by Wilbur Smith
Instead, he turned his attention back to the material that littered the
work table.
"It looks so innocent, so mundane. An old papyrus scroll, a few
photographs and notebooks, a computer printout. It is difficult to
believe how dangerous these might be in the wrong hands." He sighed
again. "You might almost say that they are deadly dangerous."
Then he laughed. "I am being fanciful. Perhaps it is the late hour.
Shall we get back to work? We can worry about these other matters once
we have worked out all the conundrums set for us by this old rogue,
Taita, and completed the translation."
He picked up the top photograph from the pile in front of him. It was an
extract from the central section of the scroll. "It is the worst luck
that the damaged piece of papyrus falls where it does." He picked up his
reading glasses and placed them on his nose before he read aloud.
"'There are many steps to ascend on the staircase to the abode of Hapi.
With much hardship and endeavour we reached the second step and
proceeded no further, for it was here that the prince received a divine
revelation. In a dream his father, the dead god pharaoh, visited him and
commanded him, "I have travelled far and I am grown weary. It is here
that I will rest for all eternity."" Duraid removed his glasses and
looked across at Royan, "'The second step". It is a very precise
description for once. Taita is not being his usual devious self."
"Let's go back to the satellite. photographs," Royan suggested, and drew
the glossy sheet towards her. Duraid came around the table to stand
behind her.
"To me it seems most logical that the natural feature that would
obstruct them in the gorge would be something like a set of rapids or a
waterfall. If it were the second waterfall, that would put them here-'
Royan placed her finger on a spot on the satellite photograph where the
narrow snake of the river threaded itself through the dark massifs of
the mountains on either hand.
At that moment she was distracted and she lifted her head. "Listen!" Her
voice changed, sharpening with alarm.
"What is it?" Duraid looked up also.
"The dog," she answered.
"That damn mongrel," he agreed. "It is always making the night hideous
with its yapping. I have promised myself to get rid of him."
At that moment the lights went out.
They froze with surprise in the darkness. The soft thudding of the
decrepit diesel generator in its shed at the back of the palm grove had
ceased. It was so much a part of the oasis night that they noticed it
only when it was silent.
Their eyes adjusted to the faint starlight that came in through the
terrace doors. Duraid crossed the room and took the oil lamp down from
the shelf beside the door where it waited for just such a contingency.
He lit it, and looked across at Royan with an expression of comical
resignation.
"I will have to go down-'
Duraid," she interrupted him, "the dog!'
He listened for a moment, and his expression changed to mild concern.
The dog was silent out there in the night.
"I am sure it is nothing to be alarmed about." He went to the door, and
for no good reason she suddenly called after him.
"Duraid, be careful!" He shrugged dismissively and stepped out on to the
terrace.
She thought for an instant that it was the shadow of the vine over the
trellis moving in the night breeze off the desert, but the night was
still. Then she realized that it was a human figure crossing the
flagstones silently and swiftly, coming in behind Duraid as he skirted
the fishpond in the centre of the paved terrace.
"Duraid!" She screamed a warning and he spun round, lifting the lamp
high.
"Who are you?" he shouted. "What do you want here?" The intruder closed
with him silently. The traditional full-length dishdasha robe swirled
around his legs, and the white ghutrah headcloth covered his head. In
the light of the lamp Duraid saw that he had drawn the corner of the
headcloth over his face to mask his features.
The intruder's back was turned towards her so Royan did not see the
knife in his right hand, but she could not mistake the upward stabbing
motion that he aimed at Duraid's stomach. Duraid grunted with pain and
doubled up at the blow, and his attacker drew the blade free and stabbed
again, but this time Duraid dropped the lamp and seized the knife arm.
The flame of the fallen oil lamp was guttering and flaring. The two men
struggled in the gloom, but Royan saw a dark stain spreading over her
husband's white shirt front.
"Run!" he bellowed at her. "Go! Fetch help! I cannot hold him!" The
Duraid she knew was a gentle person, a soft man of books and learning.
She could see that he was outmatched by his assailant.
"Go! Please! Save yourself, my flower!" She could hear by his tone that
he was weakening, but he still clung desperately to his attacker's knife
arm.
She had been paralysed with shock and indecision these few fatal
seconds, but now she broke free of the spell and ran to the door.
Spurred by her terror and her need to bring help to Duraid she crossed
the terrace, swift as a cat, and he held the intruder from blocking her
way.
