The Sign of the Scorpion Read online

  “He was talking to both me and Adam,” said Layla, blushing a little. “Hala must be crazy to think I’m planning to steal him away or something. I’m only fourteen, for crying out loud. I don’t plan to marry for years yet. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.”

  “I don’t think Tariq has a clue how Hala feels about him,” said Zahra. “She’s all gooey-eyed over him but he treats her like a younger sister. Men can be so blind about these things.”

  Layla chuckled. “You sound like a wise old woman. Yes, I’m sure Tariq has no idea the little witch wants to marry him. Maybe she plans to drag him kicking and screaming to the wedding.”

  Grinning impishly, Zahra said, “Tariq’s kind of cute, isn’t he? I think he likes your green eyes.”

  Layla rolled those green eyes at her friend. “Zahra Alkurdi, hold your tongue. I’m not ready to have a crush yet. And certainly not on a desert type like Tariq. He’ll want his wife to stay home and have babies.”

  Zahra tut-tutted. “Layla Horani, I’m shocked at the words coming out of your mouth. Don’t stereotype Tariq. And what’s wrong with staying home and having babies? I wouldn’t mind doing that.”

  “If you want to, it’s fine. But I want to be a doctor like my Dad. And I’m going to marry someone who’ll support me with that, insha Allah.”

  “I want a career that will allow me to be at home with my babies. How about that?”

  Layla’s dimples came out again. “I like the way you think, sister. Oh, there’s just one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll cut your tongue and feed it to the fishes if you tell the boys what Hala said.”

  When Layla went to bed that night, she found it hard to fall asleep. She kept thinking about the confrontation with Hala and how downright mean the other girl had been. It was an unpleasant new experience being at the receiving end of someone’s jealousy. The more Layla thought about it, the more restless she became. She had turned off the air conditioning because it had gotten too cold. Now she felt a bit warm. Perhaps if she opened the window, a bit of breeze might blow in and lull her to sleep.

  Throwing off the covers, she went to the window and pulled the drapes aside. The air was thick with the scent of foliage. The moon had risen a bit and she stared out at the darkened trees as she listened to the hum of the night insects. The view from my window would have been a lovely one if it had not been blocked by the ghafs.

  Hearing a rustling sound, Layla peered through the window screen at the ground below. She glimpsed a figure in a voluminous dark cloak. Moments later, the figure was swallowed up by the darkness. Who had it been? It seemed strange that anyone would be walking in the grove at night. Feeling sleepy now, she went back to bed, pulled the covers over her and quickly fell asleep.

  Layla was not sure what woke her up later. It might have been the creaking limbs of the ghaf or the breeze drifting through the open window, causing the drapes to flutter noisily. Sliding off the bed, she went over to the window. The moon had risen higher and its light stole through the limbs of the ghaf, casting slithering shadows on the ground below. As she was about to close the window, Layla was startled to hear the faint murmur of voices. Her little bedside clock told her it was nearly twelve. Who could be in the grove at this hour?

  From the sound of the voices, she could tell it was a man and a woman. They spoke in hushed tones and at one point, it seemed like they were having a heated argument. She heard a word here and there though it did not make sense to her. An owl began to hoot in the distance, drowning out the voices. After the hoots died away, there was silence once more in the grove.

  Layla wondered who the man and woman could have been. Somehow, the whole episode struck her as sinister. She gave a slight shiver as she remembered the maid’s warning — “Evil things have happened here. And more evil is to come. It’s around us waiting and watching.”

  Closing the window, she returned to bed and huddled under the covers. Just great. I’m getting spooked by the hired help now.

  Layla was destined to be disturbed for a second time that night. She had just dropped off to sleep when she was awakened by a scream. It was a keening of terrible torment that dragged her from the depths of slumber and had her cowering against the pillows in a panic.

  Chapter Seven:

  Riding Lessons

  The Woman in White. She’s here again.

