by Mike Resnick
She jumped to her feet and surveyed the carnage. Four camels were dead; the other two lay on the ground, twitching feebly. Five Mahdists had been killed almost instantly. The sixth was crawling away, his white robes drenched in blood.
Another shot rang out, and the Mahdist pitched forward on his face and lay perfectly still.
Wonderful, she thought irritably. You couldn’t let him live long enough to question him. You had to be macho to impress me.
Lara’s three companions approached her, rifles at the ready in case one of the Mahdists was faking, but none of them were. Gaafar walked over to the two dying camels and put them out of their pain with a bullet to each one’s head.
“Which one of you fired the shot that hit the grenades?” asked Lara.
“That was Hassam,” said Omar. “He is the best shot.”
“I was very nervous,” admitted Hassam. “It is not like target practice, or even like hunting. If I had missed, you would surely be dead now.”
“So would we all,” agreed Omar. “Lara Croft may owe her life to Hassam’s marksmanship, but all four of us owe our lives to her quick thinking.”
“You look unhappy,” Lara noted. “You just killed all the bad guys. What’s the matter?”
“I am ashamed.”
“Why?” she asked curiously.
“Hassam is a better shot than I am. Gaafar is far stronger. Both are much better suited for adventuring in the desert. I am the leader because I exercise the only muscle that counts”—he placed a forefinger to his head—“the one between my ears. And yet when the attack came, I did not think of what was clearly the only possible means of victory.”
“I have a feeling you’ll have more chances to redeem yourself,” said Lara.
“Part of me almost hopes so, just so that I can redeem myself,” answered Omar.
Lara looked at the dead men and camels. “Should we bury them?”
“No, it would take too much time.”
“They have already gone to Allah,” added Hassam.
“I don’t mean for religious reasons,” said Lara. “But to hide them, so no one will know what happened.”
“When they don’t report back, their superiors will know they’re dead,” answered Omar. “It is better that we reach the Sudan’s border as quickly as possible. We have no allies here; at least we have some there.”
She shrugged. “Whatever you say. Let me just climb up on Seattle Slew here, and we’ll be off.”
“What is a Seattle Slew?” asked Gaafar.
“The name of a very famous racehorse in America,” said Omar. “I saw him once on television.”
“This is an Arab camel,” said Hassam. “He should have an Arab name.”
“I don’t know any Arab racehorses,” said Lara.
“I do,” said Omar. “Since he has no name, we shall name him after one of the greatest of our racehorses—El Khobar.”
“El Khobar,” she repeated approvingly. “The Fleet One. I like it; I just hope he can live up to it.” She paused. “Do you ever have camel races?”
“For pleasure, yes. But there are no racetracks for camels. The horse is our animal of choice.” Omar smiled. “Unfortunately, the desert is not our environment of choice. The Sudanese love water and trees and moderate weather, just as you do. But to borrow a phrase I have heard in the American movies, we must play the cards we are dealt, and we have been dealt both sand and camels.”
“Not to denigrate horses or camels, but I think my own steed of choice would be a Land Rover,” said Lara.
“Not in the deep and shifting sands of the desert,” said Gaafar. “If we are attacked any time between here and Khartoum, it will be by men on camels.”
Lara mounted El Khobar. “Which way?” she asked.
“Lake Nasser is about twenty miles away,” answered Omar. “We’ll parallel it and then the Nile until we reach Khartoum.”
“And you say the first oasis is almost a two-day trek from here?”
“That is correct.”
“What’s to stop us from turning toward Lake Nasser at sunset, getting water to drink,” suggested Lara, “and then going back inland?”
“It would add many days to the journey, and the water would probably make you ill.”
“Why just me?”
“We have drunk from the Nile all our lives,” said Omar. “Those of us who don’t die from it—and very few do—develop a resistance to its diseases and impurities, a resistance Europeans and Americans do not possess. We will drink at the wells and the oases.”
“You’re the leader,” she said, more to bolster his ego than to agree with his assessment of her Western frailty. “Let’s get started.”
Omar urged his camel on, and the others fell into line behind him. After a few minutes Omar turned to them.
“This is wrong,” he announced.
They all stopped and stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“Hassam, you will ride on Lara Croft’s left. Gaafar, move your camel up and ride on her right. We must not allow her to be a sharpshooter’s target.”
“This is ridiculous!” protested Lara. “I don’t want anyone to have to take a bullet for me!”
“It is no problem,” Gaafar assured her. “You saved our lives a few minutes ago, so they now belong to you until we can return the favor.”
“Besides,” added Omar, “if Hassam or Gaafar is killed, we may still find the Amulet before the Mahdists do. But if you are killed, we have lost our best chance.”
Suddenly Lara smiled. “Now that sounds like a true leader’s reasoning.”
Omar returned her smile. “Perhaps I think better when I’m not being shot at.”
Gaafar and Hassam laughed aloud, and kept laughing.
“It wasn’t that funny,” remarked Lara after a while.
“Omar has been shot at more than any man you have ever met,” said Gaafar.
“And tortured,” added Hassam.
“Please,” said Omar uncomfortably. “Lara Croft does not wish to hear ancient history.”
