facing them. Other branches of the wadi angled off to the left and right, and the junction formed a broad triangle. These walls were honeycombed with niches, hundreds of little nooks carved into the sandstone. “There’s a temple or something down there,” observed Kit softly. Even as he spoke, a man in a long white kaftan wandered into view. He paused in the open area in front of the temple and looked around, casting his gaze up the three separate canyon corridors in turn-almost as if he knew someone was watching him. Discovering nothing out of the ordinary, however, he called out to an unseen companion and then moved on.
The three adventurers continued to watch, but nothing more happened, so with the sun scalding their unprotected heads, they edged back from the overlook and returned to their bundled provisions and weapons. “Well, I suppose if it is to be four against two-” Kit said, then hastily corrected himself, “four against three, I mean-then I suggest we make our move tonight.”
“When everyone is asleep,” said Lady Fayth approvingly. “Very shrewd.”
“I’ve watched a lot of movies,” muttered Kit.
“Sir?” wondered Giles. He and Lady Fayth exchanged a puzzled look.
“Never mind,” Kit said, looking around. The brave little acacia provided the only shade to be seen atop the overlook; it would be close quarters, but better than nothing. “It’s getting pretty hot out here. I suggest we get out of the sun and try to keep cool.”
“And then?” asked Lady Fayth.
“We wait.”
CHAPTER 35
In Which an Alliance of Consequence Is Formed
The long hot day passed. As the blistering sun sailed high overhead, Giles passed around the water skin, then opened the bundle of provisions and made a meal of apples and barley bread. As they ate, Kit dug out Sir Henry’s green book. He unwrapped it and, after orienting himself anew to the tight, crabbed script, began to read. “This is interesting!” he announced, laying aside his apple.
When nothing more seemed forthcoming, Lady Fayth said, “Pray, do you intend to relate that which has so obviously piqued your interest?”
Kit thumbed back a page in the little book. “Listen to this,” he said, and began to read aloud. “Sir Henry writes, ‘I hold two precepts absolute: That the universe was created to allow Providence its expression, and therefore nothing happens beyond Its purview.’ ” He glanced up to see his audience wholly puzzled by this nugget. “Wait, there’s more. ‘Secondly, all was made for the benefit of each: man, woman, child, and beast, down to the curve of every wave, and the flight of the lowliest insect. For, if there be such a thing as Providence, then everything is providential, and every act of Providence is a special providence.’” He looked up again. “Do you see?”
“A curious musing, perhaps,” conceded Lady Fayth. “Yet, I fail to see that it has anything do with the particular undertaking before us. Does it?”
“Well,” allowed Kit, “not at the moment maybe. But see here.” He turned the book toward her. “What is it that he’s scribbled in the margin?”
Lady Fayth bent her head to the text and squinted at the smudgy words Kit’s finger marked. “If I am not mistaken, it says ‘No Coincidence Under Heaven.’”
Kit pointed to another annotation. “And this one?”
“‘Providence Not Coincidence,’” replied Lady Fayth, glancing up again.
“No coincidence,” echoed Kit. “I think he’s trying to say that nothing happens that Providence does not permit.” Kit frowned and amended the thought immediately. “No, I mean-nothing happens that Providence cannot use to express itself.”
“Or,” volunteered Giles, “nothing happens that Providence cannot use for the benefit of all things.”
“It is a fascinating notion, to be sure,” agreed Lady Fayth doubtfully. “Do you believe it?”
Kit thought for a moment. “I don’t know. But Sir Henry seems to.”
Just then, a loud popping sound came echoing up from the canyon basin; it was followed by the rumbling growl of a combustion engine. “Whatever is that?” said Lady Fayth, looking toward the canyon.
“It is a motor,” Kit explained, wrapping the book and tucking it back into his pocket. “A machine that powers things. My guess is it’s either a vehicle engine or a generator.”
They moved to the clifftop and gazed down. The engine rumbled on, growing louder, filling the air with its rough growl. A moment later, a vintage flatbed truck swung into view, and the vehicle proceeded slowly down the wadi, trailing thick white plumes of smoke. “We’re in luck,” observed Kit. “They’re leaving.”
“What is it?” asked Giles, pointing to the truck rattling out of sight along the gully floor.
“I guess you’d call it a horseless carriage,” Kit told him. “The motor powers it.”
“And a very disagreeable machine it is,” remarked Lady Fayth, holding her nose as the petrol fumes reached them. “Most unnatural.”
“You have no idea,” said Kit.
They watched a while longer, but all remained quiet. “Do you think they have gone?” asked Giles.
“Maybe,” allowed Kit. “There is only one way to find out.” He stood. “Let’s go down.”
“Have you ever used a pistol?” asked Lady Fayth, brushing dust from her clothes and hands.
“No,” admitted Kit, with a shake of his head.
“Then I shall take the pistol,” she decided. “You and Giles will do better with the cutlasses-if it should come to that.”
“Fine,” agreed Kit. “Cutlasses it is.”
Giles opened the bundle and handed out the weapons. Kit gripped the hilt of the sword; fully as long as his arm, the slightly curved, tapering blade was somewhat heavier than he expected, but well balanced and reasonably sharp. After a few practice swipes, he felt suitably armed and dangerous. “Ready?” The others nodded. “Right. Stay alert and keep quiet. Here we go.”
They started down the broken staircase, picking their way among the rocks one step at a time, as silently as possible. Upon reaching the wadi floor, they stopped and crouched, waiting to see if they had been heard or observed. All was calm and silent. “So far, so good,” Kit whispered. “This way.”
They moved quickly to the temple, darting into the entrance so as not to be seen in the open. The interior, illumined only by the light coming in from the doorway, revealed a simple square hollowed from the living rock. A stone ledge three feet off the floor ran around the perimeter of the room, which, save for the sand drifted into the corners, was empty. Turning back toward the doorway, they looked both ways down the two connecting branches of the wadi. To the right, a lean-to hut of rough timber had been constructed against the canyon wall and, beside it, a large tent; to the left, there was nothing but a series of door-size niches carved into the rock: three of them, each a few yards from the next.
“Which way?” asked Kit. “Right or left?”
“The fellow we saw earlier went that way,” suggested Giles, indicating the tent on the right. “We might try the other way first.”
“Sounds good to me,” agreed Kit. “Stay close.”
Leaving the temple entrance, the three flitted along the wall towards the first niche. “Wait here,” said Kit. “And keep a sharp lookout.” He crept to the doorway and paused, listened, then ducked inside. An overpowering smell of fumes in the close confines of the small chamber made him gasp. He could just about make out the black boxy shape of a generator, but nothing else.
“Not in there,” Kit reported when he stepped out again. “Let’s try the next one.”
As before, he positioned his watchers either side of the doorway and then ducked into the rock-cut chamber; this one was slightly larger than the first and, from what Kit could make out, seemed to be filled with crates and casks and boxes. “It’s a storage room,” he reported, then motioned the others to follow him to the third doorway. A swift inspection revealed that the last chamber was filled with oil drums. “Another storage room,” Kit said. “That’s it for this side.” He turned with some reluctance toward the tent. “I guess we look there next.”
“There may be something down there.” Lady Fayth pointed farther along the wadi.
