The Serpent's Daughter by Suzanne Arruda Read Free Book Online Page B

The stork nesting above her clacked its thick beak in alarm and flapped away. Jade gulped in the fresher air, not minding the smell of rat urine and stork droppings. I’m out. Away from that body and those voices. That’s when she remembered the body. She hadn’t seen or tripped over it on her way out. It was gone. So was her guide. Only the Little Owl remained, ruffling his rufus-red feathers. He opened his beak wide and, after a few convulsive twitches, regurgitated the pellet from last night’s meal; then hunkered down for the day.
    Jade stepped back as the owl pellet plopped at her feet and cracked apart against a stone. From inside, something golden winked in the light. Jade’s first thought was that a little pack mouse had met his end when he ran out into the night. She reached down and picked up the trinket, a charm shaped like a moon eclipsing the sun. Jade turned it over in her hand and blinked as it flashed sunlight into her still dilated pupils. Sunlight! It was sunset when I went in. Sweet Millard Filmore on a bicycle. How the hell long was I in there?

CHAPTER 4
    Tangier is an international city governed in part by a committee of nations.
Basically, this translates into too many officers and not enough soldiers.
Everyone and yet no one is in charge. Consequently, it’s the perfect place to
conduct illegal activities. One would suspect that every third person
and his cat is a smuggler, and there are a lot of cats in Tangier.
    —The Traveler
    “I TELL YOU, LIEUTENANT GERVAIS, there was a dead man in the tunnels. I saw him.”
    “Of course, Mademoiselle. And what did this supposed dead man look like?”
    “Like he was dead. Monsieur Lieutenant, I have already described this man to you twice.” She stood in the small reception room of the French military post in Azilah, facing the lieutenant who sat at his desk, twirling his pencil. Why, she wondered, did he insist on treating her like some hysterical female? She caught his bemused glance at her clothing and knew why. Her clothes were covered in dirt, old whitewash and a few smudges of what smelled like bat guano. She could only imagine what her face and hair looked like. She could almost hear her mother’s admonishments in her ear. One in particular stood out. You must never show your emotions when dealing with others. It gives the appearance of a lack of control and awards them the upper hand. All right. Time to curb her rising temper if she wanted him to take her seriously.
    “He was dressed like a Moroccan Arab in a long white djellaba with a black sash around his waist and a white turban on his head.”
    “And you say he had a scimitar?” He made a notation in his little book.
    “No. I did not say that. I said he had the scabbard for a small knife tucked in his sash. He wore the knife in his back.”
    Monsieur Gervais ignored her sarcasm. “I see. And how long was this knife?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t pull it out of his back. But the scabbard was about twenty centimeters long.” She held out her hands like a fisherman does to depict the size of the catch.
    “And this man spoke to you?” He held his pencil poised, ready to write.
    Jade scowled. He’s mocking me . “How could he speak to me? I told you he was dead.”
    “But you said he told you to go down one of the tunnel passages?”
    “His arm lay stretched out, pointing down the right-hand passage. But I went down the other branch. I heard voices and thought it might be my mother.”
    “And these voices, Mademoiselle, they were not attached to any people?”
    That’s it! “Monsieur. I’m sure they were, but I didn’t see them. I was hiding. Now, if you don’t care about the dead man, will you at least help me find my mother?”
    The Frenchman closed his little book and pocketed it in his shirt. “Mademoiselle del Cameron,” he said, his voice patronizing, “I’m sure you can now see the bad judgment in an impressionable girl such as yourself wandering alone in such