That Devil's Madness by Dominique Wilson Read Free Book Online

mysterious to Louis. European-style houses five storeys high mingled with lofty domes and graceful minarets, whilst narrow winding streets climbed to the centre of town where they joined newer, wider avenues built by conquerors. The town was built in the shape of a triangle, with the Casbah a clutter of whitewashed houses surrounded by a wall at its apex. To the north, hills rose to a height of about five hundred metres, forming a background to the city and providing a lush green contrast to the whiteness of the town.
    â€˜ Cirer, m’sieur, cirer?’ The small bootblack pushed his tin of pungent yellow paste towards Marius’ face. ‘Mine’s the best, m’sieur. I polish your shoes?’
    Marius shook his head and gently pushed the urchin away. Though no more than six years old, the boy glared at Marius then spat at his feet before joining another bootblack sitting on the footpath. Together they began hitting their brushes on top of their boxes – short sharp rhythmic taps.
    â€˜Why are they doing that, Father?’ Louis squinted in the bright morning light; it felt strange to be on solid ground once more.
    â€˜It’s to draw people’s attention; they need the work. But come, this way…’ Marius led Louis up a steep flight of stone steps to the main part of town.
    All around people hurried – the dark sombre clothes of Europeans contrasting the white burnooses of Arabs and the colourful costumes of the Turks. Corseted women in leg-o-mutton sleeves, dark-eyed Moresques in loose flowing robes. The city swarmed with soldiers – French soldiers in their blue uniforms, Legionnaires in khaki with protective neck-curtains attached to their kepis, and fearsome Zouaves in short blue jackets with contrasting braiding, bright red pantaloons and wide sashes around their waists.
    From the upper platform of a minaret a Muezzin called the faithful to prayer, whilst in the alley next to the mosque a small black-haired boy offered his sister by the hour. And everywhere, dark-skinned barefooted children hustled and begged and stole, then disappeared into the crowd once more.
    They arrived at the small butcher shop that had been recommended to Marius, whose owner rented out the room above at a very reasonable price. The smells of raw meat and offal turned Louis’ stomach, and he leaned against Marius when they climbed the stairs to their room.
    â€˜You’re don’t look well,’ Marius said when he noticed the light film of perspiration on Louis’ forehead, the pallor of his skin. ‘Does it hurt anywhere?’ Louis shook his head. ‘Hmm… Well, I don’t think you have a fever. Just overtired, I’d imagine, but you better get to bed, just in case. I must go see about our land. Sleep, if you can; I can’t have you sick.’ He put his duffle bag under the bed, patted his pocket to make sure his money-pouch was still there, and left with a nod in Louis’ direction.
    #
    Louis lay on the bed, but he found the room still swayed to the rhythm of the waves. The smells of the butcher shop drifted through the wooden floorboards so he rose and opened the window wide, letting in a warm breeze smelling of oranges and cumin.
    He sat back on the bed and looked around at the sparse furnishings. The bed was small for a double bed, but the mattress felt comfortable under a bedspread embroidered with cabbage roses, and there were two feather pillows. Next to the bed, under the window, was a small table on which stood a carafe of water and one glass. There were no chairs. A small gentleman’s wardrobe stood against the opposite wall, and beside it a framed portrait of Napoleon hung on the wall. Louis opened the wardrobe – two wooden coat hangers, and in a corner, a lady’s parasol.
    It was made of a soft yellow material, such as he had never seen before, and woven with a pattern of small garlands of spring flowers above which butterflies