Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) (2 page)

BOOK: Sands of Time (Out of Time #6)
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Once she was secure in her saddle, he made his way to his beast. It glared at him with inscrutable eyes and groaned as he neared. Simon climbed onto his saddle and then the men gave the order for the camels to stand. As usual, it took several tries before they moved. It was incredibly awkward at first, but Simon knew what to expect now. He gripped the roped reins and held onto the front pommel as the camel lurched forward slightly and upward onto its knees. Quickly, Simon leaned back in his saddle as the back end rose before the front. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. In another jerky movement, the front legs joined the back and he was fully upright.

The height had been unnerving at first, but it was the swaying walk that had given him the most trouble. Simon was used to the walking gait of a horse—a four-beat gait—where three feet were on the ground at any one time. The camel’s two-beat pace meant that both the right front and right rear legs were off the ground at the same time causing the rider to sway from side to side as well as up and down. It had taken nearly an hour for the seasickness to wear off.

Despite the camels being pungent, stubborn and uncomfortable, Elizabeth appeared to be having the time of her life. She’d even gotten so comfortable in the saddle that she could cross her legs in front of her and lean back as though she were kayaking through the desert. Perhaps her ease with it all was because she tended to let things come to her, instead of trying to shape them to her will as he did. Maybe it was her age, but somehow he doubted it. He’d never been as open as she was when he was twenty-five. It was just who she was—open, adventurous, and painfully optimistic. Just a few of the very many reasons he loved her.

While he worried about practical things like water and catching up with Mason in Fayoum, Elizabeth passed the time trying to learn a few words of Arabic from the men, much to their amusement.

“Gamal,” she said, pointing at herself and then at the camel. “Gamyl.”

The men laughed.

“You have called yourself a camel,” Hassan said. “And the camel beautiful.”

Her camel bellowed and the men laughed harder.

Elizabeth grinned and joined in. “Well, he
is
handsome.”

They rode for another three hours before Simon spied what looked to be an outcropping of date palms. He’d thought it was a trick of light at first. He could imagine how the mind would play games with someone who’d been out in the desert sun too long. But as they neared, he saw it wasn’t a mirage, but an actual oasis. A powerful sense of relief flooded through him. While he trusted Hassan, and they weren’t hundreds of miles from civilization, the primal fear of not having enough water was surprisingly intense. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Hassan pulled his camel up next to Simon’s and smiled broadly. “You see? Trust in Hassan.”

The oasis, fed by a natural spring, was meager, but welcome. A few date palms and little trees lined the banks of a very small spring. The camels drank while Simon and Elizabeth found a spot to rest. Simon spread out a blanket and Elizabeth sat down. She took off her hat and unwound her keffiyeh, and put them both aside. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her dress and pulled the fabric away from her throat and chest. Tilting her head back, she let the gentle breeze cool the heated skin.

Simon stretched out next to her, happy to have a chance to work out the kinks from the long ride. He used to ride often as a boy at his estate in England and later during his years at Oxford, but he didn’t recall ever feeling this tired. Of course, he reminded himself, that was twenty years ago and he’d been on a civilized animal.

As if it had heard his thoughts, one of the camels bellowed and craned its long neck around to stare at him.

Simon ignored it and turned his attention to something more pleasant. The setting sun cast everything in a golden glow and he pushed himself up onto an elbow to admire his wife. Her white dress was dusty, sweat dripped down her neck into her cleavage and her hair was windswept and in disarray. She had never been more beautiful.

She smiled down at him and then sighed contentedly. She squinted off into the distance. “Do you think Jack’s all right?”

Simon took off his hat and fanned his face with it. “I’m sure he’s fine. Probably half way to Libya by now, but I’m sure he’ll catch on eventually.”

Elizabeth frowned, then arched her eyebrows in reluctant resignation. There was nothing they could do about it now.

