The Torch of Tangier Read Online Free PDF

Drury had given Suzannah a hidden signal, but what the signal was, or why he sent it to her, Lily couldn’t tell.
    “Who is she, really?” Lily asked.
    Drury was watching Suzannah. “Who?” He smiled and gave Suzannah an almost imperceptible nod.
    “Never mind,” Lily said. She had remembered where she had seen Suzannah before.

Chapter Five
    The first time Lily saw Suzannah was on Cape Spartel, outside the Caves of Hercules. Suzannah was a passenger in one of the taxis that had come from town on a sightseeing excursion to the caves.
    It was a windy day, just after noon. Zaid had been sifting soil from the trench through a rocker screen on the apron of the cave, looking for small finds—teeth, bone fragments, pieces of debitage and small tools. That day he wore turquoise pantaloons and a red sash, his head wrapped with a bright yellow turban. A sudden gust came up from the Strait and blew a cloud of dust into Zaid’s face.
    He let out a howl and covered his eye.
    MacAlistair ran out of the cave. “Don’t rub it,” MacAlistair called and rushed to Zaid. Tariq was ahead of him, already looking into Zaid’s eye. Tariq rolled back the lid and licked the eyeball with his tongue.
    “Stop that,” MacAlistair shouted.
    Tears from Zaid’s reddened eye cut a track through the dust on his face as they streamed down his cheek. He clapped his handkerchief to his eye again.
    “You need a doctor,” MacAlistair said, and scanned the line of taxis parked on the path up to the caves. “Maybe one of the tourists can take you to town.”
    MacAlistair started down the path, wheezing slightly. Lily followed. Before he was halfway, he stopped, gasping, and leaned against the cliff face.
    “Your asthma again,” Zaid said. “Rest awhile.”
    Lily took MacAlistair’s arm. “Asthma” was one of the euphemisms they tacitly agreed on. Sometimes it was “bronchitis,” sometimes “your respiratory problem.”
    Zaid shook his head and grimaced. “We’re a walking hospital.”
    The cloth clasped to his eye, Zaid started down the path alone and approached a taxi about to pull away. He addressed the French passengers, speaking in his best French, with only a slight North African accent. The woman passenger backed away and started to roll up the window.
    Zaid told them he had suffered an accident, needed a ride back to town to see a doctor, and asked if he could share their taxi. He offered to pay.
    The woman screamed. The man shook his fist and shouted, “Get away from her, you filthy Arab. Va t’en ! Come any closer and I’ll club you.”
    Zaid turned pale and clenched his fingers. Before he could answer, Suzannah stepped out of one of the parked taxis. A young Spaniard in the back seat tried to pull her back by her skirt.
    “You will come with us, Zaid.” Suzannah cooed at Zaid as if he were a bird. “We will carry you to a physician.” The Spaniard shook his head in dismay.
    Above them on the slope, the wind caught the pile of dust from the rocker screen and swirled it around. A paroxysm of coughing seized MacAlistair. His shoulders heaved.
    Suzannah watched as MacAlistair covered his mouth with a handkerchief, drew it away and stared into it, his body convulsing for breath.
    “I will carry you both to the physician,” she said.
    Zaid started back up the path. He reached for the trembling MacAlistair with his free hand, his other hand shielding his eye with the cloth.
    “Step carefully,” he said.
    With Lily on one side of MacAlistair and Zaid on the other, they stumbled from boulder to boulder.
    “Look at them,” Suzannah said to the young Spaniard. “It is the blind leading the halt.” The young man in the taxi gave a helpless shrug and sat back. “I must fetch my friends, querido, ” Suzannah said to the Spaniard. “ Espere aqui . Stay here.”
    Suzannah reached for Zaid’s arm. Two by two—Suzannah with Zaid and Lily with MacAlistair—the four of them made their way down the rocky path to the waiting