City of Jasmine by Deanna Raybourn Read Free Book Online Page B

brilliant. Gabriel had loved me in green for that very reason. I hadn’t worn it since his death, but in that crowded little treasure trove of a shop, I did not let that stop me. I signalled to the merchant that I would take a length of it, and I threw in a length of white patterned on white, as well. Rashid nodded his satisfaction at the price and told the fellow to send them along to the hotel when they were parceled up.
    When we emerged into the sunlight, I felt a little dazed after so much time in the dim shop and so many glasses of sweet tea. We walked slowly so that I could enjoy the shop fronts, and I sighed over one piled high with gorgeous confectionery.
    “All things shall be as the sitt wishes,” he said. He darted into the shop, my stalwart cavalier in a striped robe. I moved on to the next window wondering if Rashid were going to present a problem. He had been sweetly authoritative, but the last thing I needed was a boy following me about like a hound puppy. A wiser woman might have paid off Rashid and let him go at the end of the day, but it occurred to me he was a stellar dragoman and seemed to know everyone and everything about the city. It was just possible he might be able to help me stumble onto some clue to Gabriel’s whereabouts.
    Rashid returned quickly, wearing a satisfied expression. He reached into his robe and pulled out a paper parcel, opening it to reveal a slab of pistachio toffee layered with crushed, sweetened rose petals. “For you, sitt. That you may know fully the sweetness of Damascus.”
    “How lovely. Thank you, Rashid.” I broke a piece free and nibbled a little off one corner. “Oh, that is sublime!”
    He made a grave bow. “Now I think we shall go to the Great Mosque.”
    He led the way while I walked slowly, eating my rose-scented toffee. The Great Mosque was the centrepiece of Damascus, the most recognisable landmark in the whole city, and while we made our way there, Rashid gave me a brief history lesson.
    “The Umayyad mosque is the Great Mosque of Damascus, sitt, and one of the largest and oldest in the whole world. There has been a holy place in this spot for more than three thousand years. First, the pagan gods of which your Bible speaks. Then the Romans built a temple, and after that the Christians made a church here. But after this came the Umayyads, the great caliphs of this land. They were architects and poets. They settled the nomadic tribes here and built the city as it stands today—magnificent!” At this he threw his arms wide to encompass the whole of the dome that shimmered in front of us. “And it is the fourth-holiest place to the followers of the Prophet, peace be unto him.”
    As it happened, showing the proper respect meant draping myself with the shapeless black robe and head covering that Rashid rented for me at the door. The garments were tolerable, although I suspected they’d be suffocating to wear on a hot day. I could not imagine how the Arab women tolerated the beastly things, but as I looked around at the dozens of women similarly attired, I suddenly understood their compliance. The veil had been ordered by men to protect female chastity—a sensible precaution since their honour was dependent upon their womenfolk not getting up to mischief—but women had found certain advantages to the arrangement. To begin with, once veiled, a woman was virtually impossible to distinguish from any other. Oh, certainly, one could judge the colour and shape of the eyes, and perhaps learn something from the hands, but it would take a keen eye to pick out a familiar shape under the enveloping yards of black fabric. There was something almost anonymous about wearing the veil.
    But it still seemed a small consolation for walking around in a shroud, I grumbled to Rashid. He said something about eunuchs then, but I could scarcely hear for the veil covering my ears, and by then we had reached the shrine of John the Baptist. It was a small chapel, really, with