“I think I’d find it very interesting,” she said.
“Some other time,” replied Omar with an air of finality.
They rode in silence for the next three hours. Then Omar signaled a halt, and they dismounted.
“The camels need rest,” he announced, “and we need food.”
“We haven’t abused them,” commented Lara. “They should be able to walk all day at this pace.”
“True.”
“Then why—?”
“Because if we travel at this pace with no breaks in our journey, we will reach the oasis at midday tomorrow, and it will be much safer not to arrive until dark.”
“You could have just said so.”
“I did not wish to distress you.”
Gaafar and Hassam broke out laughing again.
“All right,” admitted Omar. “I should know by now that you are not easily distressed.”
“So how long do we sit here?”
“Perhaps an hour, perhaps two.” He walked over to his camel, pulled his rifle out of its sheath, and brought it back with a cloth and some oil. “While we rest, I will clean the Eye of Amen-Ra.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Lara. “The Eye of Amen-Ra?”
“My rifle,” said Omar.
“Mine is Anubis, the Death Bringer,” added Gaafar. He pulled out a dagger. “And this is the Scalpel of Isis.”
“What do you call your pistols?” asked Hassam.
“I call them my guns,” said Lara.
“You have no names for them?” persisted Hassam, surprised.
“I think it’s a guy thing.”
“Do you carry a knife?” asked Gaafar.
“Sometimes,” she replied. “Not today.”
Gaafar walked to his camel and withdrew a dagger with an engraved handle from his pack. “Then I will present you with the Leopard’s Tooth.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, testing its heft and balance. “Th
ank you.”
“You honor me by accepting it,” replied the large man. “And whenever you cut a Mahdist’s throat with it, you will think of Gaafar.”
“Well, let’s hope I don’t have to think of you too often,” she said.
The four of them fell to cleaning their weapons, and after an hour had passed they got up and began riding to the south again, always staying between twenty and twenty-five miles inland from the lake.
They bedded down shortly after dark. Lara thought she’d stay awake for a few more hours, but her injuries and her exertions of the previous night caught up with her the second she lay down, and the next thing she knew Omar was gently shaking her awake and explaining that she had slept for almost twelve hours and it was time to leave.
The day passed uneventfully. About two hours before sunset Omar sent Hassam ahead to make sure the oasis was free from Mahdists. He reported back to them ninety minutes later, stating that there was absolutely no sign of life there.
“Good,” said Omar. “We will reach it an hour after sunset, let the camels drink, and fill our canteens. Barring dust storms, we should only have to stop once more for water before we cross the border and enter the Sudan.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Lara.
They urged their camels on as a strong wind arose, and reached their goal when Omar had predicted. There was a small water hole surrounded by no more than a dozen palm trees. Lara couldn’t figure out why the water didn’t evaporate, and finally decided it must be fed by a ground spring.
“Gaafar,” ordered Omar, as they all dismounted, “make sure the area is secure. Hassam, fill our canteens while the camels drink.”
“No!” yelled Lara suddenly, and everyone froze.
“What is it?” asked Omar.
“Hassam, don’t touch that water!” she said.
He looked at her curiously.
“Did you drink from it when you were here earlier?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, looking offended. “I do not drink before my leader.”
“But your camel did, didn’t he?”
Hassam frowned. “Yes.”
“What is this all about?” demanded Omar.
“Look,” said Lara, pointing to Hassam’s camel, which had not advanced toward the water with the others, but was hanging back.
The poor beast was swaying unsteadily on weakened legs, a stream of white foam dripping from its mouth. Hassam rushed over to it, but before he could reach it the camel collapsed. It began bleating, and then, suddenly, it stiffened its forelegs spasmodically and died.
Hassam opened the dead animal’s mouth. The tongue was black and bloated.
“This is the only well for a hundred miles or more, right?” asked Lara.
“That is correct,” said Omar.
“The Mahdists are obviously a well-organized force,” said Lara. “They knew we weren’t going to show ourselves by going alongside the Nile, and they figured that if we survived their first attack, sooner or later we’d wind up at this well, so they poisoned the water. If we’d arrived even five minutes sooner, before the camel began showing any symptoms, that would have been all our fates in another two or three hours.”
“What kind of wondrous woman are we traveling with?” said Gaafar almost worshipfully. “Lara Croft, you have saved our lives for the second time!”
“I haven’t done a thing,” replied Lara.
“But you have,” insisted Gaafar stubbornly.
“We’re in the desert, we’ve lost a camel, the oasis is poisoned, and we’re out of water,” she said grimly. “Somebody had better save the saver.”
11
“We’d better give this some serious thought,” said Omar as the wind continued blowing sand through the air. “Obviously we can’t continue on our route. For all we know, the next six or eight or ten oases and wells are poisoned.”
“Why would they bother?” asked Hassam. “They will assume we died here.”
“Will they still assume it when they come by to collect the Amulet in the morning and there are no bodies here and only one camel?” asked Lara sardonically.
“He’s a really good shot, though,” said Omar with a smile of amusement as Hassam lowered his eyes in embarrass-ment and shifted his weight uncomfortably.
