The Last Cut Read Online Free Page B

general laugh.
    ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Musa.
    ‘It’s his wife,’ someone explained to Owen. ‘She keeps him on the go.’
    ‘You’d better make the most of it while you’ve got the chance, Musa,’ said someone else. ‘You’ll be back there soon enough.’
    ‘If this gate business doesn’t hold things back,’ said Musa.
    The men turned serious.
    ‘You don’t think it’ll come to that?’
    ‘We wouldn’t want that,’ said someone. ‘There’s work to be done at home.’
    ‘You’re just up here for the Inundation, are you?’ asked Owen.
    ‘That’s right. It works out very well usually. There’s not much we can do at home just now. At this time of year you’ve got to wait for the water. And then when it comes you’ve got to wait for it to sink in before you can plant the seed. By that time we’re home again.’
    ‘You work your own lands, do you?’
    There was a rueful chuckle.
    ‘It’s mostly Al-Sayyid Hannam’s land now. But, yes, we work it.’
    ‘They’re fellahin,’ said Ferguson, joining him. ‘They work in the fields. Every man jack of them. And if there’s anyone who knows the meaning of water, it’s the Egyptian fellah. That’s why I can’t believe it would be one of them. I just can’t!’
    The workmen started to go back. Macrae was already there. He saw Owen and waved an arm in greeting. Owen suddenly realized that the man had been there since two o’clock the previous night. He wondered if the workmen had, too. They were going back to work, however, willingly enough.
    Ferguson squinted at the sun.
    ‘I’d better be rigging up some lights,’ he said.
    The sun was already beginning its downward plunge. The Egyptian twilight was short. Already there was a reddish tinge to the water.
    The gardens were emptying rapidly.
    ‘You’d best be getting back,’ said Ferguson.
    Owen joined the crowd streaming back down to the river on the other side of the main barrage. Down at the water’s edge the boats were filling up fast. The big gyassa had already left. There was no sign of the launch. He found a felucca which was not too crowded and stepped in.
     
    By the time the felucca nosed into the bank at Bulaq, the sun had already set and the lights were coming on in the streets. He took an arabeah back to the Bab-el-Khalk, the Police Headquarters, where he had his office. There were no lights in that. Like all Government buildings it closed for the day at two. Admittedly it opened at seven.
    He found a porter, however, who produced a lamp and showed him to his office. He wasn’t going to stay, he merely wanted to check for messages. There was one from Mahmoud suggesting a meeting. The first findings of the autopsy had come through.
    Owen knew Mahmoud’s habits. Indeed, they were his own and those of most Cairenes. After the inertia of the afternoon the city came alive in the evening and made for the cafés. Owen tried one or two of Mahmoud’s favourites and found him at a third. He was sitting outside at a table, sipping coffee and preparing for an appearance in court tomorrow.
    ‘I tried to get you earlier,’ he said.
    ‘I was up at the barrage.’
    ‘The regulator?’
    ‘Yes.’ Then, knowing that Mahmoud would be wondering, he said: ‘It looks like sabotage.’
    ‘Sabotage?’ said Mahmoud, surprised. ‘But who on earth would—?’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Owen. He asked about the autopsy.
    ‘They’re only preliminary findings,’ said Mahmoud, ‘but I thought you’d be interested.’
    The Maiden, it appeared, had not been murdered at all, ritually or otherwise, but had died of natural causes.
    ‘If you can call it that,’ said Mahmoud.
    ‘Why shouldn’t you call it that?’
    ‘She probably died as a result of circumcision.’
    ‘It went wrong?’
    ‘That, or infection.’
    As was commonly the case. The practice was widespread, especially in the older, poorer and more traditional quarters of the city. It was defended on the grounds of hygiene but