24991125 | 0914

  Old Cairo River Bazaar | Misr al-Qadima | Free City of Cairo

  30°00′33″ N

  31°14′20″ E

  Morning arrives along the river before it reaches the city.

  The Nile shimmered in the sun.

  Sunrays bouncing off its flow.

  The surface shifts from slate to bronze as the sun clears the low haze.

  Light spreading in slow, patient sheets that catch on hulls, ropes, and the wet edges of stone steps.

  The morning air cool, the night’s breath lingering.

  The smell of the river —old, mineral, faintly sweet— dominates everything else.

  The L’Aurore sat upriver.

  The superyacht reached the city via the man-made canals connecting Memphis to Cairo.

  Her hull reflecting the light with its mirror sheen, white and polished.

  A crew threw a cord to the men upon the docks.

  They looped the cord over anchor.

  Tethering the ship to the docks.

  A tender ripple.

  Sloshing at the waterline.

  Shirley disembarked.

  Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement

  The stone is worn smooth by centuries of use.

  Its edges rounded by feet, carts, and the slow caress of water.

  She dressed casually, in a white sundress and a white-brimmed hat.

  A gossamer silk scarf encircling her neck.

  Her designer shades low over her eyes.

  The scent of lilies and spice drifted from her.

  She paused and looked back.

  Kurt followed.

  Ever practical, he wore a white shirt with rugged jeans.

  His military boots muffling his footsteps.

  He had a bag slung over his shoulder.

  Illeana came last.

  She bared her mid-riff, corded abs, her shirt tied in a stylised knot below her breasts.

  Hot-pants accentuating her curves, with urban boots.

  Her hair was tied in a ponytail peeking out of her cap and she wore reflective shades.

  The men shot her a look as she strode past.

  She gave them a wink.

  Shirley waited for her to catch up.

  Illeana drifted up to her, a half-step out of rhythm.

  Her eyes already moving toward the shore-side stalls.

  She draped an arm over Shirley.

  “Did you sleep, babe?” Illeana asked, grinning.

  “Yes,” Shirley said, giving her an air kiss, “like a baby.”

  Illeana took a long, hard look at her.

  “You ain’t lying,” she said after a moment.

  “What were you expecting?” Shirley said as they strode along.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “I don’t know, some juicy action.” She cooed, “The kind that gets you wet between the thighs.”

  “Girl, it’s not even ten yet!”

  “Babe, you have no idea what’s it’s like,” Illeana leaned in, “bunking with Kurt.”

  “I heard that.” Kurt rumbled, checking his texts.

  “See what I mean?” Illeana said emphatically, “so he didn’t sneak into your room last night?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Shirley said, refusing to elaborate.

  “Are you losing your touch?” Illeana said, concerned.

  “Girl, I can have any men eating out of my hands.” Shirley snorted.

  “But not this one?” Illeana pressed.

  “No.”

  “I’m disappointed.”

  “I’ll be sure to ask you over if it happens,” Shirley replied flatly, rolling her eyes.

  Illeana growled like a cat.

  The river market was already alive.

  Bustling with activities.

  A vibrant gathering.

  Boats crowded the shallows.

  Flat-bottomed cargo skiffs.

  Narrow passenger ferries.

  Private launches with paint peeling at the rails.

  Men unload crates by hand, calling softly to one another, voices rough but unhurried.

  Nets drip onto stone. Ropes creak and snap tight.

  Somewhere, metal taps metal in a steady rhythm of a boatman repairing a cleat.

  Voices filled the air.

  The river absorbs some of it, flattening sharp edges.

  Turning the market’s activity into a layered murmur rather than a clamor.

  The low thrum of generators hums beneath it all, powering stalls that glow faintly even in daylight.

  A drone passes high overhead, small and municipal.

  Its flight went unacknowledged.

  The docks give way to the market in a gradual sprawl rather than a line.

  Canvas awnings stretch out from stone buildings that predate any official zoning.

  The ancient stonework patched and repatched with newer materials available over the decades.

  Plasma generators sat humming next to bio-diesel engines.

  Analogue telephones still lingered upon some store counters.

  Morning light filters through them in pale bands, illuminating hanging wares .

  The slow drift of dust, drifted forth from cracks and hairlines.

  The ground is uneven.

  Slick where water spilled, dry and powdery where it retreated years or decades ago.

  The alluring smell of food.

  Coals burnt within earthen ovens.

  Flatbreads steamed under cloth.

  Oil pops quietly from shallow pans.

