SILK AND SECRETS (17 page)

Ross’s expression hardened as he guessed what the kafila-bashi was thinking: though no rain had fallen on the caravan, there was a chance that the wadi might flood with sudden lethal violence if the storm had dropped enough water farther up the river’s course. It was typical of the desert that one could go in an instant from being endangered by the lack of water to being in danger from too much.

Though the storm was distant enough that Ross thought the chance of flooding remote, he tugged at Julietta’s bridle to increase her speed. She gave him an offended glance but began walking faster, the pack camel an obedient echo behind her. With Ross’s urging, it took them only a few minutes to cross the wadi and clamber up the steep embankment on the far side.

As a steady stream of men and beasts poured across the sandy channel, Ross scanned the group to find his companions. The camel carrying Saleh and Murad had already made its way to higher ground. However, Juliet was still in the middle of the wadi because her pack animal was having an attack of balkiness.

Both Abdul Wahab and Ross had thought flooding improbable, but in the next moments their judgment was proved wrong. As Juliet struggled with the camels, a low wave of silt-brown water came surging around the bend. Within seconds a swift, ankle-deep current was slowing the progress of everyone still in the wadi. From his horseback vantage point, the kafila-bashi shouted, “Hurry! More water is coming!”

Realizing the danger, everyone who had already crossed was lining up along the bank to watch the drama below. Cold panic jolted through Ross when he saw Juliet’s camels put their heads down to drink from the water swirling around their hairy fetlocks. In another moment they might lie down and start wallowing, as camels often did in water holes.

He was on the verge of going to her assistance when she got her beasts moving by ruthlessly lashing their flanks with her whip. Even above the sounds of rushing water and babbling voices, he could hear her cursing in a colorful mixture of languages.

Bellowing angrily, the camels surrendered to her superior will and let themselves be chivied up the embankment to safety. By the time they escaped the wadi, the water was knee-deep and rising rapidly. Another wave flooded the channel to waist depth and pummeled the handful of men and animals still in the wadi with floating debris. A man on a donkey was nearly washed away, but was saved from disaster when his small mount was shoved against the solid bulk of a camel long enough to regain its feet.

One by one, men and beasts floundered through the churning water and were pulled up the embankment by other members of the caravan. Soon the only one left was an elderly Uzbek tea merchant who had fallen behind. Ross had once talked casually with Muhammad Kasem and had found him to be a combination of quiet dignity and elfin charm.

When the old man was almost within arm’s length of safety, Ross exhaled the breath he had been holding. Then, just beyond the reach of helping hands, Muhammad Kasem’s donkey stumbled and went down, pitching its rider into the water. At the same time, another wave came raging down the channel, moving almost as fast as a man could run and deepening the river to drowning depth.

The merchant’s high-pitched wail of anguish was barely audible above the roar of the flood. His turban had been torn off and his shaved head looked horribly vulnerable among the dark waves. As he submerged beneath the roiling water, a shuddering collective sigh rose from the onlookers.

“Father!” The horrified cry came from a man poised on the edge of the wadi. From his desperate expression, Ross guessed that, like most desert dwellers, the man could not swim. Even so, perhaps he would have dived in if two other men had not grabbed him. No one else attempted to assist Muhammad Kasem, not even by looking for a rope to throw.

A merchant near Ross said sorrowfully, “It is God’s will.”

“So be it,” another agreed. “Blessed be the name of God.”

Ross realized that this was one of those moments when Eastern fatalism parted company with Western action. Even as the thought flashed through his mind, he was sprinting along the embankment, shoving past other members of the caravan. He preferred not to draw undue attention to himself, but it was impossible to stand by and watch someone drown if he might be able to prevent it.

The donkey had thrashed its way to dry land and was now shaking its coat and braying, but the current had swept the merchant into the middle of the flooded channel. Briefly Ross wondered if his turban was long enough to unwind and use as a lifeline, but he decided that the old man was too far out for the length of fabric to reach.

By running at top speed, Ross managed to outpace the current and get ahead of Muhammad Kasem. Then he stopped and hastily stripped off his knife and outer clothing and dropped them on the ground. He also yanked off his boots, for under flood conditions he did not want to wear anything that might weigh him down.

