The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [44]
“He threatens!” whispered Hassam.
“No, he beckons!” said Gaafar.
Lara pulled out one of her Black Demons and emptied the full clip into the sand monster. It paid no attention as the bullets whistled through its insubstantial body, but waved its arm again.
“What do you want?” she yelled.
But suddenly, almost magically, the storm subsided, and the creature once more joined the sand floor of the desert.
“What was that?” said Lara. “Something else from the Mahdist sorcerers?”
“No,” said Omar. “I think it was the Amulet itself. It knows that you are searching for it, just as Abdul said.”
“Was it urging me on or trying to frighten me away?”
Omar shrugged helplessly. “Only time will tell. Did it frighten you?”
“Do I look frightened?” she said angrily, inserting a fresh clip into the pistol. “I put fifteen bullets into it.” She stared at the now-empty place where she had last seen it. “Maybe next time I’ll try a bucket of water.”
The four of them got to their feet, allowing their camels to do the same. They mounted and began riding, but after another quarter hour Lara pulled her camel to a stop and dismounted.
“I’ve got sand and grit in my hair, in my eyes, all over me,” she complained.
“We all do,” said Gaafar. “One learns to live with it when traveling in the desert.”
“Why should you?” demanded Lara. “There’s a great bathtub thirty yards away,” she continued, pointing to the Nile. “I’m going to rinse myself off.”
She removed her robes, and put her holsters and pistols in her saddle pack. Then she slipped off her boots, leaving the knife called the Leopard’s Tooth in the right boot. When she looked up, she noticed that all three men had turned their camels so that their backs were to her. “It’s all right,” she announced. “I’m not getting out of my shorts and shirt. I just want to wash my arms and face and hair.”
As the men turned their camels back and allowed them to approach the Nile and drink from it, Lara walked into the water until it was up to her shoulders, then lowered herself and completely submerged herself. She scrubbed the sand out of her hair with her fingers as best she could, then rubbed her arms and legs vigorously. When at last she felt she was finally clean—or at least as clean as she was likely to get—she turned back to shore.
That was when she discovered that she and her three companions were no longer alone.
Five men, all mounted on horseback, had ridden up while she was in the water. They all wore robes similar to Omar’s and her own, and each carried a rifle in a sheath.
Lara climbed out of the water and approached them.
Well, there’s no sense pretending I’m a boy. There’s probably no reason to pretend I’m retarded either—but I don’t know what Omar’s told them, so I’d better be careful and play it by ear.
“Bashira,” Omar said as she walked up, “these are men of the village of Sulikhander.”
“I am honored to meet you,” she said in Arabic.
“An accent,” noted one of the men, who seemed to be their leader.
I’m not tanned enough to pass as a native. What do I say to that?
“I am a Circassian,” she said at last, claiming membership in the one very pale-skinned race that inhabited the North African countries. “This is not my native language.”
“They are going to a great gathering of the Mahdists,” continued Omar quickly, eager to get out the information before she made a verbal misstep. “We have been invited to join them. I told them that of course we are Mahdists too, but we have urgent business south of Khartoum.”
“This is true,” affirmed Lara. “But like you, we count the days until the appearance of the Expected One.”
She noticed all five men staring disapprovingly at her.
“You are a shameless woman,” announced the leader, “to appear thus in front of grown men.”
“I did not know you would be joining us,” answered Lara. “And they are my family.”
She walked to her camel and began donning her robe, which she had left slung over the saddle. Next came the boots, with the Leopard’s Tooth still