“May the dogs bite the heart of thine enemies! What is thy name?” said Ismail.
“Rekab, so God wills, Highness.”
“Thine occupation?”
“I am a poor scribe, Highness,” answered Dicky with a dangerous humour, though he had seen a look in the Khedive’s face which boded only safety.
“I have need of scribes. Get you to the Palace of Abdin, and wait upon me at sunset after prayers,” said Ismail.
“I am the slave of your Highness. Peace be on thee, O Prince of the Faithful!”
“A moment, Mahommed. Hast thou wife or child?”
“None, Highness.”
“Nor kith nor kin?” Ismail’s smile was grim.
“They be far away, beyond the blessed rule of your Highness.”