Page 12 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)

M ustafa appeared just as happy to see Melody as she was to see him.

When they first met Mustafa in the Medina in Casablanca, he had been wearing the traditional djellaba robe.

Now, he was dressed like any middle-class Dutch boy of his age.

Although his dark hair and skin made him stand out somewhat to anyone paying attention, overall, he resembled any well-fed, happy child.

Given how skinny and hungry Mustafa had been when they first encountered him, it warmed Melody’s heart to see the boy looking so content.

“Lalla Melody, I like Amsterdam very much. I like the canals and I very much like the Stroopwafels,” Mustafa said, referring to the two thin waffle discs filled with a warm, spiced syrup sold by street vendors.

Melody smiled; at times, the streetwise Mustafa seemed much older than his eight years, but this was one of those moments when his chatter resembled that of any eager child his age.

And Alessandro had been right about Mustafa’s knowledge of the streets of Amsterdam.

Whether it was because he did have a remarkably retentive visual memory, or just a good sense of direction, his knowledge of how to return to the hotel was more useful than Melody would ever have admitted.

Despite her irritation at Alessandro’s suggestion that she needed protecting and that a child would do a better job than she could on her own, his point was valid: what if her supposed footpad tried again? This led Melody to ponder who might have been watching and following her.

While she would never acknowledge as much to Alessandro or Rat, Melody realised she had been rather oblivious to the people around her since their arrival in Amsterdam.

Everything about their trip to Morocco had been so fraught, and it had been wonderful to relax a little. Perhaps she had relaxed too much.

As she and Mustafa ambled along, the child continued to chatter with little need for a response, and Melody retraced her steps from that day.

She had gone down to the lobby and asked Robert where she might read newspaper archives.

As she relived the conversation, Melody realised she had not tried to be discreet and hadn’t even lowered her voice during their exchange; anyone could have overheard where she was going and why.

Then, she had been so preoccupied with following Robert’s directions that someone might have followed right behind her without her noticing.

At the library, she had only lowered her voice because it was the social norm in such places.

However, she hadn’t taken particular care to consider who might be around when she requested the periodicals she wished to see.

She had been sitting at the table in the library, reading and making notes, entirely oblivious to her surroundings. After all, Miss Edwards had sneaked up on her without Melody realising.

Glumly, Melody acknowledged to herself that someone could have been following and observing her all day and she wouldn’t have known. Now, she glanced around; was she being followed now?

Melody leaned down and said in a low voice to Mustafa, “Let me know if you see anyone suspicious or think we might have someone following us.”

The boy was much more attuned to the need for discretion than she had been all day and offered nothing more than a quick nod in reply.

Whether she was being followed or not, there were no further incidents during their walk to the hotel.

Melody and Mustafa made their way through the lobby to the lift.

It wasn’t until the door had closed and the operator asked her which floor she wanted that it occurred to Melody that Rat might not have returned from his outing with Miss Edwards yet.

With Mustafa by her side, Melody knocked on Rat’s door and was relieved when he opened it.

He was clearly surprised to see Mustafa, but did not comment.

Instead, he stepped aside to allow them to enter his room.

Rat only had two armchairs in his room, so Mustafa perched on the bed.

Melody explained everything since she had left the hotel earlier for the library.

When she reached the part of her story where she encountered Jemima Edwards, Melody’s eyes flickered up to her brother’s face.

She wanted to know how their outing to the cafe had gone, but there were more important matters to discuss.

Melody then described leaving the library and being attacked on the street.

“Melody! Are you alright? Why did you not lead with that part of the story?” Rat demanded in a panic.

“Because I’m absolutely fine.” She raised her hands so Rat could see her palms. “This is the worst of it. And that I’ve now lost one of my favourite and most practical bags.

But let me tell you the rest of it.” She then explained how she had found the piece of paper in her pocket while she was with Alessandro.