When they’d started out after Mason, they knew the time might come when his trail would leave them at a crossroads. It had happened barely a day out of Cairo. Two roads diverged from the small village Mason had stopped in and there was no way to know which route he’d taken. Or, honestly, if he’d taken either of them. He was, however, as far as they could tell, traveling alone and with no extra pack animals. That meant he couldn’t stray too far into uncharted land. Besides that, they were fairly certain he was meeting someone and a random spot in the desert was hardly optimal for that.

There were villages and towns both to the west and to the south of his last known stopping place and so they’d split up. Jack had continued on to the west and they’d gone south. About ten hours later, they’d come across a tribe of Bedouins who had crossed paths with Mason. He was headed south which meant they were on his trail and Jack was on a wild goose chase.

Simon tossed his hat down onto the blanket and ran a hand through his hair. “He can take care of himself, Elizabeth,” he assured her.

She smiled and nodded again and leaned back against the blanket. “I’m sure he’ll have stories to tell.”

Simon had little doubt of that. He turned away from her to watch the men hurry about, tending to this and that when he noticed that Hassan was not watching them, but surveying the horizon. Simon excused himself and stood, and walked over to join him.

He stared off into the distance trying to see what Hassan seemed to see. “Everything all right?”

Hassan kept his eyes on the desert to the west where the sun was sinking low in the sky. “We should not tarry here long.”

“We’re not making camp here?”

“We are too vulnerable here.”

Simon didn’t understand how they could possibly be more at risk in an oasis than they were out in the harsh desert. However, Hassan didn’t take his eyes off the horizon.

“Why would a predator wander the wilderness for prey when he knows it will come to the water,” he said. “The prey will come to him.”

Simon didn’t like the sound of that. Was there some wild beast he’d never heard of out there? Predators? In the short time he’d known Hassan, the man had been painfully jovial. This sudden shift in temperament was discomfiting. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Bandits,” Hassan said softly.

“What?”

“Bandits,” Hassan said, this time urgently. He spun around and barked orders. The men froze for a moment, before he bellowed at them again.

Simon looked out onto the horizon, but he couldn’t see anything. “What are you talking about? Bandits?”

Hassan hurried to where Elizabeth had been sitting on the blanket. She’d stood and started to walk over to them. Hassan gripped her fiercely by the arm. “You must stay quiet.” With that, he practically yanked her to the ground.

“What the hell do you—” Simon said as he ran to stop him.

Hassan pushed Elizabeth down and hurriedly flipped the blanket over on top of her.

Simon grabbed his arm and spun him around. “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

Simon started to lift the blanket off Elizabeth, when Hassan stopped him. “Please, Mister Cross. Trust in Hassan. It is better they do not find her.”

“Who?” Simon demanded.

Hassan didn’t need to answer. Simon could hear them now, the approach of a dozen or so riders. They wore black robes and keffiyehs covered their faces. Their horses began to rim the small rise that ringed the far edge of the pool.

Hassan took Simon’s arm and led him away from the blanket, away from Elizabeth. It was all Simon could do to not look back.

“Do as I say,” Hassan whispered. “And we will live.”

A large man on an even larger horse rode up into the middle of the line of men. Unlike the others, his face was not covered and he wore a large, wolfish smile.

“Probably,” Hassan added.

CHAPTER THREE

The large man in the center of the line of men, presumably the leader, shifted in his saddle and stared down at them with keen, appraising eyes. He scanned their little company and then said something in Arabic to one of his men.

Simon had a pistol in his saddle bags, for all the good it would do him, even if he could reach it. As the line of men shifted, Simon could see clearly now that they were well-armed. Some carried rifles and most had swords and daggers and looked the sort who wouldn’t hesitate to use them.

One of the men moved his horse to his leader’s side. The leader spoke to the man, nodding toward Simon and Hassan as he did. The other man nodded and then began to translate.

“Who are you to come to this place?” he said in English with a precise upper class accent. Cambridge, possibly, and young.

“We are—” Simon started, but Hassan gripped his forearm.

