The Curious Case of the Werewolf Read Free Page B

expression that did not sit comfortably on his patrician face.
    "Any final orders, sir?"
    "The usual, Floote. If I don't come back . . ."
    "No record, no witnesses. I am aware of your standing instructions."
    "Proceed then, Floote."
    "Very good, sir."

    There were more people in the streets when Mr. Tarabotti exited the hotel a second time. Alessandro wondered if nightlife had evolved in Egypt due to the lack of supernatural, much in the manner of peculiar animals evolving on islands without natural predators, if one were given to believe Mr. Darwin's outlandish theories. Then, again, perhaps it was simply the coolness of the air that encouraged wide-scale evening socialization.
    No one bothered him. No beggars whined for baksheesh. No tradesmen forced their goods in his direction. Alessandro Tarabotti had a way of walking that, even as a conspicuous foreigner in a foreign land, marked him as undesirable. Thus, he could move quickly through the narrow alleys that purported to be Luxor's main streets, passing whitewashed huts and undernourished obelisks, coming finally to a steep slope and sandy shore. Nearby, the three balloons were tied down, only one still inflated.
    It took very little in the way of local currency or time to hire a stunted raft, piloted by a lackluster youngster, to ferry him across the river. It took slightly more to convince the urchin to wait. At two gold coins and twenty minutes, Alessandro considered it quite economical. The boat-boy even pointed out the path he needed to take towards the tombs. Mr. Tarabotti had paid more for less in the past, and probably would again.
    The map, it turned out, was not scaled as he might have hoped, and it was a long walk of some four miles before he noted any of the landmarks indicated there. He left behind the lushness of the floodplain for a long limestone canyon where little grew and less thrived. He was grateful for the moon, that he need not carry one of the ridiculous teapot-shaped oil lamps in order to see his way.
    It should have been a pleasant walk, but Mr. Tarabotti, whom no one would ever insult by calling anxious, could not shake the feeling that he was being followed. Every time he jerked about and looked behind him, he saw nothing there. Nothing at all. This was compounded by another sensation, one of being repelled, as though he were a magnet too close to another of the same charge. He'd felt it ever since Cairo but here it was worse of all, almost unbearable.
    He happened upon the archaeological encampment eventually; a copse of canvas tents nestled at the base of a cliff. It appeared quite deserted, so he clambered up to the mouth of a rock-cut tomb, marked by an uninspired "x" on his little map. As he climbed, a new scent overlaid the clay musk of the cooling sands – tobacco and vanilla.
    "I thought you hadn't gotten the message," said a voice in Italian when he reached the top. A figure resolved itself from gloom into a man by stepping forward out of the shadow of the rocks around the entranceway. Fragments of limestone crunched under sensible boots. "Trouble finding the place?"
    "You sent a map. It had an "x" on it."
    The man gripped Alessandro's shoulders, kissing him on each cheek in the manner of old friends. "Giuseppe Caviglia."
    "Alessandro Tarabotti." Mr. Tarabotti saw no harm in giving the archaeologist his name, though he objected to the intimacy of the rest of the greeting. "Show me what you found."
    Mr. Caviglia tilted his head to one side and took a draw on his pipe. "You know I can't simply do that."
    Mr. Tarabotti smiled tightly. "A rule player." He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the letter of marque, passing it over.
    Giuseppe Caviglia unfolded and read it carefully by moonlight. "The government's full confidence? That must be nice."
    "It has its benefits."
    "You're authorized to take any action you deem necessary in conjunction with my findings here. What, exactly, does that mean?"
    Alessandro ignored the