Pulling the paper out of her jacket pocket, Melody handed it over. “Alessandro believes it might be the cypher key.”

Rat took the paper and stared at it intently.

“I think he is right. I spent so long looking at that piece of a manifest earlier, that I don’t even need to get it now to know how to decrypt it.

Nootmuskaat. 62 zakken. ZKL-3. Huis Jansen.

That’s what the piece of paper said.” Rat stood and went to fetch a notebook and a pencil, then returned to the armchair.

Melody and Mustafa sat in silence while Rat scribbled away on the paper.

Eventually, Rat looked up and said, “So, as we already knew, this was only part of the manifest, so it isn’t the entire message.

However, there seems little doubt that the paper you found in your pocket is the key.

The scrap of manifest we have has a date, and a name, Van Rhijn. It also mentions anarchists.”

“What is the date?” Melody asked. When Rat told her it was the sixth of February, she said, “I know I saw something on that date. I wrote it in the notebook that was stolen. Think, think. What was it?”

Melody stood up and began pacing the room as she cast her mind back. Suddenly, she stopped and slapped her leg. “I know what it was. There was a warehouse fire that was blamed on Jewish dockworkers.”

“I assume Mustafa accompanied you back so that he could report to Alessandro?” Rat asked. When Melody nodded, he turned to the boy and said, “Given what happened to Lalla Melody earlier, I don’t want to give you a note. Can you remember what I tell you, Mustafa?”

“Yes, Sidi Matthew. Mustafa has an excellent memory.”

“Excellent. Then I want you to tell him this: that the paper is the key and I have been able to decode the scrap of manifest. Then, I want you to tell him that I will be going to the docks tomorrow, posing as an itinerant worker to see what else I can learn.”

At this, Melody’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she held her tongue until the boy had left. Rat had Mustafa repeat the message back and then sent the boy on his way.

When they were alone, Melody asked, “Are you sure about this? How do you even know you will be taken on at the docks?”

“I know that they do take on foreigners quite regularly. This is an international port; it isn’t necessary to speak Dutch, particularly for manual labour. The bigger question is what I should wear.”

“Do you still have the clothes you wore that night we broke into the Giardini Della Biennale in Venice?” Melody asked.

“Yes. That’s a good idea. They’re certainly the roughest-looking clothes I have with me.”

“And I think that, with Mary’s help, we can make them look even worse. She could sew a few patches on and help us rough up the trousers a little. From what I remember, you wore a pair of old, scuffed soft-soled leather boots. Those should be perfect.

“And I still have the old flat cap I wore that night. That has to look like the kind of thing a man seeking work would own.”

Rat went to dig out these clothes, and Melody went to her room to find Mary and ask her to return with her to assist with the costume.

An hour later, Rat stood before them in his lightweight black suit, which now had some patches and a worn spot on the knee that looked as though it might need a patch any day now. He wore his old boots and the flat cap.

“If I might mention it, Mr Sandworth, but your fingernails are far too clean and well-groomed,” Mary observed. “To say nothing of your lack of calluses.”

Rat looked at his hands. Mary was right, of course. “Well, there isn’t much I can do to get calluses, but I can chew my fingernails down and ensure my hands are as dirty as possible tomorrow. Thank you, Mary. That was an astute observation. Is there anything else?”

Mary blushed. She wasn’t accustomed to being the centre of attention. “I have a handkerchief that I think would make a good neckerchief for you. And those gloves are in far too good a condition.”

Rat picked them up off the table. “They’re all I have. What do you suggest?”

“Leave them with me, Mr Sandworth. I’ll have them looking years old and more worn in no time.”

“You’re a marvel, Mary. Thank you.”

And with that, a costume and at least the beginning of a plan were in place.

Melody would have insisted on accompanying her brother to the docks if there had been any point. However, even she couldn’t think of an appropriate disguise for her to take on for Rat’s outing the following day. Instead, she took comfort in ensuring his costume was believable.