A Kiss of Adventure (12 page)

“My clothes. There was something with them. A necklace on a silver chain. An amulet.” She turned to him. “Where are my clothes? Where did you put them?”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Stop raving, Matilda.”

“My life depends on that amulet. I need it.”

“Your life does not depend on a necklace. Your life is in my hands, and I mean to keep it safe. Now, is this what you’re going on about?”

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the amulet. Tillie snatched it and pressed it to her chest. “Oh, thank God! Arthur, you don’t know how important this is. Look, we have to find Graeme.”

“Find Graeme? We’ve no need for that renegade. He’s done his part.”

Tillie stood still, trying to calm her thundering heart. How could Arthur be so callous? But of course he didn’t understand what she and Graeme had been through. He didn’t know about the treasure. About the legend. About the
amenoukal
.

“It’s just that Graeme and I—”

“No, Matilda. There is no Graeme and you any longer. It’s us now. The two of us.” He lifted her chin. “What does he need with you?”

He was right, of course. Graeme had seen the document. He knew as much as, if not more than, she did. He didn’t need her. He’d told her more than once that she would slow him down. Hinder his quest.

“He doesn’t need me,” she said in a low voice. “I’m just worried he may have been hurt on the pier yesterday.”

“Matilda.” Arthur placed a hand on her arm. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Maybe. But as soon as Hannah comes back with my clothes, I’m going out to the market to look for him.” She met his frown with pleading eyes. “Try to understand. Graeme is my friend. He took care of me. I have to find out if he’s okay.”

“That man you call your friend obviously dragged you through hell to get to Segou. Think of your condition when I found you.”

“It wasn’t his fault. We went the only way we could go. With the
amenoukal
on our trail the whole time, we did well to get this far. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“And I don’t want to know. I simply want you to stop this fantasy and return to being the woman I intend to marry. I want you beside me when we step off that plane at Heathrow. I want you on my arm at my welcoming bash at the club. I want everyone to see you. You’re my prize, darling.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “No, Arthur, I’m not. That prize is your fantasy. I’m sorry, but I just don’t have the luxury of thinking about the future right now. The
amenoukal
is going to come after me for the treasure. He can’t get the treasure without me, and if he finds out I’ve gone back to Bamako, he’ll follow me there again. I’ve seen the look in his eyes, and right now that’s a lot more important to me than any bash or club.”

“Treasure?” His voice was toneless. “You never said anything about a treasure.”

“It’s all here.” She held up the wrought-silver locket. “Inside this amulet is a page from Mungo Park’s journal. He talks about a woman coming to Mali to plant trees, and he rambles on and on about a treasure. The treasure of Timbuktu. That’s what the Tuareg want, and since I plant trees, they think I can help them get it.”

Arthur sat down on the bed. “Can you?”

“Of course not! I don’t know anything about it. Graeme and I studied the journal entry, but it doesn’t make much sense to either of us.”

“The Tuareg want the treasure. Graeme McLeod wants it, and he’s done the research. Then there must be a treasure.”

“I guess so, but I sure don’t know where it is. It was probably in Timbuktu originally, although that was nearly two hundred years ago. Some man other than Mungo Park was in charge of it. For all we know, he may have taken it out of Timbuktu. The point is, the
amenoukal
thinks I can get the treasure for him, and he’s not going to stop until I do.”

“What sort of treasure is it? Does the journal say?”

Tillie fingered the amulet. “Park talks about buying his wife a house with it. I imagine it’s money or something. Anyway, the treasure is all tied up with some legend and a curse. The Tuareg seem to think I can break the curse. Arthur, I really don’t know what it’s all about. I just know Graeme says the
amenoukal
will not stop until he has me. He tried to kill Graeme once already to get at me, and then yesterday at the pier, Graeme faced that Targui again to protect me. The man has a broadsword, Arthur, and he won’t hesitate to use it.”

He wasn’t listening. “Gold. It has to be gold.” He stood and took her shoulders in his hands. “Haven’t you read about Timbuktu? The mysterious Queen of the Sands. It used to be a fabulous trading town with universities and libraries. It had trade routes to Venice and Cairo. Every imaginable luxury passed through Timbuktu—fabrics, spices, copper, ivory, slaves. And gold.”

Tillie shrugged away. “What difference does it make? I don’t care about the treasure. I care about Graeme’s life. And my own. Can you imagine what the
amenoukal
will do when he finds out I can’t show him where his treasure is?”