  As the lamentation died away and the night became silent again, Layla’s fear waned, and she fell back against the pillows. What a horrible scream it had been. And it had sounded so near. Like the Woman in White was just outside the window. But why is she trying to scare us? Is something really evil going on here? Are we in danger?

  As Layla’s heartbeat accelerated, she told herself to stop this madness. The Woman in White was a big, fat fraud. She could not do anything beyond scaring them. To calm her nerves, Layla recited a short chapter from the Qur’an she had learnt as a little girl. Say, I seek refuge with Allah, The Lord of mankind, The King of mankind, The God of mankind, from the evil of the whisperer, who whispers in the breasts of mankind, from among the jinn and mankind.

  Just before she fell asleep again, a thought hovered on the periphery of Layla’s mind, only to fade away like mist in the sun as she finally slept.

  “The Woman in White screamed again in the grove last night,” said Zaid the next morning as they left the ghaf suites. He wore khaki slacks with a black cotton shirt and smelled faintly of oud. “Did you all hear her too?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Layla. “You’d have to be dead to the world not to have heard her.”

  “I guess we’re the only ones who heard her since no one else sleeps in this wing,” said Adam, running a hand over his hair. He had attempted to tame it with a little gel this morning.

  “I hope she doesn’t come again,” said Zahra. “That scream was awful.”

  “You know what we should do if she comes again?” said Adam. “We should use the fire escape to go into the grove and catch her.”

  “Good idea,” said Zaid. “Wouldn’t it be great if we caught her?”

  “Yes, I’d love to find out who our fake ghoul is.” Layla’s eyes shone with excitement. She went on to tell them about the figure in the dark cloak and the man and woman she had heard arguing.

  “It’s weird that people would be there at night,” said Zahra.

  “It could be normal behavior around here,”’ said Adam. “I won’t be surprised if someone comes dancing at dawn next.”

  Layla giggled. “Now, that would be a sight to see.”

  Tariq took them on the promised tour of the stables after breakfast. The sight of the horses - beautiful Arabians of noble lineage and graceful lines - would have gladdened the heart of any equestrian. They looked well-fed and well-cared for. Layla was not surprised when Tariq told them horses from the Al-Khalili stables were very much in demand by horse lovers and jockeys around the world. She watched in fascination as they snorted and stomped on the ground, swishing their tails from side to side to chase away flies. Layla had always loved being around horses and quite enjoyed the riding lessons she and Adam had started when they were younger.

  While they watched the horses, Zaid told Tariq about the Woman in White screaming in the grove again last night.

  “I can’t believe she came there again,” said Tariq. Wearing navy twill pants and a light-blue T-shirt he looked like a teenager from the west.

  “If she comes again, we’re planning to use the fire stairs to catch her,” said Adam. “But we don’t want anyone to know. If our ghoul hears of it, she’ll be on the alert.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Tariq promised. “If I see her, I’ll chase her down myself.”

  Layla said, “Earlier last night in the grove, I also saw a figure in a dark cloak and heard a man and woman arguing. It was before the Woman in White came screaming.”

&n
bsp; “It was probably the servants,” said Tariq. “If they show up again, let me know. I’ll tell Dhul Fikar to give them a warning.”

  Tariq hailed one of the passing grooms, a lean brown-skinned Indian man in his early twenties. The groom was wearing the same uniform of baggy black pants and short-sleeved black shirt with brass buttons that Hatem, the head groom, had worn last evening.

  “Hello Raj, have the horses for our guests been chosen yet?”

  Raj gave them a quick, curious look out of expressive black eyes before replying in halting Arabic, “Yes, Mr. Tariq. Mr. Hatem has them all picked out. They’ll be saddled and waiting for you this afternoon.”

  “Thanks, Raj,” said Tariq. “We’ll see you later.”

  After leaving the stables, Tariq took them on the alternate route that led to the forecourt. The path curved around the right side of the castle, past an herb and vegetable garden that assailed them with a blend of aromas. When they passed by the kitchen courtyard, they smelled food and heard the drone of voices and the banging of utensils. Preparations for lunch were in full swing.

