The GoldenCity

After stopping at a gas station, they left the beach resorts and headed inland toward a range of grey mountains. The cliffs and hills around them were eroded by the wind, and sand covered portions of the two-lane road. Simon was dozing now, but Gabriel sensed that something was wrong. Linden adjusted the rearview mirror a second time and then his hand brushed against one of the knives strapped to his lower legs.

“Stop the car,” he said.

The driver looked startled. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“Stop the car. Now.”

“We are about thirty minutes away from the monastery.”

“I want to contemplate le paysage.”

The driver turned off the road and parked on sandy patch of ground. Linden grabbed his knapsack with one hand and glanced over the seat at Gabriel and Simon. “All of us want to look at the scenery,” he announced. “Let’s go.”

The two men followed Linden up a hill covered with desert vegetation. It was hot and dry on the ridge and there were no shade trees to protect them from the sun.

“I enjoy looking at a picturesque landscape,” Lumbroso said. “But this scrap of desert is not particularly impressive.”

“We might have a problem.” Linden reached into the knapsack and pulled out a pair of binoculars. “A silver pickup truck has followed us for about ten kilometers. I want to know if they made the same turn.”

Simon and Gabriel stood quietly as the Frenchman studied the road.

“See anything?” Simon asked.

“No.”

“Good,” Gabriel said. “Let’s get back in the car.”

Linden lowered the binoculars, but he didn’t hike back down the hill. He was larger than Gabriel and armed with two ceramic knives. Like most Harlequins, he displayed a certain arrogance about his power.

“I think this expedition is a foolish idea. There is only one road to the monastery, and that will be guarded by several police and army roadblocks. Most people come here in a tour bus. Arriving in a car is going to attract attention.”

“There’s no way around that,” Gabriel said.

Linden didn’t bother to hide his disdain. “First we have to find this secret chapel and then we have to get inside. And then what happens?”

“It sounds like you’re going to tell us,” Gabriel said.

“Then you cross over to the most dangerous realm. And maybe you can find Maya and maybe you cannot because she is already dead.”

“She isn’t dead,” Gabriel said.

“Maya would not want you to risk your life for her. There is only one logical plan. If we find an access point in the chapel, then I will be the one to cross over.”

“You’ve never been to the First Realm.” Gabriel said. “I know the city.”

Linden turned to Simon Lumbroso. “Explain why this is the correct decision.”

Simon raised both hands. “Please. I am not part of this argument.”

Gabriel stood on the ridge, trying to figure what to say. He couldn’t use the word “love.” That was a meaningless emotion for a man like Linden. “Maya went there to save me. I feel the same obligation.”

“Travelers don’t have obligations to Harlequins!”

“I’m going to the monastery, Linden. And when I find the access point, I’m crossing over on my own. If you don’t want to be part of this, I’ll tell the driver to take you back to Cairo.”

Gabriel trudged back down the hill to the car and Simon followed. A few minutes later Linden climbed back in the car, slamming the door shut. All three men stayed silent for the rest of the journey. The Egyptian driver seemed to realize that his passengers had argued. He kept glancing at Linden as if the Frenchman was about to explode.

The road followed a dry riverbed up a canyon. They passed through one guard post, and then another. The final checkpoint was run by a bored group of police officers who were sipping tea and smoking from a hookah. Tour buses were parked a hundred yards up the road; they had their engines on and their air conditioners running.

“Most of the tourists come here at two o’clock in the morning to climb Mount Sinai,” the driver explained. “If they’re too fat to walk, the Bedouin carry them up the trail on camels.”

The monastery guesthouse was a complex of white buildings with a terrace shaded with Italian cypress and olive trees. The guesthouse manager checked them in while a teenage boy with a crippled leg carried their luggage to their rooms. The flushed-face tourists who had just returned from their climb were sitting on the terrace next to the guestroom gift shop and restaurant.

“Go to the church and look for the hidden chapel,” Linden told Gabriel and Simon. “I will talk to the abbot and see if I can establish a financial rapport.”

As Gabriel and Simon followed a stone walkway up to the monastery, they could see two Bedouins helping an elderly man off a camel while tourists hiked down a switchback trail. “Many years ago, my brother climbed this mountain,” Simon said. “There were Bedouin all the way up, selling bottled water and candy bars. The price gets higher the closer you get to the Holy Chapel.”