The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [62]
He nodded his acquiescence, and the two of them walked to the back of the building, where she found a few dozen volumes on Gordon and the siege of Khartoum.
“I’m going to be here for a few minutes,” she whispered to him. “Why don’t you rinse your face off? The tears have left streaks across the dust. You almost look like you’re wearing a mask.”
“You’ll remain here?” said Hassam.
“I won’t leave this section until you come back,” she promised.
He turned and headed off to the rest room, and Lara pulled down a volume that was written in Arabic, thumbed through it looking for a map, couldn’t find one, and pulled another book out. This one did have a map, and she studied it for a few minutes. A frown spread over her face, and she began thumbing through the pages—and suddenly she felt the sharp point of a knife against her rib cage.
“Not a sound,” whispered a voice in Arabic. “I want you to walk slowly to the exit on your left.”
“If you’re going to kill me, why should I make it easy for you?” she whispered back. “Do it right here, surrounded by witnesses, and be assured that I don’t plan to die silently.”
“How you die is of no concern to me,” said the man. “I am offering you a chance to live. I know you found the Amulet of Mareish in the Temple of Horus. Just tell me where it is.”
Okay, she thought, so you’re a Mahdist. I guess not all of you are willing to sit on the sidelines while I hunt for it.
“I don’t even know yet what it looks like,” she replied.
“You lie.”
“If I had it, why would I be here, trying to learn about it from books?”
“To learn how to use its power, of course,” said the man. “Now, do you walk or do you die right here?”
I don’t know how many more Mahdists are in the library. Let’s get outside where it’s just you and me, and then we’ll see how tough you are.
She walked meekly to a side door, and a moment later the pair of them were alone in a deserted alley.
“Now tell me where it is, or by Allah I will cut the answer out of you.”
He pushed the point of his weapon against her. She gasped and bent over, ostensibly in pain—but as she bent over, her right hand snaked inside her robes and made contact with the hilt of the Scalpel of Isis. She grabbed it and maneuvered it loose from her belt, where she had tucked it.
“Now you see what happens when you do not cooperate,” hissed the man.
“What happens,” she said, “is that I lose my temper!”
With that she spun around, dagger in hand, and slashed upward. The man screamed as her blade cut deep into his free arm, then took a step back, and she got her first good look at her attacker. He was a huge man, six and a half feet tall, close to three hundred pounds, without any fat on him.
“You could have told me what I wanted to know and saved yourself!” he rasped. “Now you will die whether you tell me or not!”
She knew better than to close with him when he outweighed her by more than two-to-one. As he approached her, she looked around the alley for anything she could use to her advantage.
There was an insulated power line stretched across it, but it was about twelve feet up, and she knew she couldn’t jump high enough to reach it. Then she saw the garbage piled up beside the building—wooden packing crates, heavy boxes, all discarded by the library. As he took another step toward her she raced up the pile of boxes and leaped toward the power line. Her fingers closed on the rubber insulation, and she swung herself up.
“You think you can hide on a wire?” said the man with a contemptuous laugh.
She got her feet under her and stood up, walking along the wire, scanning the rooftops until she found what she was looking for.
“Catch me if you can!” she said, laughing back at him.
“You think I cannot reach the wire?” he said. “Then watch!”
He leaped straight up, and his fingers closed on the wire.
“You should have stayed on the Sudanese basketball team!” she said, jumping off the vibrating wire onto the roof of a small building.
He couldn’t walk the wire the way she could, but he swung himself along it, hand over