She vaulted over the low stone wall into the grove, and almost into the
arms of the second man. She screamed and twisted away from him as his
outstretched fingers raked across her face, and almost broke free, but
his fingers hooked in the thin cotton stuff of her blouse.
This time she saw the knife in his hand, a long silvery flash in the
starlight, and it goaded her to fresh effort. The cotton tore in his
grip and she was free, but not quickly enough to escape the blade. She
felt the sting of it across her upper arm, and she kicked out at him
with all the strength of panic and her hard young body behind it. She
felt her foot slam into the softness of his lower body with a shock that
jarred her knee and ankle, and her attacker cried out and fell to his
knees.
Then she was away and running through the palm grove. At first she ran
without purpose or direction. She ran simply to get as far from them as
her flying legs would carry her. Then gradually she brought her panic
under control. She glanced back, but saw nobody following her.
As she reached the edge of the lake she slowed her run to conserve her
strength, and she became aware of the warm trickle of her own blood down
her arm and then dripping from her finger-tips.
She stopped.and rested her back against the rough hole of one of the
palms while she tore a strip of cloth from her ripped blouse and
hurriedly bound up her arm. She was shaking so much from shock and
exertion that even her uninjured hand was fumbling and clumsy. She
knotted the crude bandage with her teeth and left hand, and the bleeding
slowed.
She was uncertain of which way to run, and then she saw the dim
lamplight. in the window of Alia's shack across the nearest irrigation
canal. She pushed herself away
from the palm trunk and started towards
it. She had covered less than a hundred paces when a voice called from
the grove behind her, speaking in Arabic, "Yusuf, has the woman come
your way?"
immediately an electric torch flashed from the darkness ahead of her and
another voice called back, "No, I have not seen her."
Another few seconds and Royan would have run full into him. She crouched
down and looked around her desperately. There was another torch coming
through the grove behind her, following the path she had taken. It must
be the man she had kicked, but she could tell by the motion of the torch
beam that he had recovered and was moving swiftly and easily again.
She was blocked on two sides, so she turned back along the edge of the
trail. The road lay that way. She might be able to meet a late vehicle
travelling on it. She lost her footing on the rough ground and went
down, bruising and scraping her knees, but she jumped up again and
hurried on. The second time she stumbled, her outthrust left hand landed
on a round, smooth stone the size of an orange. When she went on she
carried the stone with her; as a weapon it gave her a glimmer of
comfort.
Her wounded arm was beginning to hurt, and she was driven by worry for
Duraid. She knew he was badly wounded, for she had seen the direction
and force of the knife thrust. She had to find help for him. Behind her
the two men with torches were sweeping the grove and she could not keep
her lead ahead of them. They were gaining on her - she could hear them
calling to each other.
She reached the road at last, and with a small whimper of relief climbed
out of the drainage ditch on to the pale gravel surface. Her legs were
shaking under her so that they could hardly carry her weight, but she
turned in the direction of the village.
She had not reached the first bend before she saw a set of headlights
coming slowly towards her, flickering through the palm trees. She broke
into a run down the centre of the road.
"Help me!" she screamed in Arabic. "Please help me!'
The car came through the bend and before the headlights dazzled her she
saw that it was a small, darkcoloured Fiat. She stood in the centre of
the road waving her arms to halt the driver, lit by the headlights as
though she were on a theatre stage. The Fiat stopped in front of her,
and she ran round to the driver's door and tugged at the handle.
"Please, you must help me."
The door was opened from within, and then was thrown back with such
force that she staggered off-balance.
The driver leapt out into the roadway and caught her by the wrist of the
injured arm. He dragged her to the Fiat and pulled open the back door.
"Yusuf! Bacheed' he shouted into the dark grove. "I have her." And she
heard the answering cries and saw the torches turn in their direction.
The driver was forcing her head down and trying to push her into the
back seat, but she realized then that she still had the stone in her
good hand. She turned slightly and braced herself, and then swung her
fist with the stone still clenched in it against the side of his head.
It caught him squarely on the temple.
Without another sound he dropped to the gravel surface and lay
motionless.
Royan dropped the stone and pelted away down the road, but she found
that she was running straight down the path of the headlights, and they
lit her every movement.
The two men in the grove shouted again and came up on to the gravel
roadway behind her, almost shoulder to shoulder.
Glancing back, she saw them gaining on her swiftly, and she realized
that her only chance was to get off the road and back into the darkness.
She turned and plunged down the bank. Immediately she found herself
waist-deep in the waters of the lake.