Then he dived into the river, his body cleaving the torrent with a force that carried him far out into the channel. The water was cold and viciously rough, but he had grown up swimming in the North Sea, and his powerful strokes rapidly took him to where he had last seen the merchant’s bare head.

Since the old man had submerged again, Ross dived below the surface to find him. The water was salty and thick with silt, with visibility only a few inches, so he searched by touch, swimming along with the current. Twice he came up for air, then went under again, before his reaching fingers found fabric. Grabbing a fistful of material, he kicked upward.

For a moment after emerging into the air, Muhammad Kasem floated as still as death, his face blue-white and waxy. Then his eyes opened and he began coughing.

Ross’s relief was short-lived, for the reinvigorated merchant began flailing about with the strength of panic. A knee struck Ross in the stomach, knocking his breath out. Before he could recover, the old man locked his arms around his rescuer’s neck, dragging both of them under.

Lungs burning, Ross struggled to break Muhammad Kasem’s strangling grip. As he swallowed the salty water, there was a moment when he thought that this was the end, that he would die here in Central Asia, right in front of Juliet’s eyes.

That would be a rotten memory to leave her with. The thought gave him a burst of energy that enabled him to free himself from the merchant’s lethal grasp. As he fought his way to the surface again, he turned the old man around, immobilizing and supporting him with an arm across the chest.

Breaking through into the air was bliss to equal anything Ross had ever experienced in his life. For a few moments he was content to drift with the current while he reveled in the luxury of breathing. Then Muhammad Kasem began stirring, his limbs thrashing feebly.

“Relax, Uncle, and lie still,” Ross murmured soothingly. “You are safe.”

Though his breathing was ragged with fear, the old man obeyed, and Ross struck out for the embankment, towing Muhammad Kasem behind him. His eyes were blurred with silt, but dimly he saw a knot of men calling encouragement to them.

Progress was slow, since he had only one arm for swimming and the water was as turbulent as a mountain stream. Debris battered them, including a twisted tree trunk that pushed both men under again. It took most of Ross’s remaining strength to fight free of the entangling branches, but he went doggedly on.

When he was near the shore, someone skidded down the steep side of the wadi, grabbed his arm, and hauled Ross and his burden the last few feet to the embankment. Even without the English words in his ear, he would have known who it was.

“You stupid bastard,” Juliet snarled as she lifted Muhammad Kasem away, then boosted the old man’s frail body over the edge of the wadi into waiting hands. “You could have drowned.”

“But I didn’t,” Ross gasped, too exhausted to think of a clever retort.

“Damned hero,” she muttered. Since Ross could barely move, Juliet wrapped an arm around his waist and dragged him onto dry land by main force.

He promptly doubled over on his knees and began retching up the silty water he had swallowed. Juliet’s arms supported him throughout, and they were much gentler than her voice had been. When he finally straightened up, throat raw, she lifted her waterskin and held it to his mouth so he could rinse away the salty taste of the floodwater.

Still shaky, Ross managed to stand with Juliet’s help. He was shivering from the cold water, and the chilly breeze cut right through his clinging, saturated tunic and trousers. Juliet, who was eyeing him with apparent exasperation, was equally wet, but luckily the loose mantle she wore over her robe disguised any contours that might have been suspiciously female.

Then he lifted his head to find that everyone in the caravan had gathered to watch the drama, and most were staring at him. Water darkened hair, but not enough; his blond head and white feet didn’t leave much doubt about his foreignness. Among the murmuring voices in the crowd could be heard the repeated word “ferengi.”

Next to him, Juliet tensed, her hand dropping from his arm to the hilt of her knife. She said nothing, but as she scanned the onlookers, a cold flash of gray eyes was visible through the narrow opening in her tagelmoust. Ross was reminded of a furious mother cat defending her kittens; she might call him a stupid bastard, but he did not doubt that she was prepared to fight anyone who attacked him.

