The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [485]
The air was still cool, but there was no freshness in it, and already it held more than a hint of the coming day's heat, for the stillness was undisturbed by even a breath of wind, and below the town the veil of mist on the river lay motionless above the swirling water that flowed past the walls of Akbar's fort. The riders drew rein at the junction between the lane and the high road, and for a moment or two sat listening, hoping to hear the distant clop of hoof-beats that might herald the arrival of Koda Dad Khan or Gul Baz. But the long white road lay empty, and except for the cocks and the river there was no sound.
‘We shall meet them on the road,’ said Zarin, answering the unspoken thoughts of both. ‘How soon do you expect to be in Mardan?’
‘In three weeks’ time. So if your father has not already set out, send word to him to stay in his house, and say that I will come to see him as soon as I can.’
‘I will do that. But it may be that I will meet him on the way, and if so he will be waiting here for you in my aunt's house when you return. Well, we must be on our way. Pa makhe da kha, Ashok.’
Ameen sera, Zarin Khan.'
They touched hands briefly and parted. And two hours later, as the sun rose, Ash passed through Hasan Abdal, and leaving the 'Pindi road, turned left on to the one that leads to the hills and Abbottabad.
Wally had been eating breakfast under a clump of trees by the roadside near the bank of a small stream that crossed it a mile or so above the town, and he had not at first recognized the lean, travel-stained Afridi who pulled up at sight of him and dismounted among the freckled shadows of the acacias.
Book Seven
My Brother Jonathan
49
‘I suppose it was because I wasn't expecting you,’ explained Wally, plying his friend with stewed tea, hard-boiled eggs and chuppattis. ‘Your letter said to meet you at Attock so I expected to find you there all togged up in one of Rankin's best sun-proof suitings, not jogging along in the dust wearing fancy-dress. I always knew you were able to do it, but I hadn't realized that you could even take me in, and I still don't know how it's done, because your face hasn't altered – or not much – and it can't be just the clothes. Yet until you spoke I took you for just another tribesman. How the divil an all do you do the trick?’
‘There's no trick about it,’ said Ash, gulping hot tea. ‘Or if there is it probably lies in being able to think yourself into the mind and skin of whoever you are pretending to be, until you become that person; which isn't difficult for someone like me, who for most of his formative years imagined himself to be a native of this country. Anyway, most people only see what they expect to see, and if they spot a fellow in a tweed-suit and a deerstalker they automatically think “Englishman”, while one in a shulwa and turban, with a flower behind his ear and a kaisora hanging from his wrist, must of course be an Afridi. It's as simple as that.’
By now the sun was high and the heat already so fierce that it would have been cruelty to take the tired horses any further; for Wally too had been in the saddle since first light, having camped the previous night near Haripur. He had hired a tonga to bring his bearer and his gear down from Abbottabad, and Gul Baz – who had ridden far and fast in the last few days – had been only too pleased to finish the journey in this vehicle while the Sahib took over the horse.
Unlike Wally, Gul Baz had recognized Ash while he was still a good way off, and had instantly made an excuse to remove Wally's bearer Pir Baksh and the tonga driver to