In the darkness and the confusion she had become disorientated. She had
not realized that she had reached the point where the road skirted the
embankment at the water's edge. She knew that she did not have time to
climb back on to the road, and she knew also that there were thick
clumps of papyrus and reeds ahead of her, that might give her shelter.
She waded out until the bottom sloped away steeply under her feet, and
she found herself forced to swim. She broke into an awkward
breast-stroke, hampered by her skirts and her injured arm. However, her
slow and stealthy movements created almost no disturbance on the
surface, and before the men on the road had reached the point where she
had descended the bank, she reached a dense stand of reeds.
. She eased her way into the thick of them and let herself sink. Before
the water covered her nostrils she felt her toes touch the soft ooze of
the lake bottom. She stood there quietly, with just the top of her head
above the surface and her face turned away from the bank. She knew her
dark hair would not reflect the light of a probing torch.
Though the water covered her ears, she could make out the excited voices
of the men on the road. They had turned their torches down towards the
water and were shining them into the reeds, searching for her. For a
moment one of the beams played full on her head, and she drew a deep
breath ready to submerge, but the beam moved on and she realized that
they had not picked her out.
The fact that she had not been seen even in the direct torchlight
emboldened her to raise her head slightly until one ear was clear and
she could make out their voices.
They were speaking Arabic, and she recognized the voice of the one named
Bacheet. He appeared to be the leader, for he was giving the orders.
"Go in there, Yusuf, and bring the whore out."
She heard Yusuf slipping and sliding down the bank and the splash as he
hit the water.
"Further out," Bacheet ordered him. "In those reeds there, where I am
shining the torch."
"It is too deep. You know well I cannot swim. It will be over my head."
"There! Right in front of you. In those reeds. I can see her head."
Bacheet encouraged him, and Royan dreaded that they had spotted her. She
sank down as far as she could below the surface.
Yusuf splashed around heavily, moving towards where she cowered in the
reeds, when suddenly there was a thunderous commotion that startled even
Yusuf, so that he shouted aloud, "Djinns! God protect meV as the flock
of roosting duck exploded from the water and launched into the dark sky
on noisy wings.
Yusuf started back to the bank and not any of Bacheet's threats could
persuade him to continue the hunt.
"The woman is not as important as the scroll," he protested, as he
climbed back on to the roadway. "Without the scroll there will be no
money. We always know where to find her later."
Turning her head slightly, Royan saw the torches move back down the road
towards the parked Fiat whose headlights still burned. She heard the
doors of the car slam, and then the engine revved and pulled away
towards the villa.
She was too shaken and terrified to make any attempt to leave her
>
hiding-place. She feared that they had left one of their number on the
road to wait for her to show herself.
She stood on tiptoe with the water lapping her lips, shivering more with
shock than with cold, determined to wait for the safety of the sunrise
before she moved.
It was only much later when she saw the glow of the fire lighting the
sky, and the flames flickering through the trunks of the palm trees,
that she forgot her own safety and dragged herself back to the bank.
She knelt in the mud at the water's edge, shuddering and shaking and
gasping, weak with loss of blood and shock and the reaction from fear,
and peered at the flames through the veil of her wet hair -and the lake
water that streamed into her eyes.
"The villa! she whispered. "Duraid! Oh please God, no! No!
She pushed herself to her feet and began to stagger towards her burning
home.
acheet switched off both the headlights and the engine of the Fiat
before they reached the turning into the driveway of the villa and let
the car coast down and stop below the terrace.
All three of them left the Fiat and climbed the stone steps to the
flagged terrace. Duraid's body still lay where Bacheet had left it
beside the fishpond. They passed him without a glance and went into the
dark study.
Bacheet placed the cheap nylon tote bag he carried on the tabletop.
"We have wasted too much time already. We must work quickly now."
"It is Yusuf's fault," protested the driver of the Fiat. "He let the
woman escape."
"You had a chance on the road," Yusuf snarled at him, "and you did no
better."
"Enough!" Bacheet told them both. "If you want to get paid, then there
had better be no more mistakes."
With the torch beam Bacheet picked out the scroll that still lay on the
tabletop. "That is the one." He was certain, for he had been shown a
photograph of it so that there would be no mistake. "They want
everything - the maps and photographs. Also the books and papers,
everything on the table that they were using in their work.
Leave nothing."
Quickly they bundled everything into the tote bag and Bacheet zipped it
closed.
"Now the Doktari. Bring him in here."
The other two went out on to the terrace and stooped over the body. Each
of them seized an ankle and dragged Duraid back across the terrace and