Scorpia Rising

Al-Azhar Street, around the corner from the souk. I’ll give you the address or you can use the sunglasses.”
    “How do I do that?”
    “There’s a miniaturized GPS built into the left lens. You’ll find the switch on the top.” Smithers shut the case. “I’m working on a few other thoughts,” he said, “but that should get you started.” He took out the handkerchief and patted at his face. “Trouble with this country is it’s damnably hot,” he said.
    “I’m going for a swim,” Alex said. “You can come with me, if you like.”
    “No, thank you, old chap. I never swim. I once invented a miniature submarine, but it was pretty hopeless. For a start, I couldn’t fit into it. And floating doesn’t come naturally to me. But you enjoy yourself!” He got up and went over to the door. “Delighted to meet you, Jack. And take care, Alex. I’ll show myself out!”
    Alex and Jack waited until he had gone. Then Jack picked up the sunglasses and examined them. “So that was the famous Mr. Smithers,” she said. “He was completely unbelievable.”
    “You mean . . . his gadgets?”
    “I mean the size of him! But I guess it’s good he’s on your side.” Jack handed Alex the sunglasses and went into the kitchen. “I’ll make some supper,” she said. “And then you’d best be getting an early night. You’ve got to be ready for your first day at school.”

11

    THE NEW BOY

    THE CAIRO INTERNATIONAL College of Arts and Education was only a five-minute walk from the apartment, just as Blakeway had said. When Monday morning finally arrived, Alex set off with the two Australian boys, Craig and Simon, who had offered to deliver him to the main reception. Jack would have liked to have gone too but understood that Alex would feel more comfortable with kids his own age. But she still grabbed hold of him before he went and gave him a quick kiss good-bye.
    “It reminds me of the first time you went to Brookland,” she said.
    And the strange thing was, Alex was aware of the same nervousness that he’d felt when, aged thirteen, he’d left for secondary school. His new uniform—dark blue trousers and light blue polo shirt—felt ridiculous and he had to remind himself that everyone would be wearing the same thing. He guessed it didn’t matter how old you were. These feelings never went away.
    Cairo College even looked a bit like Brookland. It was halfway down a wide, tree-lined avenue, a modern complex with a main gate and buses turning in, cars already pulling up outside, children of every age and size tumbling out, dragging backpacks and lunchboxes and peculiar class projects made out of wobbling cardboard and paper. It occurred to Alex that schools all over the world are more or less alike. After all, a classroom is a classroom, a football field is a football field . . . and Cairo College had plenty of both. Even the noise was the same: the medley of shouting voices, the first bell, the stampede of feet on concrete. Is there any other type of building that identifies itself so quickly by the sound it makes?
    What made Cairo College different was the burning sunlight, the brightly painted yellow walls (surely no school in England was ever painted yellow), the exotic plants and palm trees, and the thin scattering of sand in the main yard. The buildings had been designed so that the passageways were light and airy, opening onto different courtyards with benches and tables grouped together under wooden canopies so that everyone could have their lunch outside. There was a junior school, with about a hundred children aged eight to thirteen. But they were all contained in a single block, next to an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The three hundred boys and girls in the senior school had the rest of the place to themselves.
    Craig and Simon escorted Alex through the main gate. They weren’t allowed to continue without presenting their passes, which were electronically scanned by an Egyptian guard. Alex noticed that the same was being done for all the other students as they arrived. He was held up while his own pass was issued with a photograph that made him look as if he had just been mugged. Finally, the two boys left him at an office on the other side, where he was greeted by the school secretary, a smiling, motherly woman with a thick Yorkshire accent who made him fill out a lot of forms, gave him a copy of the school regulations, and then took him into the room next door. Here, he was surprised to find