Huda scurried after her and found a side door to the inn slightly ajar. Bullets had left one corner of the iron door cratered as the moon, but never managed to fully penetrate the ancient metal. Huda climbed the steps and peeked inside. The musty smell of mold scratched at her nose. She glanced back at the busy stalls. A vendor had dressed six mannequins in rainbow-colored housecoats. They were lined up against a wall like they were waiting for a firing squad.

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

Inside the Khan Murjan, Rania stood with her back to the old metal door and waited for her eyes to adjust to the muted light. Somewhere, water dripped against stone. The sound echoed like a heartbeat through the great arches that formed the ribs of the old inn. She crept toward the cathedral-like central chamber, where columns of dust swirled below ancient skylights. The lights seemed to form a pattern, like the star charts used by travelers who once stopped here on their way to Mecca.

“You’re late.” A man stepped from the gloom. Rania wondered how long he’d been there, watching her. “You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

“We didn’t have much time.” Rania did her best to appear unruffled, but she could hear the tremor in her voice. “And the crowds are thick today.”

“She’s right,” said Huda. Rania startled as the woman slipped in behind her. A memory flashed through her mind, of a small girl stalking a grebe at the edge of a fast-slowing stream. Even when the bird was in Huda’s hand, it barely registered what had happened. It seemed she’d lost none of her stealth.

“Even if your messenger delivered us on Aladdin’s carpet,” said Huda, “we would have struggled to make it on time.”

Rania bit back a smile. Huda had kept her quick tongue too.

The man drew closer. He was short in stature, with thick, bristly hair. Despite being magnified by black-rimmed spectacles, his eyes were small and squinty, reminding Rania of a mole emerging from its burrow.

“Well, you’re here now.” He waved them toward a tall staircase. “So let’s carry on.”

Rania felt a twist of self-loathing. No timid mole would have the courage to be here, in defiance of the regime. He led them to a balcony ringing the second floor, then paused near a low door set in a brick alcove. Scores of identical alcoves ran along the perimeter of the Khan Murjan, leading to dormitories that once sheltered travelers and students at the nearby mosque.

“You look familiar,” said Rania. “Have we met before?”

“For obvious reasons, I try to avoid giving out personal details. I usually ask people to call me Kareem.” He paused, his eyes probing hers. “But I believe you once knew my brother.”

“You don’t mean . . .” Rania peered at him. Those eyes. That hair. “You’re not Ahmed’s brother, are you?”

He nodded soberly. Rania bent her head.