So I was given a proper robe and headscarf, and even a belt—which Wife threw at me with a comment whose words I could not understand, but whose tone implied that a woman who went unbelted might engage in any sort of impropriety. The items were tattered and less than clean, but I counted them as a trophy nonetheless.
We gained another minor respite from the steps they took to secure us. The Banu Safr moved camp the very next day, to a different area with fresh pasturage, and Tom and I were loaded into a howdah on the back of one of the camels. With the sides tied shut around us, we could neither see where we were going, nor be observed by any scouts; but we were also sheltered from the sun. As stuffy as it became in there, I preferred it to the alternative, which might have killed Tom outright.
We were two days in transit to the next site, and Tom predicted that the Banu Safr would attempt to hide their trail, making it difficult for our companions to find us. By then I was fairly certain we had been taken in a different direction from the stolen camels, increasing my suspicion that the raid had been a diversion from this, their true mission. But who were the Banu Safr waiting for?
If I could not escape, then I might at least hope to answer that question.
Escaping would not be easy, and I hesitated to rush into a poorly planned attempt, for fear that doing so would only make matters worse. No one ever left sharp objects within our reach, with which Tom and I might cut our tethers. Even once we were free of those bonds, we would have to leave the tent without anyone noticing, or else overpower our guards without a disturbance. We ought to steal two camels: we could ride double, as we had on the way here, but that would tire our mount and make it easier for pursuers to catch us. I had grand visions of sending the entire herd of camels stampeding off into the wilderness, forcing the Banu Safr to choose between their captives and their livelihoods; but I did not know if camels were prone to stampeding, and even if they were, it would be impossible to drive off enough of them at once.
Hunting for openings we might exploit, I found myself noticing other things. The rugs that carpeted the floor of the tent, for example, were clearly new: their nap was still thick, their colours unstained and undimmed. When Wife cooked meals, she used brass pots that lacked the scrapes and small dents of older tools. She wore quite a bit of gold jewelry as well—cheap stuff, as even I could tell, but she seemed very proud of it, and during our move to the new campsite I saw her displaying it to another woman, in the manner of one showing off a new acquisition.
All of it pointed toward wealth recently obtained. It might have been a reward to Husband and Brother for their valour; I rather thought most of it predated the kidnapping, but the Banu Safr had been causing trouble for a while, and sheikhs are supposed to be generous with their followers. But where had the sheikh gotten that wealth? This tribe lacked the city connections that helped enrich their brethren. They might have been extorting “brotherhood” from villages in settled areas; that is the term given to the protection money that was once common, before the current political arrangements came into being. (Indeed, one could argue that the tax money the city sheikhs now receive and distribute to their tribes is still “brotherhood,” just given a different name. But that is neither here nor there.) Their rebellious status meant the Banu Safr scraped by in marginal territory, however, and I could not imagine the villages within their reach had any great wealth to offer. Where, then, was the money coming from?
“Perhaps,” I muttered to Tom when I had the chance to share this with him, “it is coming from whoever is coming for us. Whoever has put them to the task of interfering with our work.” There was no longer any question in my mind as to whether the raids had been solely a product of tribal enmity, or spurred by the attempt to capture and breed dragons. If the Banu Safr only hated the Aritat, they would not have bothered kidnapping Scirling naturalists.
“I’ve seen a surprising number of guns, too,” Tom murmured back. “All throughout the camp. They don’t look very new … but where are these people getting them?”
He and I did not have many opportunities to talk. Our captors became angry when we conversed in Scirling—or, for that matter, in any language they did not understand—and in Akhian, of course, they could supervise everything we said. But there were times each day when Wife stepped out to fetch water or handle some other domestic matter, and then we could whisper briefly. We debated trying to leave during one of those absences, if we could break our cords. Even with clothing, however, I would not long be mistaken for an Akhian woman; and Tom, of course, was still clad in only the trousers he had worn to sleep. (They gave him a robe and a headscarf when he went out; but with his burns, this was not a mercy.) At night, we might stand a better chance outside the tent … but inside the tent, night meant three enemies sleeping at our elbows.
