Alexandria

XXVIII

I had no weapons. Who goes into a seat of learning armed to the teeth? All you expect to need are knowledge, clarity and the gift of irony.

I managed to pick up a couple of oil lamps; their glimmer hardly lit the shadows and probably drew attention to me. I stood listening. The animals had ceased to trumpet, though I heard restless movements in their various enclosures and cages. Something had definitely disturbed them. They were listening too. They may have had a better idea of what had happened – or what could still happen, but with me doing the shouting – than I did. Like me, the agitated creatures all sounded certain they did not like the situation.

I thought I heard a long rustle, close to me amongst nearby shrubs. I turned, but could see nothing. A purist might say I should have gone in among the foliage to investigate, but believe me, nobody with any imagination would.

I started to explore the deserted paths. Everywhere lay in darkness. My lamps created a tiny circle of gloom. Beyond it, the blackness seemed all the more threatening. Part of the zoo's benign regime for the animals was to let the precious creatures have their natural amount of sleep. Not tonight, though. As time passed I could still hear them, awake and all apparently watching my progress. Or watching out for something else.

The largest zoo in the world was indeed spectacularly big. Searching took ages. I forced myself to examine each area as best I could, in a hurry, in the dark. Whatever I was looking for, I knew would be obvious once I came across it. Those terrible shrieks had not been tipsy students larking about. Somebody had suffered terribly. Horror was still rippling along these deserted pathways with the wind that hoarded dust into patches like puddles against the raised kerbs. I thought I could smell blood.

And still I fancied I could hear something behind me, stalking. Every time I whipped around, the noise stopped. If this was Rome, I would walk casually around a corner and lie in wait, holding my knife ready. No; if I had been on a street, let's be honest, I would have nipped into the nearest bar and hoped the fear would go away while I downed a beaker.

I had no knife this evening. There was no handy street corner and no bar. What I did find, quite suddenly, was half a dead goat.

It was lying on the path. It had been butchered – skinned and beheaded. The bisection was neat. There was a long rope tied around the half-carcass, stretched out along the path as though someone had towed the meat from a very safe distance. The bloody lure lay close beside a gate. That was damaged and stood wide open. The gate was supposed to close off the fencing where my two little girls had clambered, when they were trying to see down into the deep pit where Sobek, the crocodile, lived. Just inside the broken gate a long earthen ramp started, which gave the keepers access to him. At the bottom there was probably another gate. I felt sure now that if I went right down the ramp I would find that open too.

I did not bother. I knew the crocodile was not at home. He had left his compound. Sobek was now out here with me.