23
DIN
The City of the Dead was like something out of a fever dream. What had begun a long time ago as Cairo's historic cemetery had evolved into a sprawling necropolis where the living made their homes among the dead. Mausoleums served as houses, tomb courtyards became living rooms, and ancient crypts had been converted into shops and workshops.
The juxtaposition was surreal.
Laundry lines were strung between centuries-old headstones, satellite dishes were mounted on Ottoman-era tombs, and children were playing football, the proper one, in what had once been sacred burial grounds.
Ahmed looked like he was about to pop a vein. "This place is not good for outsiders."
Din couldn't fault the guy for his succinct assessment. The narrow alleys between the tombs created a maze that seemed purposely designed to disorient visitors. The morning sun barely penetrated here, blocked by improvised roofs and awnings thathad been constructed over the centuries. The air was thick with dust, cooking smoke, rotting garbage, and the underlying mustiness of ancient stone.
"It's like a city within a city." Fenella's eyes darted around. "How many people live here?"
"Half a million, give or take." Kalugal consulted a hand-drawn map. "Some families have been living here for generations. They're born here, live here, die here, and are buried here. The cycle continues."
A group of children appeared from behind a crumbling wall, hands outstretched, voices raised in a chorus of pleas for money. Ahmed shooed them away with sharp words in Arabic, but they simply retreated to a safe distance and continued following their group.
"Should we give them something?" Jasmine glanced at their escort of ragamuffin children.
"No," Ahmed said firmly. "Give to one, and hundreds will come."
The security team, which Kalugal had beefed up for today's excursions, formed a protective box around them as they pressed on.
Locals watched them pass, some with curiosity, others with suspicion, a few with barely concealed hostility. Foreigners weren't welcome here, especially those who didn't give money to the begging children.
Still, Din trusted Ahmed's experience that giving them money would only make things worse.
"This way," Kalugal directed, studying his map. "The workshop should be in the older section, near the Mamluk tombs."
The architecture, if one could call it that, changed as they moved deeper into the cemetery. The newer additions gave way to ancient structures, some dating back to the medieval period. These tombs were more elaborate, with carved stone façades and ornate Islamic calligraphy that had survived centuries of weather and neglect.
"How does anyone find anything here?" Max grumbled, sidestepping a pile of garbage that had been dumped in front of a fifteenth-century tomb. "It's worse than the bazaar."
"That's probably why the carver likes this place," Din said. "If you wanted to hide, this would be perfect. You don't have an official address, so there is no government oversight. You're a ghost."
An elderly woman sat in the doorway of a converted mausoleum, watching them with sharp eyes as she sorted through a pile of electronic components. The incongruity of ancient stone and modern circuit boards perfectly captured the strange reality of this place.
"We need to turn left at the tomb with the blue door." Kalugal held the map up, comparing what had been hand-drawn to what was in front of their eyes.
Eventually, they found the door, but it was more by chance than by what was on the crude map.
It was a Fatimid-era tomb whose entrance had been fitted with a bright blue metal door that appeared to have been salvaged from elsewhere. Beyond it, the alley narrowed even further, forcing them to walk in single file.
"I don't like this," Max muttered. "Too confined. No escape routes."
Din silently agreed. The walls pressed in on either side, and the only way out was forward or back the way they'd come. They could easily get boxed in and robbed.
Well, not easily. They had a formidable compeller who could redirect any would-be attacker.
Ell-rom didn't seem worried, though, and Din wondered whether he was just a stoic male or if he was hiding unparalleled fighting abilities. After all, he was no ordinary hybrid. He was half god, half Kra-ell, royal on both sides.
Powerful blood circulated in his veins.
Kyra stopped, her hand going to the amber pendant at her throat. "I feel something." She closed her eyes. "We are getting closer." She opened them. "That's all I got." She turned to Jasmine. "Maybe you can find out more."
"We need to get to an intersection," Kalugal said. "It will be pointless to do it here."