“I think the first thing we’d better do is bury the camel and see if there’s any way to hide the fact that we were here at all,” suggested Lara. “If they don’t know that we figured out the water was poisoned, if they think we were in a hurry and just went right past it, they may wait until we reach the next oasis or well before coming after us, whereas if they know we found out this oasis was poisoned, they’ll figure out that we’re smart enough not to continue going from oasis to oasis.”
“All but one of us, anyway,” said Hassam, still mortified.
“You’re right, of course,” Omar said to Lara. “We’ll have to return to Lake Nasser.”
“I don’t like it,” said Gaafar.
“We have to have water,” said Lara. “And now we have some use for the spare tires,” she added, indicating the two camels that had been tagging along since the journey began.
“We won’t have much use for any of the camels,” said Omar.
Lara smiled. “We’re going to buy a felluca, right?”
“Wrong,” said Omar. “We’re going to steal one.”
“Why take the chance?” asked Lara. “I have more than enough money.”
“The Mahdists are looking for an Englishwoman who is heading south along Lake Nasser and the Nile,” explained Omar. “If we purchase it, even if you do not speak, someone will figure out who you are. Even if they care nothing for the Mahdists, they have no reason to keep your identity a secret—and I assure you that the Mahdists will give them more than ample reason to reveal it to them. No, it is much better to steal it in the dead of night and let them think it was a thief from a neighboring village.”
Lara turned to Hassam. “Move over,” she said wryly. “You’ve got company.”
“I do not understand,” said Hassam. “Move where?”
“Never mind. It doesn’t translate very well.”
Suddenly Lara realized that Omar was staring intently at her in the dim moonlight.
“Is something wrong?” she asked at last.
“As I said, you don’t have to utter a word to be identified as an Englishwoman. No Moslem woman wears shorts—certainly not like yours—and none would carry pistols.” He walked to his saddlebags, pulled out a robe, and tossed it to her. “Put this on. I am closer to your size than Gaafar or Hassam.”
She got into the robe, then stood still while Gaafar wrapped her head.
“Well?” she asked when they were done.
“It drags on the ground,” observed Omar.
“What difference does that make?” asked Gaafar. “She will be sitting in a felluca.”
“If no one gets too near,” said Omar, “if they see you from the shore while we are on the boat, if no fisherman’s boat comes close to ours . . .”
“It will work,” said Gaafar decisively. “It hides her shape sufficiently. She can pass for a teenaged boy.”
“I get the feeling Omar doesn’t think so,” replied Lara dubiously.
“Yes he does,” said Gaafar. “But it is Omar’s job to anticipate the unexpected so that we can be prepared for any eventuality.” He looked at her again and repeated: “It will work.”
“Yes, probably it will,” said Omar. He glanced around the oasis. “I was mistaken,” he announced. “There is no sense burying the camel or clearing the area of footprints and hoofprints. Let’s ride to Lake Nasser. With luck we can be there a few hours before dawn and be a few miles away before anyone realizes a boat is missing.”
“Right,” replied Lara, nodding her agreement. “And you weren’t mistaken; it was my suggestion. I didn’t think it through.”
“I know I will regret asking,” said Hassam. “But why are we not trying to hide the fact that we wer
e here and that we know the water is poisoned?”
“If we spend three or four hours making the oasis pristine, we won’t reach Lake Nasser until daylight,” said Omar. “We want to steal a boat, not acquire one in a pitched gun battle.”
“Besides,” added Lara, “the wind will soon die down. It may cover the first few miles of tracks we leave, but we’re more than twenty miles from the lake. Unless you know a way to cover all the tracks we’re going to make, it won’t be too long before the Mahdists figure out where we’re going.”
“We can talk while we ride,” said Omar, “and time is of the essence. We must reach the lake before sunrise.”
Lara took the last swallow from her canteen. “How long will it take to reach Lake Nasser?” she asked as El Khobar rose to his feet and fell into step behind Gaafar’s camel, with Omar’s next to hers and Hassam’s bringing up the rear.
“Perhaps five hours, perhaps six,” replied Omar. “With luck we’ll get there four hours before dawn, which is fortunate because I do not know for a fact that there will be a village where we reach the lake. We may have to ride along the shore for a few miles.”
Lara looked at the canteen, then shrugged and slung it over her shoulder. “Six hours. That’s not too long to go without a drink.”
“I warned you before,” cautioned Omar. “You may become ill from the water.”
“You informed me of the alternative,” said Lara distastefully. “Let’s let the camels keep the water they’ve already drunk.”
Omar laughed. “That was done only in situations of the greatest desperation. Our situation may be desperate, but thankfully not in that way. We are being hunted by enemies. If they catch or confront us, we have rifles and pistols and can return their fire. Who do you shoot at when you are lost in the desert and there is no water?”
“Point taken,” admitted Lara. “Tell me about the Mahdists.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“The Mahdi’s grandson, whose name eludes me. . . .” began Lara.
“Sadiq al Mahdi,” provided Omar promptly.
“Sadiq al Mahdi,” she repeated. “He was elected as the Sudan’s prime minister back in the 1960s, wasn’t he?”