  After passing by the sunroom and dining room, they turned into the forecourt, went past the caravanserai and returned inside the castle via the front door. They parted ways with Tariq as they went up to their suites to prepare for lunch and the Friday congregational prayer.

  Later, the entire castle, including household, guests and employees, gathered in the mosque for the Jumu’ah prayer. Shaykh Sulaiman was brought in on a wheelchair by his nurse, Qais, who looked as if he could lift both the shaykh and his wheelchair without breaking a sweat. Everyone fussed around the patient and he smiled at the attention, though he still looked frail and spoke with the same slurred speech.

  An imam from Khaldun delivered a stirring sermon on the story of Jacob who had prayed for patience when faced with the loss of his son, Joseph. Layla blinked tears away. The sermon couldn’t be more apt. Joseph’s brothers had told their father his beloved son had been devoured by a wild animal. Now, in a different place and a different time, another father had been told his son had suffered the same fate.

  That afternoon, they donned comfortable riding clothes and footwear before heading to the stables. The groom, Raj, took them to a shed and handed them riding helmets to wear. They followed him to the paddock where they found their mounts saddled and waiting. Layla and Adam were paired with placid mares named Ayah and Izza. Ayah was a gray color that seemed almost white, while Izza was the more common bay color. Zaid and Zahra, being more experienced riders, were matched with Dirar and Bandar, chestnut stallions foaled from the same mare. They all gazed in admiration at Jasim, Tariq’s high-spirited ebony stallion.

  “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Tariq’s voice was proud. “He’s of pure Najd blood.”

  With the aid of a mounting block, they seated themselves on their horses. Layla adjusted herself in the saddle, digging her feet in the stirrups and taking hold of Ayah’s reins. She squeezed her legs lightly around the horse, cuing her to move. Under Tariq’s guidance, they walked the horses around until they got accustomed to the feel of the animals and felt comfortable enough to move on to a slow trot. After trotting around for an hour, Tariq called a halt.

  “That’s it for today. I don’t want to tire you too much. Once you put in enough practice, I’ll take you to the fields outside. It’s through that gate.” He pointed to a wide gate in the wall.

  As that moment, two riders came through the gate. It was Jumana and Hala. Layla admired the confident way Jumana handled her horse. She seemed to be an excellent equestrienne. Hala sat well on her horse too and looked to be an expert rider.

  Jumana trotted over to them. She was wearing a bisque colored scarf, baggy khaki pants and a brown tunic. With her unique amber eyes and face aglow from her recent ride, she was the picture of vibrant femininity. After a moment’s hesitation, Hala followed too. The girl was wearing a black track suit with yellow stripes. There was a healthy color in her cheeks and she seemed in better spirits.

  “How are the riding lessons going?” said Jumana.

  “Very well, thank you,” Adam and Layla replied in unison.

  “The more practice you put in, the better it gets,” she said in her lilting voice. “But you’ve probably been told that umpteen times.”

  “Yes, we’ll have to go to the riding school more often when we get back home,” said Layla. “You look like you were born in the saddle.”

  Jumana gave a modest shrug. “I began learning to ride at the age of four. I’ve spent many hours in the saddle. You seem comfortable on your horses. That makes a big difference.”

  “Izza is a nice docile mare.” Adam patted his horse. “It will be a while before I can handle a big brute like Jasim.”

  “I’m pleased with their progress,” said Tariq. “I think they’ll be ready for the fields soon.”

  “Yay,” Layla cheered, her dimples flashing as she laughed. Tariq smiled at her exuberance and Layla’s laughter faded as she saw the hard glint in Hala’s eyes.

  Faisal was absent again at dinner that evening.

  “I don’t see why he has to disappear without a word,” said Ghazala. “We probably won’t be able to get hold of him if Sulaiman should take a turn for the worse.”

  Sitting at her side, Bilal nodded in agreement at his wife’s remark.