“Forget the
amenoukal
—don’t you see what that money could mean to us? All my life I’ve struggled. I’ve lived in dingy flats and taken the Tube to work. I’ve worn rags and cooked my own dinners and existed hand-to-mouth. I want more than that. More for us. I want us to live well, darling. I want a house, a car, holidays on the Continent. I should like to build a savings portfolio—stocks, bonds, even properties.”

She stared at him in total disbelief. “Are you nuts? Some guy is trying to kidnap me, and you’re talking about stocks and bonds? That’s disgusting, Arthur! What about the fact that I nearly lost my life over that stupid treasure? And Graeme? I’ve got to make sure he’s all right—”

“Graeme again?” he exploded. He grabbed the edges of her robe in his fists. His eyes flamed. “Graeme this and Graeme that! What is it with the two of you?”

She stared up at him, her breath caught in the back of her throat. When his blazing eyes met hers, she held his gaze for a moment, then wordlessly looked to where his hands gripped her robe.

He let out a breath, dropped his hands, and stepped away. “I’m sorry, Matilda. Sorry we’ve been arguing so much. You must try to understand how I feel when you speak about that man. I cannot bear the thought of anyone taking you from me.”

“No one can take me from you,” she said quietly.
But I can leave.
The thought was clear and firm.
I can walk away from you if I have to.

“I’m glad to hear it. And forget what I said about that ridiculous treasure. You’re my treasure. All I care about is getting you as far away from here—from danger—as possible.”

“That would be fine, Arthur.” She slipped the amulet over her neck and dropped it inside the bathrobe. “But it’s hard to think beyond all this right now.”

“I’m sure that’s true. All the same, you must try to put it behind you.” He gave her a warm smile. “If you’ll be all right, I’m going to pop down and speak to the hotel manager about my suit and perhaps make a telephone call or two. In the meantime, why don’t you do something with your hair—plait it up or something. You look rather wild with it down, Matilda darling.”

He squeezed her arm and headed for the door.

As he opened the door to leave, Hannah slipped into the room. Her bright yellow scarf sat slightly askew on her head. Arms full of clothes, she stared at Tillie.

“I believe it would be wise to dress quickly,
toto
,” she said.

“Outside the hotel I have seen a gathering of camels.”

SEVEN

Hannah’s crooked fingers dropped a white dress over Tillie’s head. “Quickly now,
toto
,” she muttered as she tugged a flowing blue-and-white striped robe over the dress. “Take this turban, too. It will cover your hair.”

Tillie stepped into a pair of leather thongs and began winding the turban around her hair. “Does the Targui know I’m here?”

“I believe he does.”

“Mama Hannah, he wants something from me, and I don’t have it. I don’t know what to do. And then there’s Arthur. I can’t go to London with him. It’s not right! But Graeme’s not right either. If you could just meet Graeme . . .” Her confused rambling trailed off, and she looked at Hannah, fighting sudden tears. “I don’t know, Mama Hannah. I don’t know.”

“Immanuel,” she whispered. “God is with us.”

“They’ve found us!” Arthur burst into the room, ran to his suitcase, and took out the small handgun.

Hannah locked the door behind him, then backed against it, arms outstretched, as though her small, birdlike body could keep out the horde. Heart beating like a Tuareg war drum, Tillie dashed to the window. Down in the street, the warriors were dismounting from their dromedaries. A youth held the
amenoukal
’s white camel.

“Arthur, we have to leave right now,” she whispered.

He turned to her, his gun on the half cock. “They won’t get near us if I have this. Except for those ridiculous medieval weapons, they’re all unarmed. We’re going to stay right here until this thing is settled.”

“You don’t understand. I have to get out of this place. If I’m here, they’ll hurt you and Hannah.”

Before he could reply, a thud shook the door. Hannah let out a squeak and leapt forward.

“It’s him,” Tillie hissed, grabbing her
ayah
’s arm. “Come on, Mama Hannah. Arthur, follow me.”

She unlatched the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. The hammering increased behind her, and the bedroom door shivered on its hinges. Arthur hesitated a moment before jumping to the table and stuffing his pockets with ammunition. Then he joined the two women, helped them over the rusty iron rail, and clambered out beside them onto the narrow ledge that surrounded the hotel.

“Watch your step,” he whispered.

Her heart leaden, Tillie clutched the rough mud bricks behind her back as she looked down at the dromedaries on the street. “Hold on to Hannah, Arthur. Don’t let her fall.”

A shout sounded below.

“They’ve seen us,” Arthur growled. “If you’d let me—”

“Wait, I have an idea.” Tillie took Hannah’s shoulders and helped her back onto the balcony. “Stay here with Arthur,” she told the old woman. “They’ll hurt you if you’re with me. Please, Mama Hannah, pray for me.”