Unfortunately, we could not afford to wait for a good opportunity to escape. Several days after our arrival in the new campsite, Tom overheard a snatch of alarming conversation.
“We’re to be handed off,” he whispered to me when he came back to the tent, the words harsh and quick. “I don’t know who’s coming for us, but—”
But whoever it was, we almost certainly did not want to be in their clutches. I bit my lip, thinking. “Tonight—”
Tom shook his head. “Sooner. Make them take you out, and run.”
They never allowed us both to leave the tent at the same time. Tom had already made that calculation, though, and put a finger on my lips when I would have refused to leave him behind. “I’ll distract them,” he said, and then we could say no more; Brother was coming back into the tent, and he already looked at us with suspicion.
I wanted to argue with Tom. Even with a distraction, I stood very little chance of escaping. But I recognized the set of his jaw all too well. Even if I had the freedom to say everything on my mind, I would not persuade him. All I would do was squander this opportunity, slim as it was.
To allay Brother’s suspicions, I waited a short time, quelling the urge to fidget. I could not delay long, though, for fear Wife would return; if she did, my semblance of a plan would fall to dust. Ordinarily she accompanied either Brother or Kidnapper when they took me out to attend to biological necessities, which I then performed under her watchful eye. I had no desire, and likely insufficient skill, to subdue her. Seeing opportunity in her absence, I spoke up, indicating an urgent need to leave the tent.
Brother did not want to take me without her supervision. But I insisted, until finally he spat what sounded like a curse and unknotted my tether, leading me out into the morning sunlight.
He took me out past the edge of camp, to the area used for such matters. I gave him a freezing glare when it seemed he might stay by my side; he looked disgusted and turned his back. It was not enough. If I tried to send him out of sight, though, over the low rise that separated us from the camp, he would become suspicious. I found myself eyeing a rock on the ground a little distance away, and thinking very unpleasant thoughts.
Shouts from the camp stopped me before I could decide one way or another. Brother took a step away, listening; then he ran to the top of the rise and a short way down the other side, his attention fixed on the commotion. That, no doubt, was Tom at work, and my heart ached to think what he might have done to cause so much noise.
But I would not let it be for nothing. Hiking up my borrowed skirts, I ran.
There was broken ground not far away, studded with scrubby trees, which might afford me sufficient cover to hide. Brother would search, or call for help; in time they would bring the salukis to run me down. I must make it to a camel or a horse before that happened, or my escape attempt would not get me even a half mile to freedom.
When I saw movement up ahead, I knew even half a mile had been sheer optimism.
There was a man among the rocks, armed and veiled against the dust: a guard, I presumed. I veered to the right, wincing as my bare feet slammed into the hard ground. Behind me I heard more shouts, Brother noticing my break for freedom. I
ran for all I was worth, but it was not very much. I had not gone a hundred meters when Brother slammed into me from behind, knocking me down and driving all the breath from my lungs.
What followed was unpleasant. Brother dragged me back into camp—and I do mean dragged; he did not even permit me to regain my feet. Tom and I were both beaten soundly for our disobedience, him worse than me. When that was done, they threw us once more into the tent. I suspect that were it not for the security the tent offered, they would have staked us out in the dust, like the guard dogs.
Lying sprawled on the carpet, Tom spoke in a voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry. But we had to try.”
“Quite right,” I said, trying to sound resolute. One of his eyes was swollen nearly shut. “Tom … do you think you can ride? Tonight?”
He lifted his head just enough to look at me, then put it down before anyone could notice. We had no chance to speak after that, but we knew one another well enough that we did not need to. The last thing anyone expected was for us to try to escape a second time, so hard on the heels of the first. There was good reason for that—we were in dreadfully bad shape to be attempting anything—but what could they do if we failed? Beat us a second time? It seemed they would not kill us, even when provoked. And while I did not relish the prospect of pain, I was more and more certain I did not want to be handed off to whomever had ordered our kidnapping.
