Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [81]
“Curse it,” I exclaimed. “Are we expected to ride in that contraption?”
Har indicated that we were. I gave in for the moment, since the captain was obviously impatient to be off, but I had no intention of occupying it for the entire time, and I knew Nefret would feel the same. It was comfortable enough, though extremely cramped for three; rugs and cushions formed a soft surface on which to sit, and the curtains could be adjusted to admit air. When Emerson announced his intention of checking the loads, to make sure nothing had been left behind, Daoud nudged Selim, and the latter said somewhat apologetically, “It is the time for prayer, Emerson.”
“Curse it,” said Emerson. “Get on with it, then. Ramses, come with me.”
I apologized to Selim, who replied with a grin that there was no need.
I calculated that approximately half of the original escort was now with us, the rest presumably having been left to guard the oasis. Emerson confirmed this when he returned, and went on to say, “Everything seems to be in order. Here, Peabody, let me hoist you up.”
I will not test the Reader’s patience by describing the last part of our journey in detail. In fact, there was nothing much to see once we had left the palms and greenery of the oasis behind—sand and stony ground, rock outcroppings, and an occasional vulture swinging through the empty sky. One event broke the monotony: a sandstorm which went on from midmorning until shortly before sunset. There was no thought of stopping; a stationary object would soon be buried. The camels knew this. At times, when the force of the wind and sand was at its fiercest, they moved at a snail’s pace, but they never stopped. As the interminable hours wore on, one came to think of the sand not as a natural force but as millions of tiny, malevolent beings, attacking the bent heads of men and camels, driving through the drawn curtains of the bassourab and penetrating even the cloth we had wrapped round our heads and faces. When the wind finally died, as suddenly as if someone had pressed a switch, our camel came to a halt.
Naturally I immediately parted the curtains and put my head out. The first sight my anxious eyes beheld was the face of Emerson. He had assumed one of the hooded robes, which had protected him to some extent from the driving sand, but his face was red and raw. “All right, are you, Peabody?” he inquired hoarsely.
“Yes, my dear. What about the others?”
“Still with us and still on their feet. Brace yourself, I believe your camel is about to kneel. Can’t blame the poor brute.”
Har came plodding back along the line of camels. He inquired solicitously after the well-being of Nefret and me and announced we would stop for a while. For once I was in full agreement with the camels, some of whom had already knelt.
We gathered round the little campfire Selim had started. The sullen crimson of the sun was dulled by fine falling dust.
“Are we still on the right path?” I asked. “I cannot imagine how he could see where we were going, and the storm has obliterated any landmarks.”
“There haven’t been any signs of life for several days,” said Ramses. “No bones, no tracks, not even a pile of camel dung. I wouldn’t be surprised if these patrols are ordered to obliterate such signs. They probably have their own private landmarks.”
As soon as the dust