Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) by Monique Martin Page B

“Aren’t you coming?”
    Jack grinned, put on his fedora and started after them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    If you sat on the terrace at Shepheard’s Hotel long enough, you could see the world walk by. At least, that’s how the saying went. Judging from the endless parade of everything from men wearing stuffed crocodiles on their heads—for sale, of course—to boys leading tourists balanced precariously on the backs of small donkeys, Elizabeth was inclined to agree. From large pythons wrapped around men’s shoulders like feathered boas, to curiously dressed monkeys, the animal population was almost as diverse as the human one. Peddlers with every imaginable ware walked back and forth in front of Shepheard’s Hotel. Every time an unsuspecting guest left or arrived, they were besieged by offers of hats, fly-switches, picture frames and ostrich feathers.
    Elizabeth sat back in her chair and enjoyed the spectacle as they waited for Whiteside to arrive. The large front terrace was elevated from the street by about six feet, so the guests could watch the pageant without being unduly bothered by it.
    She sipped her tea, grateful for the caffeine. She and Simon had been awakened before dawn by the Muslim call to prayer. Some time around 5:00 a.m., the loud, undulating call roused them from a sound sleep. Simon rolled over, but Elizabeth padded over to the window. In the distance she could see the silhouette of a muezzin standing at the top of a minaret reciting the call to prayer to the sleeping city. She could almost make out the sound of others, just a bit farther away standing atop the many minarets that dotted the city’s skyline. It would take some getting used to, but considering the call came five times a day, she was sure it would seem a normal part of every day before long.
    But for now, she was a little on the sleepy side and tried to hide her yawn behind her hand.
    Simon smiled slyly. He’d done his part to keep her up late last night. She shook her head, amused, and he went back to reading his copy of the Egyptian Gazette, one of the two major English language newspapers available.
    Elizabeth was just contemplating another cup of tea or maybe some Turkish coffee, or would that be Egyptian coffee here, when she saw Whiteside step out onto the terrace.
    She waved and they met him at the top of the wide staircase leading down to the street. Whiteside gripped his cane as they headed down the stairs and into the gauntlet of hucksters, beggars and tradesmen. As soon as their feet hit the bottom stair, they were surrounded on all sides. Despite Simon’s barked commands and Whiteside’s pleas, the men were unrelenting, each shouting louder than the next to be heard over the din.
    Elizabeth and Simon were shuffling their way through the crowd and toward a waiting carriage when she felt a hand slip into hers. She turned to look, expecting a child, only to find a baboon grinning up at her. She gasped in shock. At least she hoped that was a grin.
    “What’s wrong?” Simon asked.
    Elizabeth didn’t want to scare the animal and so she remained frozen in place, it’s hand lightly holding hers. It sat on its haunches grinning up at her, baring his teeth in a frightening smile. His owner said something in excited Arabic and gestured toward her. No doubt he wanted a baksheesh, a sort of gratuity, for the experience.
    “Oh dear,” exclaimed Whiteside. “Filthy creatures.”
    Simon was about to step forward when a voice rang out from the crowd. It was commanding and seemed to be berating the baboon owner, who gently pulled his animal away and disappeared into the throng. Elizabeth looked over to see her savior.
    “Hassan!”
    She stepped forward and hugged him, before realizing how inappropriate that was.
    His broad grin was a welcome sight. “Mister Cross. Miss Elizabeth. It is good to see you both.”
    Simon stuck out his hand and shook Hassan’s heartily. “It is good to see you, my friend.”
    “We were worried about