Our second plan was no more complicated than our first, for we had nothing with which to complicate it. While Wife stood in the opening of the tent, calling out to a friend of hers across the way, I unhooked the lamp from its place on the central pole for long enough to spill a bit of oil on the knots of our tethers. That, I hoped, would speed the process of unknotting them, which we must try to do in the dark.
We had to wait until they were fully asleep. When at last their breathing evened out and stayed that way for a time, Tom and I turned our attention to the cords. He was better with knots than I, and had watched how Brother and Kidnapper undid our bonds; his slid free first, and then he bent to work on mine.
In the grand scheme of things, it was not much of a victory. Getting ourselves loose from the tent pole was only the first of many steps that must be completed before we could escape, and far from the hardest. But I took heart from it anyway as I stood, biting my lip when my abused feet took my weight.
Once more I felt a breeze upon my cheek.
This time I had no confusion as to the cause. The sensation was not from the direction of the front flap, and I was wide awake; I could see the paler spot where the back wall of the tent had opened, its seam cut apart, and someone was crawling through.
I did not know until much later that the nomads tell tales of this sort of thing; indeed, it is one of their favourite genres. I only knew that I thought, He is a madman.
The Aritat had indeed come after us, and Suhail had led them himself.
He paused just inside the slit, allowing his eyes to adjust to the greater darkness within. Tom took a step forward. Fearing he had not recognized that dim silhouette, I gripped his wrist to stop him. Tom’s breath hissed between his teeth, and for a moment all three of us froze, for fear he had roused our captors.
They, however, were quite accustomed to Tom’s small sounds of pain in the night. No one spoke or sat up, and after a moment Suhail parted the slit in the tent wall again. It may have been to confirm what he thought he had seen, or to usher us out. I took it as the latter.
Suhail stayed put while Tom and I crawled through the gap, then followed us out. His clothes were dun-coloured and his face whitened with ash; on a night like this one, with the moon bright in the sky, that was better camouflage than darkness would have been. Tom blended in a good deal better than I did in my borrowed clothes.
Leaving that camp was one of the most terrifying things I have ever done. The Aritat had not come in sufficient numbers to stage an assault—and any such attempt might have had dire consequences for Tom and myself. Instead we departed by what I presumed were the same means the Banu Safr had used to kidnap us, the chief difference being that Tom and I were on our feet.
Suhail led us, crouching in the shadow of one tent until he saw that the way was clear, then running for the next. Our path seemed tortuous, angling first one way, then another, in order to avoid guard dogs and camels couched alongside the tents. Partway through this I realized we were not alone: two other men of the Aritat were paralleling our path, and judging by the knives and rifles they held, both were prepared to kill anyone who stumbled across us. After that I could scarcely breathe.
Only when we left the final row of tents did my lungs begin to work properly. I knew we were not yet clear; if someone noticed us missing the camp would give chase. But we were past the point at which someone might accidentally stumble upon us—or so I believed.
He was not a guard, I think. I do not know who he was. He carried no rifle, and seemed utterly startled when we scrabbled up a narrow wash and came face-to-face with him.
The tableau lasted for only an instant. He stared at us, mouth open in surprise. Then a hand clamped over that mouth, for someone had risen up behind him; another hand passed over his throat, and blood fountained out in its wake, black in the moonlight.
Andrew held on a moment longer, until the man had stopped thrashing. Then, breathing quickly, he lowered the body to the ground. “Come on,” he whispered. “Before someone wonders where he’s gone.”
The sudden violence of it paralyzed me. But Suhail took me by the arm, heedless of propriety, and pulled me forward. Their camels were not far away. We mounted up, and were gone before the Banu Safr knew we had escaped.