“Matilda!” Arthur snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going down alone. See that alley beside the hotel? It’s too narrow for a camel. If I can get to it, I’ll run to the market. Look for me there. If we can’t find each other, I’ll meet you in Timbuktu.”

“No, darling! Don’t be ridiculous.”

She turned to the wall, pushed one toe in the space between two bricks, found a handhold, and began climbing down. “Take care of Hannah for me, Arthur. I’m counting on you.”

She heard the first of the Tuareg breaking through the door into the hotel room. The men on the street shouted encouragement to their comrades. Still on the ledge, Arthur pulled out his gun and leveled it at the intruders.

“No!” Tillie cried.

A Targui fell screaming in agony past Tillie to the ground two floors below. His broadsword tumbled from his hand and landed beside him with a clatter.

“Tillie! Tillie-girl!”

The voice grabbed her attention away from the wounded Targui. A dark-haired man waved from a flimsy-looking three-wheeled motor scooter. As the scooter sped up a narrow street toward the hotel, a wash of relief flooded through her.

“It’s Graeme,” she shouted to Arthur. “Bring Hannah! Hurry up. He’s got a scooter.”

“Run, Matilda. I’ll meet you in the market.”

“Arthur, this is our chance. Bring Hannah!”

“I mean to put a stop to this nonsense.” He took aim at a second Targui.

“Not like that, Arthur!” she screamed. “Hannah, please come—”

“Nenda, toto!”
With a flutter of her fingers, Hannah urged Tillie to flee. The old woman crouched in the corner of the balcony, her eyes closed and her palms cupped over the top of her yellow head scarf.
“Mungu akubariki. Tutaonana.”

Even at this moment, the
ayah
wished God’s blessing on her
toto.
As Arthur squeezed the trigger, Tillie turned away and gritted her teeth, unwilling to hear the awful
whang
of the bullet.

“Arthur!” she yelled again, fury raising the pitch of her voice. Another wounded Targui slumped onto the balcony rail.

It was no use waiting any longer. She could hear the scooter approaching. Taking a deep breath, she scrambled down. Her aching legs carried her onto another balcony. The popping sound of Arthur’s gun barely registered. Below her, the
amenoukal
strode from the hotel and began to mount his dromedary.

Graeme tooted the horn as he threaded his scooter between the skittish camels. It sounded like a bullfrog with bronchitis. He revved the engine and churned up spirals of dust. Chaos broke out in the caravan as camels spat and swung their heads. Warriors shouted. The acrid scent of engine smoke filled the air.

For no longer than a heartbeat, the scooter slowed under the balcony. Tillie dropped onto the backseat like a monkey dropping from a coconut tree. Throwing her arms around Graeme’s chest, she held on as he gunned it down the alley.

“What about your pal?” he shouted over the motor’s whine.

She glanced back to see Arthur leap to the street himself, fire off two rounds, and dash for the narrow alley beside the hotel. “Oh no—he’s left Hannah on the balcony!”

“I’ll take you back.” Graeme turned a corner and slowed the scooter.

“Wait! They don’t want her. They’ll follow us.” She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her cheek on his back. “Lead them away from her. Go to the market.”

Past the end of her flapping turban she saw the
amenoukal
and his men pursuing them rather than Arthur or Hannah. The Tuareg dromedaries loped along in the dusty wake of the little machine.

“Those camels can make twenty miles an hour for at least six miles at a dead run, and I can barely do better than thirty on this scooter. We’ll be sitting ducks in the market,” Graeme called over his shoulder. “We’ve got to get out of this town.”

“I can’t leave Hannah here.”

“Won’t Arthur go back for her?”

Doubt twisted inside Tillie. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll call the hotel from Djenne. It’s the next town upriver.” The scooter whipped down the street, scattering people left and right. “We’ll make sure she’s all right.”

As the camels struggled to keep up, the
amenoukal
raised his spear and drew back his arm. Graeme spun the scooter around another corner and sped down a slope toward the river. It bounced onto the pier, lifting Tillie from the seat momentarily as they rattled down the loose old boards to the water’s edge.

Graeme slammed the scooter to a stop, jumped off, and grabbed Tillie. Hand in hand, they raced to the edge of the landing and leapt into a tiny fishing boat. He picked up a paddle, tossed her another, and started rowing like crazy.

God, what I wouldn’t give for an outboard motor,
Tillie thought, sucking air into her lungs. But such things were rare. She looked out across the wide expanse of brown water. A huge old boat was pulling out toward the midstream current, puffing thick black smoke as it moved. The river steamer.

