The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [38]
She was still mulling the problem when Omar gently prodded her shoulder.
“What is it?” she asked.
“We are about to enter the Sudan.”
“Oh, hell!” she said suddenly.
“What is it?”
“I don’t have an exit stamp from Egypt on my passport,” she said. “Not to mention the fact that I don’t exactly resemble my passport photo at the moment.”
“Don’t worry,” said Omar. He waved at a uniformed soldier, who waved back.
“One of yours?” asked Lara.
“My cousin,” said Omar as the boat floated across the border.
“But what if we had gone by camel after all? How would we have passed through customs then?” asked Lara.
“One of my uncles,” said Omar. “I have placed men at every station.”
“But surely the Mahdists have done the same,” said Lara.
“They tried,” replied Omar with a smile that left no doubt as to the fate of those Mahdists. “As for your passport,” he continued, “do not worry; as soon as we reach Khartoum, I will get all the proper stamps for it.”
“It is a good thing you have a large family,” said Lara.
Omar laughed aloud, then stared intently at her.
“What is it?” asked Lara.
“I am still not satisfied with your disguise. I was wondering how you would look in a beard.”
“We’re going to let that remain one of life’s little mysteries,” she answered firmly. “Not only won’t I wear a false beard, but once we’re in Khartoum, I don’t plan to wear these robes any longer.”
“Women are not so independent in our country,” commented Hassam.
“Fine!” she shot back. “Get a Sudanese woman to find your Amulet.”
“Please!” said Omar. “We are allies. Let us not fight among ourselves. The enemy is out there.”
“I apologize,” said Hassam.
“Humbly,” insisted Omar.
“Humbly,” repeated Hassam.
“So do I,” said Lara. “Blame it on all the raw fish we’ve been eating.”
“You’ve had your last meal of raw fish,” announced Omar.
“Oh?”
He nodded. “We are back in our own country. We have friends here. We will go a few more miles, until we are sure no one is following us on the water or the shore, and then we will stop at a small village that will supply us with food and—”
“Let me guess,” Lara interrupted him. “More camels.”
“We can’t drive to Khartoum,” explained Omar. “There is only one road. It will be under observation, with possible ambushes awaiting us.”
“Where is this village?”
“A few miles beyond Wadi Halfa.”
“Wadi Halfa isn’t much more than a village itself,” noted Lara.
Omar seemed amused by that. “It is the largest municipality for more than two hundred miles in any direction.”
“Nevertheless,” said Lara.
Omar sighed. “True. But it is my country, and I am proud of it.”
“There’s no reason not to be proud. The world has many huge cities that I find incredibly distasteful. Size is not the measure of a man or a city.”
“That is something I tell myself every day,” replied the undersize Omar.
“How many people live there?”
“Five extended families,” said Omar. “Perhaps one hundred and thirty people in all.”
“One hundred and thirty,” she repeated. “Is it on any maps?”
“I doubt it.”
“Has it got a name?”
“Yes, but it is better if you remain ignorant of it.”
“Why?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I have family there. Anyone who helps us is, by definition, an enemy of the Mahdists. If you are captured and tortured, and reveal the name of the village, you will condemn them to a terrible fate.”
“I wouldn’t talk,” replied Lara. “But I don’t expect you to take my word for it. Not with the lives of your family at risk.”
Omar looked relieved. “I am glad you feel that way.”
They reached Wadi Halfa in four hours. Lara bent over and hid her face from view as they wended their way through dozens of fishing boats, and didn’t straighten up until Omar told her that they had run the gauntlet and there were no other crafts within sight.
They went two more miles, and then, for the first time in five days, they took the felluca ashore. Each man removed his rifle and his personal possessions, along with the saddles and other equipment the camels had carried. Lara stood aside and waited