* * *
I will not say much of that ride. It reminded me far too vividly of another desperate flight, which some of my readers may recall. (Tom was not half so badly injured as Jacob had been, but he could not stay on a camel without riding double; the resemblance was more than enough to upset me.)
Andrew stayed close beside me. My relief at seeing him warred with the unpleasant realization that my brother had indeed become a soldier; and this meant more than simply putting on a uniform and idling about in foreign countries. His clothes were stained with blood, which of course we could not stop to wash out. The man he killed belonged to an enemy tribe, one that had kidnapped and mistreated me in an effort to stop my work … but it was a long time before that memory no longer made me shake.
We rode pell-mell for Aritat territory, and if you have never been atop a galloping camel, you will have a difficult time understanding what that was like. When it moves at a trot or a pace, a good camel may have a remarkably smooth gait; at a gallop, it is about as stable as a bucking horse. We did not gallop the whole distance, of course, as that would have been a good way to kill our mounts. But we did so often enough for it to be exhausting—because of course we had to assume the Banu Safr were pursuing us. Suhail’s companions assured us that the enemy camels were poor creatures, with no chance of catching Aritat camels in the chase; but this was not so reassuring as it might have been.
Our Akhian rescuers were in good spirits overall, even when the skies opened the next night and drenched us in chill rain. They laughed and clapped one another on the back, showing a gaiety wholly at odds with my usual impression of the nomads. I gathered that nobody of the Aritat had carried out that sort of secret, nighttime raid in generations; their enemies thought them incapable of it. Such efforts were not deemed as glorious as the more public sort of raid, charging into battle atop a spirited horse—but there was a romance to the activity that could not be denied. One of the fellows seemed to think this would impress the girl he hoped to marry, and preened as he rode.
It certainly had impressed me, to the point where it robbed me of anything resembling eloquence. When I attempted to thank Suhail for the risk he had taken on our behalf, it came out pure stammering incoherence. He fixed his gaze between the ears of his mount and said, “I should have moved more quickly. When you ran…”
/> Startled, I turned to stare at him. That figure I had seen in the distance—in my fright, I had not looked properly, had not recognized him as I ordinarily would. Not a Banu Safr guard after all.
“Perhaps it was for the best,” I said, swallowing. “Had you come to my aid then, who knows what would have happened to Tom.”
“You would not have been beaten,” Suhail answered, gaze still fixed. “But the attempt showed us which tent you were being kept in, which we hadn’t known. I am grateful to you for that.”
The robe and headscarf they put on Tom when he left the tent had not merely been for propriety; the clothing was a security measure, designed to conceal him from watching eyes. “How long were you out there?”
“Since the day before.” He straightened his shoulders and managed something like a smile. “And hardly needed, it seems. You were halfway out of the tent by the time I got there. All we did was provide camels for the ride home.”
That came far short of the mark—but I could not find the words to say it. Instead I asked, “Has anyone been told that we vanished? Outside of the camp itself, of course.”
I had not meant to make him look at me, but I succeeded. His head whipped around, the damp ends of his scarf swinging loose. “No. What could they do in time? I knew we could get you back.”
This last was said with more than a little bravado—but as he had indeed gotten us back, I could hardly argue. It was a relief to know the Scirling cavalry would not soon go thundering across the desert to start a war that was no longer needed … or at least, I hoped it would not be. “We’ll have to tell them now,” I said with a sigh. “If only because I’m certain there is more going on here than a few raids born of traditional grudges.” I told him what Tom and I had observed in camp: the signs of wealth, the unusual quantity of guns.
He frowned especially over the guns. “I thought they had too many,” he muttered, twisting to glance over his shoulder as if he could count the firearms from here. “Who could be paying them? The Muwala? Or—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. Such names would mean nothing to me, ignorant as I was of Akhian politics. What mattered was that we had evidence of conspiracy; others would be better positioned than I to investigate it.