She turned back to the pier. Snorting, bellowing camels lined up at the water’s edge. The
amenoukal
brandished his lance. His dromedary, so right for the desert, had failed him again on city streets. The Tuareg leader raised a hand, and the group of warriors gathering on the pier bristled with spears.

“Graeme!” Tillie called out a warning.

The
amenoukal
dropped his hand. Spears like long silver rockets hurtled through the air. Graeme flung himself across Tillie and flattened her to the wet floor, crushing the air from her chest. Five spears splashed into the water around them. Another stuck with a thud, vibrating on the wooden floor near her head. She winced.

In the time it took to draw a breath, the barrage was over. She opened her eyes and lifted her head. One spear had buried its point in the hull of the boat, another hung askew from the side, the rest floated lazily in the brown water.

Graeme sat up and pulled her into his arms. “Okay?” His breath warmed her hair.

She nodded. The scent of his clean shirt mingled with something spicy on his skin. She pressed her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. “Are we safe?”

“For now.”

“I feel sick about leaving Hannah on that balcony.”

His hand molded over her shoulder. “I’ll take you back right now if you want.”

“I’d never get to her.” She pictured the old woman, so strong despite her fragile appearance. “If the Tuareg leave her alone, she’ll be okay.”

“I suspect they’ve got someone else on their minds.”

She lifted her head. Like the return of a bad dream, the whole caravan—warriors, women, children with pots clanking, bells jingling, tents wobbling—was filing down the riverbank, keeping pace with the little boat.

“Last thing I did was shove you back into the Niger. Not exactly a grand farewell,” Graeme said, handing her the oar again. “I was worried about you.”

She studied his eyes and saw the truth written in them. “I’m okay. But I heard gunfire as I swam away. How did you escape from them yesterday? And how on earth did you find me?”

“I had motivation.” He slipped the oar into the water and resumed paddling.

Tillie shook her head as they rowed toward the steamer. What did that mean? The treasure, the journal . . . or her? As usual, she couldn’t quite read him. She hardly cared. Just the sight of his dark hair blowing away from his face, his blue-green eyes searching the shoreline, his little half smile . . . the essence of Graeme tugged at her heart, warmed her, thrilled her. They were together again. That was enough for the moment.

“Graeme—,” she began, but her thought was cut short, and she looked around. “What’s that noise?”

His head jerked up. A soft gurgling, gushing sound came from behind them. “Trouble.”

The spearhead had split the bottom of the boat, and water was seeping through. Graeme grimaced and began paddling like a demon, guiding the boat toward the steamer. Tillie grabbed a half-gourd dipper and began bailing.

She could see the steamer’s passengers gathering at the rail as the tiny fishing boat plowed through the water toward them. It was a race she was afraid she and Graeme couldn’t win. Either the boat would sink, or the steamer would pull into the current before they could reach it.

Graeme propelled the tiny craft, his arms pumping in a steady rhythm. Tillie bailed as fast as she could, but she was losing the battle. The boat settled deeper and deeper. The farther it sank, the slower it went.

“Tillie!” Graeme shouted above the din of the steamer engines. “We’ve got to jump, or we’ll never make it. Swim like that croc was after you.”

She glanced down at the muddy water swirling around her ankles. Lifting her head in time to see Graeme dive off the edge, she sent up a prayer, peeled off the robe, and plunged in after him. The current sucked her under, surprising her with its strength.

Graeme swam to her side and matched his strokes with hers. They cut through the water, pulling closer and closer to the steamer. The wake lifted and slapped at them, trying to churn them under. Tillie could feel her arms tiring, her legs slowing, her spirit weakening.

Just ahead of her, Graeme shouted something in French. A heavy rope smacked into the water ahead. “Grab it. They’ll pull us up.”

She snatched the raveled end. He wrapped one arm around her waist, took hold of the rope, and signaled to the steamer’s crew. The rope began to rise, lifting them out of the water like a Christmas ornament caught on a string of tinsel. They bumped against the rusty orange side of the ship, then dangled outward again. As they inched toward the deck, they twirled and spun, sending a shower of silver droplets into the river below.

“I’ve been on a lot of wild rides,” Graeme said, “but this beats ’em all. The Niger Express.”

Tillie turned her head, saw the sparkle in his eyes, and couldn’t hold back a grin. “I can’t believe I ended up in that water again.” She let her head drop back and laughed out loud. “One bath, one meal, and one set of clean clothes, and then I’m right back in the river. It’s unbelievable!”

“Aw, admit it. You’re having a ball.”

I wouldn’t go that far,
Tillie thought. But she realized that the tension-filled hours with Arthur had worn on her more than all the days on the Niger.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she whispered.

“Partners again?”