  Coffee—dark, bitter, thick—cuts through the air with authority.

  Not brewed to be savored.

  Brewed to be taken.

  To anchor the morning and set the body moving.

  Kurt stopped at the first stall serving and ordered one.

  Merchants arrayed their wares with practiced ease and economic real estate.

  Fruit stacked in artistic and practical pyramidal array.

  Brass trays catching the sun in dull flashes.

  Woven baskets, ceramics, knives laid out with edges carefully turned inward.

  Antiquated and remnants of the Old World sit beside the latest tech without hierarchy. Practicality trumps aesthetics.

  Shirley moves into the market, weaving through the crowd.

  Illeana held on to her hand.

  They latched on to each other through the crowd.

  Kurt was sipping his coffee, seemingly unconcerned.

  Her pace matches the flow, neither rushing nor lingering.

  She touched nothing, only browsing.

  The stalls in their myriad of colors flashed past.

  The sights. The sounds. The scents.

  Food, fruits, spice, accessories and trinkets.

  The sunglasses stay on.

  The scarf fluttered loosely at her shoulders.

  Kurt somehow caught up and stayed close behind them.

  His eyes darted left and right beneath his shades.

  He mapped potential exits, noted blind corners and tracked the movement of hands and faces. He marked the coffee stall with the polished machine that looks out of place.

  He peered into the alleys led toward storage sheds and service lanes.

  Illeana peels off briefly, drawn by color and motion, then loops back towards Shirley.

  She skimmed past the bolts of cloth, jewelleries, ancient LED screens with outdated interfaces. She cast furtive glances sometimes at Kurt and Shirley.

  She caught something.

  “Seems we picked up a tail,” she spoke into the concealed comms.

  Where? Kurt’s voice crackled back softly.

  “On your six.” Illeana said as she stopped briefly to lift a trinket.

  “Suit, tailored, looking straight, kept his eyes on Shirley - too conspicuous.”

  Got him. Kurt said.

  “Leave him alone,” Shirley’s voice came over the comms.

  “He’s one of Soren’s men.”

  “You are on first name basis now?”

  “Illeana, I swear –“

  Why is he tailing us? Kurt cut-in with his question.

  “For our protection.”

  “Our protection?”

  “He told me, offered four of his best men.” Shirley said, “I gave him permission.”

  “You what?” Illeana practically shrieked.

  “Girl, I’m next to you.”

  This is rich. Kurt muttered.

  “I agreed on the explicit condition that his detail stay out of sight.” Shirley said.

  She stopped by a stall and brought a flatbread.

  I suppose there is no harm. Kurt said.

  “How are we supposed to do the actual shopping when we got Soren’ men shadowing us?” Illeana hissed.

  “Come here, girlfriend.” Shirley said as she extended her hand.

  Illeana latched on.

  “What’s this about?” Illeana said.

  “I told him I’m going shopping with my girl,” Shirley smiled, “act like it.”

  “What?!” Illeana said.

  Shirley looked her dead in the eye, “Kiss me.”

  “Eww.” Illeana said, disgusted. “No.”

  “Am I that unattractive?”

  Do it, Frost. Kurt said, his voice flat.

  “No.”

  Shirley pouted.

  “Why did you have to go and make up a story like that?” Illeana said, bewildered.

  “If not, he will offer to accompany me.” Shirley said, “you want that or not?”

  “I thought he is a gentleman?”

  “Yes, the lesbian act will throw him off.”

  Do it, Frost. That’s an order.

  A sliver of amusement.

  “I hate the both of you.” Illeana leaned in.

  “With feelings.” Shirley said as her hands encircled Illeana waist.

  Lower than societal permissible.

  “Watch it.”

  Shirley kissed Illeana full on the mouth.

  Eyes flashed.

  Heads turned.

  They stopped.

  Shirley’s eyes caught one of Fehr’s shadows.

  The man was wide-eyed.

  Shirley smiled.

  She made love to Illeana’s face.

  She tried to recoil.

  Shirley had her hand behind Illeana’s head.

  When they broke, Illeana was out of breath.

  A trail of her saliva dangled between their lips.

  “Ok,” Shirley said as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

  “Let’s go.”

  The man is in shock. Kurt observed.

  “I think they considered that taboo here,” Shirley smiled, pulling Illeana along.

  “Let’s go, into the Bazaar. Meet us at Café al-Nilayn.”

  Acknowledged.

  Shirley pulled Illeana into Khan el-Khalili.