“We are but humble travelers, Effendi. We meant no—”

The leader raised his hand and Hassan stopped talking and bowed his head in deference.

The leader nodded his head toward Simon and said something to his translator.

There was a momentary delay before the translator relayed the question. “You are English?”

Simon kicked himself for having spoken, but there was nothing to be done for it now. “Yes.”

There was little love lost between the Egyptians and the English in 1920. The British occupation had begun to more than chafe and violent protests had erupted just a year earlier.

“You are not welcome here,” the man translated for the leader. “You and your kind have trespassed against the great people of Egypt for too long. The day is coming for freedom and today you will play your part in our revolution.”

Simon tensed. If history had taught him anything, it was that revolutionaries seldom acted benevolently toward their occupiers, especially when they had such an advantage as twelve against one.

Between the Ottoman Turks, the French and now the British, the Egyptian people had grown tired of overlords. Simon knew a little about the 1919 revolution and the path toward independence from British rule. It had been marked with violence in the beginning, mostly against the Egyptians, however. In the end, the revolution was considered by some to be a textbook case of successful non-violent civil disobedience. He could only hope these men, despite their warlike trappings, were not part of the fringe that seemed to exist in every insurgence.

“I support your cause,” Simon said. After the moment it took for the man to translate his response a round of surprised discussion broke out among the men.

The leader silenced his men with a raised hand. He spoke to his translator once more.

“Then you will not mind giving generously to it.”

The leader motioned for two men to dismount. They shouldered their rifles and strode toward Simon and Hassan. Simon tensed, but kept still. Their long shadows stretched out in front of them like ominous specters.

One of the men lingered behind the other and scanned their makeshift camp. He unshouldered his rifle and walked to the far side of the camp where he began inspecting their supplies. Hassan’s men knelt in the sand, hands clasped before them in supplication and surrender. The man inspecting the camp waved to another man who dismounted and untied the sacks of their provisions and carried them back to his horse.

The man in front of Simon said something in Arabic and lifted his hands and curled his fingers inward in the universal,
give it to me
gesture. Simon barely hesitated. The money he had with him was a fair sum, but thankfully, Simon had had the sense to visit the Bank of Cairo as soon as they’d arrived and deposited most of their money into an account there. He hated to lose what cash he had on hand, but it would be a small price to pay if they could get out of this alive.

Slowly, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet. He started to open it when the man snatched it from his hand and pulled out a wad of bills. He waved it in the air to show the leader, who was unmoved.

Next to him, the young translator shifted uneasily in his saddle and looked nervously between Simon and the leader.

The man tossed his wallet into the sand and stuffed the cash into a small bag at his waist. He turned back to Simon and gestured again.

“That is all I have,” Simon said, as he raised his hands, palms out.

The leader nodded his head once and the man strode forward and patted Simon’s jacket. It was only moments before he discovered the watch. Simon could hear Hassan groan and mumble something next to him, but he ignored it. Simon’s mouth went dry as the man turned the watch over in his hands. If they lost the watch, they’d be trapped here, back in time, forever.

“It’s an heirloom,” Simon said as he looked up at the leader. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun. “Hardly of any value.”

“One does not hide something that is not valuable,” the young translator relayed.

The man who had taken their supplies had finished digging through their saddle bags and began circling the camp. He would stop every few steps and poke the bundles of their clothes or blankets with the tip of his bayonet. Simon’s jaw worked with the effort it took not to turn and look at the blanket that covered Elizabeth. If they found her, God only knew what they would do and he would be powerless to stop them.

His heartbeat raced as he tried to find some way, any way out of this mess. Swallowing hard and trying to remain calm and focused, Simon watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he moved closer and closer to her hiding place.

The man stopped and stooped down to pick up a gunny sack, but found the contents wanting and tossed it aside before resuming his inspection. Simon felt sweat bead on his forehead. His breath came quicker, harder. Just a few more steps and he would find her hiding place.

BOOK: Sands of Time (Out of Time #6)
9.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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