inspecting
the thread count of a colorful rug at the entrance of the stall.
Fen pointed at the back of the stall, slowly edging further
inside. The carpet-seller nodded vigorously and followed him. Joshua scowled as
they passed, clearly not enjoying the whole tourist act. Poor guy. Guess it
wasn't fun being visible when the rest of us were safely glamored.
I shuffled toward Fen—who surprised me by disappearing
between a flap of parted carpets.
Well, who would've thought? The whole bank of shop fronts
gave the impression of backing onto solid walls, but it was an illusion. I
pulled the carpet aside and found a blue painted door, propped open by a
rickety wooden stool.
We snuck through, one at a time, the last Ulfr dropping the
carpet closed and hesitating, as if unsure if he were meant to close the door
behind him.
"Leave it!" I whispered. Fen hadn't even paused to
check if we followed. No lights lit our way; I didn't want to lose sight of
him.
Fen led us through the dark, shuttered house to another
door, which opened into a deserted alley. An old truck idled outside; the
engine coughed and sputtered as if the warm and dusty Cairo air was slowly
choking the life out of it. The bed of the truck lay bare except for a stack of
loose boards and clumps of grubby chicken feathers, which reminded me of the
poor, now-dead bird I'd seen in the souk.
"Aimee and Joshua, please sit in the front with the
driver." Fen withdrew two passports from his satchel and handed them over,
along with a stack of papers. "These are papers you will need to get
through the checkpoints. There are clothes on the front seat that will allow
you to blend in with the people of this country. It is safer for you to travel
as natives rather than tourists, hence the need for the native garments."
I smiled. Fen had a funny way of saying things sometimes. He
opened each passport, rubbed his thumb over the photographs and handed one to
each of the waiting Warriors. Joshua pocketed his passport and smashed a fez onto
his head. He frowned as he straightened it, clearly unhappy with having to play
dress-up. Aimee giggled beside him as a black robe engulfed her; once done up,
it hid her entire face except for her eyes.
The rest of us jumped in back, still glamored and safe from
prying eyes. Impatience gnawed at me, with annoyance fighting for space. I
couldn't understand what all the cloak-and-dagger spy stuff was about. The
driver put the truck in gear, and the engine churned and screeched before it
settled into a regular rhythm that sounded far too much like the vehicle was
about to throw up. Soon we began to slowly roll down the street. Way too slow
for my taste. Come on. I can walk faster than this .
The trip felt interminable, the potholes and bumpy ride
churning my stomach even worse than the Bifrost did.
When we finally halted at a checkpoint I sent a silent
grateful prayer up to Odin. Somehow the prospect of falling off a cliff seemed
welcome when compared to the rocking and rolling in the back of the ancient
truck.
Great. Just what we needed. A carsick Valkyrie. Probably
because I was meant for flight, not road travel.
Neither Mika nor Sigrun seemed to mind the ride. They sat
opposite me, moving back and forth as we bounced on the untarred roads,
patiently awaiting the end of our trip.
At a checkpoint, a soldier rapped out a command, and our
driver rolled his window down, greeting him in Arabic. The soldier didn't
answer, just stared back, irritation clearly imprinted in his dark scowl. He
barked another order, both his tone and volume harsh and demanding.
Beside me Fen stiffened, bringing both his hands together,
steepling them, the movement slow and deliberate. Both Warriors handed over
their passports and waited while the soldier inspected the documents and scrutinized
Joshua and Aimee, an unfriendly, suspicious gleam in his eyes.
I feared the man would have the audacity to ask Aimee to
remove her head covering. Sigrun, on my right, tensed,
the thread count of a colorful rug at the entrance of the stall.
Fen pointed at the back of the stall, slowly edging further
inside. The carpet-seller nodded vigorously and followed him. Joshua scowled as
they passed, clearly not enjoying the whole tourist act. Poor guy. Guess it
wasn't fun being visible when the rest of us were safely glamored.
I shuffled toward Fen—who surprised me by disappearing
between a flap of parted carpets.
Well, who would've thought? The whole bank of shop fronts
gave the impression of backing onto solid walls, but it was an illusion. I
pulled the carpet aside and found a blue painted door, propped open by a
rickety wooden stool.
We snuck through, one at a time, the last Ulfr dropping the
carpet closed and hesitating, as if unsure if he were meant to close the door
behind him.
"Leave it!" I whispered. Fen hadn't even paused to
check if we followed. No lights lit our way; I didn't want to lose sight of
him.
Fen led us through the dark, shuttered house to another
door, which opened into a deserted alley. An old truck idled outside; the
engine coughed and sputtered as if the warm and dusty Cairo air was slowly
choking the life out of it. The bed of the truck lay bare except for a stack of
loose boards and clumps of grubby chicken feathers, which reminded me of the
poor, now-dead bird I'd seen in the souk.
"Aimee and Joshua, please sit in the front with the
driver." Fen withdrew two passports from his satchel and handed them over,
along with a stack of papers. "These are papers you will need to get
through the checkpoints. There are clothes on the front seat that will allow
you to blend in with the people of this country. It is safer for you to travel
as natives rather than tourists, hence the need for the native garments."
I smiled. Fen had a funny way of saying things sometimes. He
opened each passport, rubbed his thumb over the photographs and handed one to
each of the waiting Warriors. Joshua pocketed his passport and smashed a fez onto
his head. He frowned as he straightened it, clearly unhappy with having to play
dress-up. Aimee giggled beside him as a black robe engulfed her; once done up,
it hid her entire face except for her eyes.
The rest of us jumped in back, still glamored and safe from
prying eyes. Impatience gnawed at me, with annoyance fighting for space. I
couldn't understand what all the cloak-and-dagger spy stuff was about. The
driver put the truck in gear, and the engine churned and screeched before it
settled into a regular rhythm that sounded far too much like the vehicle was
about to throw up. Soon we began to slowly roll down the street. Way too slow
for my taste. Come on. I can walk faster than this .
The trip felt interminable, the potholes and bumpy ride
churning my stomach even worse than the Bifrost did.
When we finally halted at a checkpoint I sent a silent
grateful prayer up to Odin. Somehow the prospect of falling off a cliff seemed
welcome when compared to the rocking and rolling in the back of the ancient
truck.
Great. Just what we needed. A carsick Valkyrie. Probably
because I was meant for flight, not road travel.
Neither Mika nor Sigrun seemed to mind the ride. They sat
opposite me, moving back and forth as we bounced on the untarred roads,
patiently awaiting the end of our trip.
At a checkpoint, a soldier rapped out a command, and our
driver rolled his window down, greeting him in Arabic. The soldier didn't
answer, just stared back, irritation clearly imprinted in his dark scowl. He
barked another order, both his tone and volume harsh and demanding.
Beside me Fen stiffened, bringing both his hands together,
steepling them, the movement slow and deliberate. Both Warriors handed over
their passports and waited while the soldier inspected the documents and scrutinized
Joshua and Aimee, an unfriendly, suspicious gleam in his eyes.
I feared the man would have the audacity to ask Aimee to
remove her head covering. Sigrun, on my right, tensed,
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