Page 17 of Kismet

Chapter 5

Although it wasn’t quite the noon hour, the sweltering heat had already engulfed the city as Allegra climbed out of the carriage and looked around the large plaza. Once a place of public executions, the Djemaa El-Fna now served as the gateway to the souqs north of the bustling area. Beside her, Millie grunted softly.

“I can’t say as I like the looks of this place, Miss Allegra.”

“Isabelle said we’d be perfectly safe, Millie, as long as we don’t venture off into one of the alleyways.”

“All the same, I wish we’d visited this place before she and the major had set off for their honeymoon.”

“We’ll be fine.”

With a smile, Allegra patted the maidservant’s arm in a pacifying gesture as she led the way across the plaza and into the heart of the souqs. The sights and smells that greeted them were almost overwhelming as she meandered through the open stalls with Millie not far behind. Colorful cone-shaped piles of spices sat on roughly hewn tables at a spice merchant’s stall, the scent of coriander, cumin, ginger, and cinnamon drifting off them.

Across from the spice stall was a vendor selling gazelle horns, a sweet pastry stuffed with almond paste and topped with sugar. The delicious smell enticed her to purchase one for each of them. She followed the pastry, fresh and delicate on the tongue, with a cup of juice, freshly squeezed from oranges grown in a local orchard outside Marrakech.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Millie?” She turned her head to see her friend finishing off her croissant-shaped gazelle horn.

“I can’t deny it’s interesting, Miss. And I’d like to get the recipe for this pastry. It’s quite good,” Millie said as she swallowed the remainder of her gazelle horn.

Laughing, Allegra shook her head with amused despair at her friend’s less than adventuresome nature. Her gaze drifted past the older woman toward a stall where a veiled woman was having her hand painted by a wizened old woman.

“Oh look, over there.” Without waiting on her friend, she walked toward the booth to watch the artist at work. As Millie joined her, Allegra pointed toward the design on the woman’s hand. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It looks rather barbaric, if you don’t mind me saying so, Miss.” Millie sniffed.

“Oh no, it’s exquisite. Look at the intricacy of the pattern she’s drawing.”

Fascinated, she watched the woman put the finishing touches on her artwork. A few moments later, the artist looked up with a smile and gestured for Allegra to sit down. With a shake of her head, Allegra laughed and waved her hand no. Speaking in Arabic, the old woman grinned and pointed to a vacant seat in her stall.

“She is offering to henna the back of your hand, mademoiselle,” the young woman said in French, one of the three languages that were used in Morocco. Her hand still damp with henna, the woman’s smile was visible through the veil that covered the lower half of her face. The silk material did little to hide the woman’s dark and exotic beauty. As the henna artist spoke again in the musical language of the desert, Allegra shook her head.

“That’s quite nice of her, but I’m afraid I must refuse.”

“You must not insult her, mademoiselle,” she exclaimed. “Fatima is the henna artist who paints the odalisques in the Sultan’s harem. It is a great honor for her to offer to adorn you.”

The mention of odalisques gave her pause as she narrowed her eyes at the young woman, but her open expression revealed nothing but friendly encouragement. Allegra suppressed a sigh. Although she’d regained a great deal of confidence by beating her mysterious Bedouin at his own game, she still found herself questioning even the most innocent reference to her lifestyle.

Caution was something she’d learned early, but her ability to know who to befriend or avoid had always been one of her strengths, and it was time she learned to trust her instincts again. With a smile at the young woman, Allegra slowly sank down on the stool the old henna artist had pointed to. Behind her, Millie gasped loudly.

“Miss Allegra, you can’t possibly be thinking of letting this woman paint your skin. It’s heathenish, I tell you, heathenish.”

“Women of Morocco’s feet and hands are painted for decoration and religion.” Despite the young woman’s halting and accented English, her voice held just a trace of rebuke as she sent Millie a hard look.

“You speak English as well as French.”

Allegra studied the young woman with interest while Fatima took her hand and examined it closely, just as an artist would a fresh canvas. With a nod of her head the veiled woman smiled with amusement as she replied in French.

“Not very well, but I understand enough. I am far more comfortable with French as it is the second language of most Moroccans. It is also a language most ferengi understand.”

“Ferengi?”

“Ferengi means foreigner in the Berber tongue,” she said with a smile before she uttered a gasp of apology. “Forgive me, I’ve been terribly rude. My name is Laila Mahmoud.”

“I’m Allegra Synnford, and this forbidding creature behind me is Millie.”

She tossed a glance up at her maid, who seemed to understand that she’d just been introduced as she nodded abruptly in Laila’s direction. A cool sensation suddenly laced its way across her skin. Turning back toward the henna artist, she watched the old woman squeeze out a small line of henna paste onto her skin.

With the skill of a longtime artist, Fatima worked quickly and efficiently, creating a design that slowly took the shape of a bird. With its head close to her wrist, the creature’s fancy plumage drifted downward over her two middle fingers. She was certain a great many people in the Set would be appalled by the temporary tattoo, but it appealed to her sense of adventure.