the fighters wear them to keep warm before they enter the ring in a tournament.’
Something had been sewn onto the inside of the lining.
‘Feathers?’ asked Father Macarius incredulously.
‘Pigeon feathers by the look of it.’ They had been sewn into the cloth in bunches. Makana turned the cape around in the air. Tiny flashes of light revealed strips of silver foil, coils of tin that bobbed gently as if they were living creatures. The whole cape was covered in feathers, sewn with great care into a pattern.
‘The wings of an angel,’ murmured Father Macarius. ‘The Angel of Imbaba.’
‘And this?’
Makana drew the priest’s attention to another figure which appeared to dominate one corner of the mural. It was drawn in charcoal and was the face of a man, with horns.
‘Satan. The devil.’
It struck Makana that the drawing was more than that. In fact, it seemed to him that the face was actually a depiction of someone specific. A mixture of the mythological and the real. A focus for the pain that Antun had carried with him for years. The features were precise. Makana stepped back to get a better look.
‘You recognise who it is?’
‘Of course,’ muttered Father Macarius, his jaw hanging slack. ‘It’s Rocky.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Makana felt as though events were taking their own course. All he could do was follow the sequence set out for him. As he came out of the gym, he found himself surrounded by Ishaq and his boys. There seemed to be more of them this time and a number of them were carrying what looked like weapons: chains, sticks, iron bars.
‘What is going on?’
‘Why are you asking for me?’ Ishaq asked in response.
‘I need your help,’ Makana said. ‘Antun may have gone after Rocky. He might be in danger.’
‘Rocky? Why should we help him?’
‘Antun is the one who is in danger,’ said Makana.
‘You think Antun killed those children?’
‘I don’t think so. I think it was Rocky.’ Makana looked the others over. ‘Also, I think he knows where a friend of mine is.’
‘You want us to go after Rocky?’
‘You know where to find him?’
‘We can’t go there. There are not enough of us.’
Ishaq fell silent. Makana could feel the other boys twitching around him.
‘There’s a café called Al Madina, that’s where you’ll find him. If you go over there,’ Ishaq warned, ‘you’ll be in their territory. We can’t go into that area.’
Al Madina? The same name that Bassam had mentioned. ‘Who are they?’ he asked. Suddenly all of them were talking at once.
‘They are the ones who are fighting us.’
‘They want to drive us out of here and burn the church to the ground.’
‘They have protection.’
‘The police won’t touch them.’
‘Just as they won’t touch Rocky.’
‘He’s one of them.’
It added to the theory that the violence towards the Copts was being coordinated in some way. If Rocky was on the payroll of the security forces as a hired thug that would explain why he was given free rein to act with impunity. He was a small cog in a much larger wheel. By turning a blind eye to his activities they were ensuring that the terror continued. In the frenetic agitation he felt around him Makana sensed that something was about to break.
‘You’re preparing for an attack?’ Makana asked.
‘They said they would come tonight.’
‘They are saying Antun is the one who killed those boys,’ explained Ishaq. ‘It’s just an excuse. They are coming for the church.’
‘I still need to find Rocky,’ Makana insisted. Heads were being shaken and eyes turned away. They were so wrapped up in their own fury nothing else could deflect them. It put him in mind of Ghalib Samsara. Where did that fury come from? Makana thought about the dogstar’s long journey through the darkness, of the desperation and madness that traditionally precedes its reappearance on the horizon.
‘You’re on your own,’ said one. ‘We have to stay here.’
‘They are blocking the roads,’ said another. ‘There’s no way through from this side.’
‘We can go round from the other side by car,’ Makana suggested.
Finally, with a reluctant shrug, Ishaq stepped forward.
‘I’ll show you the way.’
Makana waved Sindbad over. As the battered Datsun ground its way towards him, he thought it was a good idea to get going before Ishaq thought the matter through too carefully and changed his mind, but Ishaq dropped into the back seat and stared idly out at the street.
‘It all just got out of hand. These murders . . .’ Ishaq shook his head. ‘It’s a war out there.’
‘Why is it people keep