Fortunately, heroics should not be necessary, for the crowd seemed more surprised and curious than hostile. The only threatening expression was on the face of a surly Uzbek camel driver called Habib, who frequently taunted other menial members of the caravan, including “Jalal.” Juliet had always ignored his gibes, but the man was a troublemaker, exactly the sort who might try to foment the crowd against a foreigner.

The fact that Ross was exposed as a European did not automatically mean trouble; he and Alexander Burnes had not had any serious problems on their earlier journey through Turkestan. But that had been years ago and Central Asia had been quieter and less dangerous. It might take only one malicious ferengi-hating man to cause trouble.

Habib spat on the ground. “Not just a ferengi, but an infidel and a spy.”

Confused voices rose around the camel driver, then cut off abruptly when Abdul Wahab pushed his way through the crowd. “The wind is cold,” he said, handing Ross a length of coarse toweling. “Dry yourself before you take a chill.” Then he turned and called out, “Since there is water, we shall camp here tonight.”

The caravan leader’s acceptance of the ferengi quelled any potential hostility, and the order to make camp caused most of the onlookers to turn away and start looking for suitable sites to build fires and tether their animals.

Ross was mopping water from his hair when Murad arrived, having stopped to collect his master’s discarded garments. Gratefully Ross pulled the warm quilted coat over his soaking tunic and trousers. He was pulling on his boots when Muhammed Kasem approached, supported by his son.

“I am an old man and my life is worth very little, but still I am grateful to you for preserving it.” The merchant’s steps were a little unsteady, but his voice had a note of wry humor. “You demonstrated the courage and strength of a lion. In return, I almost drowned you.”

His son, a handsome, authoritative man of about thirty, added, “Truly it was God’s mercy that you were here, Khilburn.” He bowed deeply. “For saving the life of my father, I, Hussayn, and all my kin are forever in your debt.”

“There is no debt, for I did only what any man will do for another if it is within his power.” Ross slid the sheathed knife into his sash. “By God’s grace, I was raised by the sea and learned to swim as a child. To have that skill and not use it in your father’s service would have been a sin.”

“Your modesty becomes you, Khilburn,” Hussayn said. “Nonetheless, you risked your life for my father, and I shall not forget.” Then he turned and helped the older man away.

Ross glanced at Abdul Wahab. “I’m sorry. I did not wish to draw attention to myself, but I felt there was no choice. Do you think there will be trouble?”

The kafila-bashi shook his head. “Not when you risked your life to save one of the faithful. I will let it be known why you are traveling to Bokhara, which will gain you even more respect.” He gazed thoughtfully after the departing merchant. “Besides performing a selfless act of courage, you have made a powerful friend. Though they dress humbly when traveling, the Kasems are one of the wealthiest families in Bokhara. Perhaps their influence will be useful to your quest.” With an inclination of his head, Abdul Wahab took his leave and returned to his duties.

Saleh now joined the rest of the party, leading all five of their camels, which he had tethered in a line. Four of the beasts were straining toward the water, but Julietta, who was in the lead, was more interested in her master. On seeing Ross, she quickened her step until she reached him. Then she lowered her head and butted his chest, more like a horse than a camel.

An affectionate gesture from a beast the size of a camel is not easily ignored, and Ross was almost knocked from his feet. “Easy, there.” He laughed as she began mouthing his wet tunic. Stroking her nose, he said, “I suspect that you just like the fact that I’m soaked.”

From behind him came the muttered comment, “It’s your own fault. Brainless females love a hero.”

Ross grinned. When they had lived together, his wife had occasionally accused him of being overprotective, but she was a worse nag than he ever had been. It appeared that concern for the other’s welfare was another one of the indissoluble threads of their marriage.

Saleh said, “Khilburn, you and Jalal are both wet and need food and warmth. If you two will take care of watering the camels and filling our waterskins, Murad and I will gather fuel and build a fire.”

Agreeing to the suggestion, Ross and Juliet led the camels along the bank of the wadi until they found a shallow side pool where the beasts could drink safely, without risking a fall into the still-dangerous torrent. Fortunately the camels were not extremely thirsty or they would have been uncontrollable. Even so, they crowded each other like rowdy schoolboys as they waded into the water.