HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 1998
Copyright © Michael Pearce 1998
Michael Pearce asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters
and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780008259495
Ebook Edition © JULY 2012 ISBN: 9780007400300
Version: 2017-09-05
‘This series continues to be the most delightful in current detective fiction’
Gerald Kaufman, Scotsman
‘Pearce … takes apart ancient history and reassembles it with beguiling wit and colour’
Sunday Times
‘Irresistible fun’
Time Out
‘The Mamur Zapt’s sly, irreverent humour continues to refresh the parts others seldom reach’
Observer
Contents
‘It will be for the last time,’ said Garvin, the Commandant of Police.
‘It seems a pity,’ said the Kadi’s representative, ‘after a thousand years.’
‘Oh, more than that,’ said McPhee, the Deputy Commandant. ‘The rites almost certainly antedate the Arab invasion. The ancient Egyptians –’
‘Yes, well, thank you,’ said Garvin. ‘That all?’
‘There’s the question of the gravediggers,’ said the young man from the Consulate.
‘Gravediggers?’
‘Yes. The ones who actually make the cut. It’s either the Muslim gravediggers or the Jews. This year it’s the Jews.’
‘Well, then –’
‘Yes, but it falls on their Sabbath this year.’
‘Okay, let the Muslim gravediggers do it, then.’
‘They won’t like that!’
‘The Muslims?’
‘No, the Jews. It’s their turn.’
‘Yes, but they won’t do it on the Sabbath, I thought you said?’
‘Well, they will do it if they’re told to. And if they get paid extra.’
There was a little silence.
‘I suppose I could get the Old Man to talk to the Finance Department.’
‘And I could get the Kadi to talk to the Khedive and get him to tell them.’
‘That all settled, then? Nothing else?’ asked Garvin. ‘Right, Mamur Zapt, the rest is up to you.’
As they got up from the table, McPhee said:
‘They used to sacrifice a maiden, you know.’
‘Nonsense!’ said the Kadi’s representative. ‘That’s just a myth. Anyway, it was the Christians.’
‘That’s a myth, too,’ said the representative of the Copts hastily. ‘You can’t blame it on us. The Canal wasn’t built till the Arabs came.’
‘The rite may be older,’ said McPhee. ‘It almost certainly dates back to the Pharaohs.’
‘Let’s blame them, then,’ said the young man from the Consulate, picking up his papers. ‘At