frightened animal or a hurt child. “It is getting too much for all of us. But it will soon be over. The relief column will be here before Christmas, mark my words.”
She shook her head. She wanted to tell him that it was not the war, the siege, the Dervish or the Mad Mahdi, but he stroked her hair and she quietened, pressing her face to his chest, his warmth and strength,
and his rich man-smell. “Ryder,” she whispered and lifted her face to explain how she felt to him. “Dear, dear Ryder.” But before she could say more he kissed her full on the lips. The surprise was so complete that she could not move. When she had recovered her wits sufficiently to pull away, she found that she did not want to. This was something so new and different that she decided to indulge herself a few moments longer.
The few moments became a few minutes and when at last she opened her mouth to protest, an incredible thing happened: his tongue slipped between her lips and stifled her protest. The sensation this produced was so overwhelming that her knees threatened to give way and she had to cling to him to hold herself up. The full muscular length of his body was pressed hard against her, and her protest came out as mewing sounds, like the cries of a newborn kitten seeking the teat. Then, to her consternation, she felt a monstrous hardness growing up between their lower bodies, something that seemed to have a life of its own. It terrified her, but she was powerless. Her will to escape evaporated.
A shrill high voice sundered the bonds that held her and set her free: “She’s kissing him! Becky is kissing Ryder on his mouth!”
Thinking about that moment now, she spoke aloud in the darkness under the great cannon: “Now even Saffy hates me, and I hate myself. It is all such a terrible mess, and I wish I could die.”
She did not realize how far the words had carried until a voice answered her from the darkness: “So there you are, Jamal.” The name meant the Beautiful One.
“Nazeera, you know me too well,” Rebecca murmured, as the plump, familiar shape appeared.
“Yes, I know you well and I love you more than I know you.” Nazeera sat beside her on the carriage of the cannon, and placed her arms round her. “When I found that you were missing from your bed, I knew I would find you here.” Rebecca rested her head on Nazeera’s shoulder and sighed. Nazeera was as soft and warm as a feather mattress and smelt of attar of roses. She rocked Rebecca gently. After a while she asked, “Now, do you still wish to die?”
“I did not mean you to overhear me,” Rebecca answered ruefully. “No, I do not want to die. Not for a while yet. But life is difficult sometimes, isn’t it, Nazeera?”
“Life is good. It is men who are difficult most of the time,” said Nazeera.
“Bacheet and Yakub?” Rebecca teased her. Nazeera’s admirers were no secret within the family. “Why don’t you choose one of them, Nazeera?”
“Why don’t you make a choice, Jamal?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Rebecca lifted her cloak off her head and stared at Nazeera, her eyes large and dark in the starlight.
“I think you do. Why is it that the day the beautiful captain returns to Khartoum you rush for safety to al- Sakhawi, and when you find out that he does not think of himself as just your old friend, you decide you want to die?”
Rebecca covered her face again. Nazeera knew nearly everything, and had guessed the rest. In a few words she had helped Rebecca understand her turmoil. Nazeera went on rocking her. She started to croon a lullaby, an old tune with new words: “Which one will it be? How will you choose, and who will it be?”
“You make it seem like a child’s game, Nazeera.” Rebecca tried to sound stern.
“Oh, it is. Life is just a child’s game, but often the games of children, like those of grown-ups, end in bitter tears.”
“Like poor little Saffy,” Rebecca suggested. “She says she hates me, and she won’t speak to me.”
“She thinks you have stolen her love from her. She is jealous.”
“She is so young.”
“No. She will soon be a woman and at least she knows what she wants.” Nazeera smiled tenderly. “Unlike some older women I know.”
Twelve shillings?” Ryder Courtney insisted. “There can be no misunderstanding ?” “Twelve shillings. The word of an officer and a gentleman.”
“That description might be debated,” Ryder grunted.
“Will you not carry a weapon?”
“Yes.” Ryder hefted the heavy ironwood club.
“I meant a sidearm or an edged weapon.” Penrod touched the sabre in its scabbard on his belt.
“In the dark it will not be easy to tell friend from foe. I prefer denting heads with a fist or a club. Not so irrevocable.”
They were stepping out, shoulder to shoulder, along one of the sordid alleys of the native quarter of the city. They both wore dark clothing. The sun had set little more than an hour ago, but it was already dark. Just enough daylight lingered for them to pick their way along. Bacheet was waiting for them near the Ivory Tower, one of the more notorious brothels of the most dangerous section of the city. He whistled softly to attract their attention, then beckoned them into the ruins of a building that had been destroyed by Dervish cannon fire from across the river.
The three found seats on the piles of masonry and shattered roof beams. The intermittent glow of Penrod’s cigar shed just enough light for them to make out each other’s features.
“Has Aswat arrived yet?” Ryder asked in Arabic.
“Yes,” replied Bacheet. “He came an hour ago, at sunset.”
“Who is he?” asked Penrod. “Who is responsible for this business?”
“I can’t be certain yet. Bacheet has heard his men call him Aswat but he wears a mask, to keep his face well hidden. Nevertheless, I have my suspicions. We will know for sure before the night is out.” Ryder turned back to Bacheet. “How many men with him?”
“I counted twenty-six. That includes six armed guards. They will work late tonight. They always do. There is a lot of dhurra, and the sacks are heavy to move about. Aswat divides them into two gangs of about twelve men each. When the curfew falls, and the streets are deserted, they carry the sacks to the customers in other parts of the city. Two of Aswat’s armed men who know the password of the night go ahead of each gang to make sure the road is clear of patrols. Two others bring up the rear to make sure they are not followed. Aswat waits at the tannery. It seems he won’t take a chance on the street.”
“How many sacks does Aswat distribute every evening?” Ryder asked.
“About a hundred and twenty.”
“So by now he has sold a few thousand,” Ryder calculated. “Probably less than three thousand left in his store. Do you know what he is charging for a sack?”
“At first it was five, but he has raised it to ten Egyptian pounds. He takes only gold, no notes,” Bacheet told him.
Ryder shook his head. “Chinese Gordon is getting another bargain. The going rate is ten pounds. “He is offering me but twelve shillings reward.”
“I’ll cry for you tomorrow,” Penrod promised. “Where is Aswat storing the stolen grain?”
“At the end of this street,” Bacheet explained. “He is using an abandoned tannery.”
“Who have you left to watch the building?” Penrod asked Bacheet.
“Your man, Yakub. He is a Jaalin. The most treacherous of all tribes. Even that slithering of snakes have driven him out from their nest. I do not trust Yakub at all. He has no sense of honour, especially with women,” said Bacheet, bitterly. It was well known that he and Yakub were rivals for the favours of the widow Nazeera.
“But he is a good man in a fight, is he not?” Penrod defended Yakub.
Bacheet shrugged. “Yes, if you do not turn your back on him. He is waiting behind the tannery, on the canal bank. My men are hidden in the courtyard of the Ivory Tower. The mistress of the house is a good friend.”
“She should be,” Ryder murmured drily. “You are one of her best customers.”
Bacheet ignored such a famous remark. “I chose this place to wait because from these windows we will be able to keep watch on the alley.” He nodded at the empty window openings. The glazing had been blown out by the shell blast, and the frames had been stolen for firewood. “It is the only way to reach the tannery.”
“Good,” Ryder said. “Two of your best men must follow the gangs. I want the names of all the merchants