  “You’ll have no problem reaching Suha and I in Ghassan City,” said Miftah. “We’re going tomorrow and coming back on Monday evening. Hala really wants to see her uncle.”

  There was a smug expression on Hala’s face.

  She must be happy to finally get her way.

  “We’re still worried about Sulaiman,” said Suha. “He’s not out of danger yet.”

  “We hope he’ll be fine while we’re gone,” said Miftah. “Should he have a relapse, call us right away.”

  “You all act as if the Shaykh is at death’s door,” said Mrs. Haddad. “I think it will take more than a stroke to topple the old man. He’ll probably live a lot longer than any of you expect.”

  There was such a queer edge to the tutor’s voice that Layla glanced sideways at her. Mrs. Haddad was leaning back in her chair, a strange twist to her lips. Her hair was pulled back in the severe bun she favored and she looked washed out in a button-down, off-white linen dress.

  Ghazala looked outraged. “You forget your place, Mariam. Our family affairs are of no concern to you. It was a gesture of goodwill on our part to have you dine with us. Otherwise you’d be sitting with the servants.”

  Mrs. Haddad bristled. “It was the Shaykh’s wish that I join the family for dinner. It wasn’t any magnanimous gesture on your part. Don’t expect me to grovel in gratitude at your feet.”

  Ghazala’s lips tightened in anger. “Mariam, you’re a paid employee here,” she said in a cutting voice. “I would advise you to hold your tongue, so you don’t cause further offense.”

  “Don’t treat me like a menial servant,” Mrs. Haddad’s tone was just as sharp. “Gone are the days when those living in castles lorded it over the common people. I’m a modern, educated woman, not some simple serf. Yes, I earn a paycheck for the use of my brains. But I think it’s a damn sight better than living like a parasite off the goodwill of a rich cousin.”

  There was a shocked silence.

  Miftah spluttered, “How vare you? You have no vight to vay such a ving. We all vork.” His words sounded so distorted with the food in his mouth that Layla felt a giggle bubbling up from her throat.

  “Shut your mouth, Miftah,” Ghazala snapped at her cousin. “You sound like a gibbering ape.” Glaring across at the tutor, she said, “Is this how you repay our hospitality?”

  “You insulted me,” said Mrs. Haddad. “You have no respect for my dignity. All your self-righteous act is just for show. You all make a fuss and pretend as if you care for your cousin. But your crocodile tears don’
t fool me in the least. You’re hoping the old man will croak soon so you can get your hands on his money.”

  Miftah made a choked sound and grabbed for a glass of water. A heavy frown marred his wife’s sculpted features and she looked at Mrs. Haddad, her lips tight. Everyone else looked uncomfortable, except for Hala. She had a wide smile on her face.

  “Your insults and insinuations will not be tolerated,” Ghazala spat out at Mrs. Haddad. “How dare you make such wicked accusations?”

  “I dare because I only have five weeks left before I’m gone from this cheerless castle,” said Mrs. Haddad. “I’m sure you’re dying to run to the Shaykh and complain about me. Well, I’m ready to pack my bags and leave tomorrow if he wants me gone. I can’t wait to see the back of this place.”

  When Ghazala spoke again, her voice was like ice. “In consideration of the children at the table, I will not respond to your shameful behavior. This conversation is over.”

  Later that evening, the teenagers received an unexpected summons from Shaykh Sulaiman. It was Dhul Fikar, the butler, who came up to their suites to tell them the Shaykh would like to see them. Mystified, they went downstairs and hastened to the Shaykh’s suite. He was seated on a recliner in his sitting room, his feet propped on a stool. He wore a green-striped pajama suit and his color looked a little better. Qais, still clad in his white nursing uniform, sat next to him in an armchair. They were watching the news on the television.

  At their entrance, Qais flicked the remote and the television screen went blank.

  Adam said, “You sent for us, Shaykh Sulaiman?”

  The Shaykh smiled at them. “Yes, I did.” His voice sounded a bit stronger. “How would you like to go to Ghassan City tomorrow?”