside to the ghaffir, but I do know about gadwals. Mess up one and youve messed up the lot!
Gadwals! sniggered the ghaffir. To talk about gadwals when the Effendi have great things on their mind!
Never mind that! said Macrae. He looked down into the gadwal. Spares, you reckon? he said to Ferguson.
Aye, said Ferguson. Discarded afterwards.
Macrae picked them up.
And you know where they come from? he said.
Aye, said Ferguson.
The stores were kept in a hut beside one of the regulators. Its door was heavily padlocked.
I doubt they went that way, said Macrae.
He led them round to the back of the hut. The lower part of the rear wall was masked by a profusion of the mauve, thrift-like flowers that grew everywhere in the Gardens. Macrae pulled them away. At the very bottom of the wall a hole large enough for a man had been neatly cut in the wood.
Ferguson went round to the front again and unlocked the padlock and they went in. The hut was full of equipment neatly arranged on racks. There were spades, picks, drilling bits, coils of wire, nails, screws, packs of various kinds. There was a stack of the wooden trug-like baskets that were still universally used along the banks for carrying earth in. There were piles of the traditional wooden shovels.
Macrae went over to one of the walls and pulled aside some stacks. Behind them was a stout wooden chest with huge iron clasps and a padlock even stronger than the one on the door. Macrae unlocked it and looked in.
Aye, he said.
Detonators? said Owen.
Four missing.
That would be right. And dynamite?
At any rate, said Macrae sourly, theres some left.
A padlocks no good, said Ferguson. Well have to find somewhere else to keep it.
Have you a storeman? asked Owen.
Hes all right, said Macrae. Id trust him with my life. And then, catching Owens sceptical look, he added. Aye, I know what youre thinking. But hes all right. Ive known him for years. He was with me down in Aswan. Got injured in a fall, so I put him in charge of stores. That was six years ago and weve never had cause for complaint.
Never! said Ferguson.
Does he have keys?
No. I open up and lock up each day, said Ferguson.
And were the only ones with keys to the box. We each keep a set in case theres a sudden need and one of us cant be found. But no one else has a key.
Owen bent and looked at the padlock. It was a fairly standard one. The storeman might be honest but people would be in and out of the hut all day and one of them might well have been able to size the padlock up, even, perhaps, take an impression while the storeman was distracted.