The Broken Sword Read Free Page B

crossed in front of Beatrice.
    A man responded in English. "He's here?"
    The woman nodded tearfully. "That is what they say. At the bazaar today, an American diplomat was shot. Assassination."
    Just then Beatrice caught sight of her reflection in a small mirror hanging outside a rickety stall. The sight was terrifying. Blood painted one entire side of her face. Her yellow hair was matted with it. For a moment she stood still, frozen at the sight of herself.
    It was no wonder the man could spot her. Quickly she grabbed a loose garment from inside the unattended stall. The soft fabric stuck to her blood-sticky fingers.
    Her grandmother's blood.
    Beatrice choked back a sob. She had died in Beatrice's place, just as another woman had now died.
    Leave the cup, she told herself. Leave it and hide. He won't search for you in this crowd once he has the cup. You'll he safe.
    Her fingers trembled.
    And blind.
    "No," she whispered, her face set. The cup belonged to her, and so did her sight. If the Arab wanted either, he was going to have to kill her first.
    As she ran back toward the crowd, an old beggar carrying a large sack over his shoulder crashed directly into her. Then everything happened almost too quickly for Beatrice to follow. A second shot rang out, this time very close. She felt a thud as the bullet tore into the rag bag the beggar had slung over his shoulder.
    "Who... what..." she began, but the beggar fell with his full weight on top of her, then picked Beatrice up and ran with her toward the cluster of buildings just beyond the panic-stricken crowd. She struggled to get loose, but the old man's strength was astonishing.
    There are two of them, she thought. "Help me!" she shouted, but the crowd of onlookers was too terrified to respond to her plea. She still held the cup in her hand. She brought it up and crashed it down on the old man's head with all her strength. The beggar staggered, and Beatrice struggled to wriggle free, but at that moment another bullet cracked behind them.
    This time it smashed into the old man's back. Beatrice saw the coarse fabric of his robe fly apart in a gaping, smoking hole where the bullet entered. She screamed. She was still screaming when the old man fell at the mouth of a narrow alleyway.
    Stumbling to her feet, Beatrice looked down at the old man, then in the other direction, toward the far end of the alley. Out there was freedom; the alley was certain capture and death at the hands of the white-robed man.
    Hesitantly, she touched the old man's head. A vein throbbed in his temple. He wasn't dead yet, though with the bullet wound in his back, he would surely die soon.
    Unless she helped him with the cup.
    Three dead for me, she thought. How many others will I allow to die so that I can keep the cup? She looked again at the sunlight at the end of the alley.
    Three is too many.
    With a sigh, she knelt beside the beggar and gently turned him over. At least the cup would do some good before it was taken from her.
    Then the old man sat up with surprising agility and smiled. He had wonderful teeth, Beatrice noticed. "Thank you," he said in perfect King's English.

Chapter Three
    H al pushed the last of the small change to the center of the table. "Three hundred eighteen dirham. How much is that in dollars?"
    "Fifty-eight," the boy said automatically. "And thirty-two cents, at yesterday's exchange rate."
    Arthur Blessing stood at the window in the cheap room the two had rented in the Medina, the Old City of Marrakesh. In the street, a crowd of people was shouting, running in all directions. "Something's going on. I heard gunshots."
    "This place is getting to be as bad as the States," Hal said. He stretched on the rickety chair he was sitting on. It creaked portentously. "Speaking of which, maybe it's time we headed back." He said it as casually as he could, but he saw the boy tense. "We're not going to find her, Arthur," he added gently. "Not here, anyway. We've looked everywhere."
    Arthur turned