Part 29 (1/2)

She did, however, take great notice of the next course, a dish of sweet rice pudding sprinkled with pistachio nuts.

THE FOLLOWING morning, as her aunt snored beside her, Mariana was awoken by an insistent voice outside her door.

”Mairmuna!” called a young female voice. ”Mairmuna.”

Mariana dressed, and pulled aside the curtain. A child stood outside, pointing toward the main courtyard. Mariana nodded.

”Get up, Aunt Claire,” she said urgently, shaking the bundle of rezais on the other bed. ”We must prepare to leave for India.”

Aunt Claire sat up blinking, the lace nightcap she had salvaged from the cantonment still squarely on her head. ”Where is Adrian?” she asked sharply. ”Where is your uncle? I do not like him going off and leaving us. Where is my tea?”

”We will see Uncle Adrian soon,” Mariana replied, busying herself with her boots. ”Where is your poshteen?”

An hour later, after a hasty breakfast, Zahida put on her chaderi and escorted Mariana and her aunt to the main courtyard.

All around them was confusion. Aminullah Khan stood near the fort's main entrance, conferring with his henchman. Other armed men milled about. Camels knelt side by side, their necks stretched out, groaning and complaining while men loaded sacks of Aunt Claire's household belongings onto their backs.

Two of the camels had been dressed in colorful hangings. They knelt, apart from the others, waiting to be mounted.

”We will get a new one when we reach India.” Uncle Adrian gestured toward Aunt Claire's palanquin, now abandoned on its side in a corner. ”The bearers cannot carry you through the snow. Half of them are ill already. You will will ride a camel, and that is that. ride a camel, and that is that.

”And put on the chaderi that woman has given you,” he added. ”It is only good manners to do so. After all, these desperadoes may be saving your life.”

He reached up and put a cautious hand to the folds of his borrowed turban.

Dittoo appeared before Mariana. ”Bibi,” he cried, wringing his hands, ”please forgive me. They would not let me bring your morning tea. They would not even tell me where to find you. Poor Adil has been so upset...”

Already wan and bony, he looked as if he was about to weep.

”It does not matter, Dittoo,” she shouted above the din in the courtyard. ”Afghans always keep men and women apart.”

”But your tea, your clothes, the dusting! Memsahib's things!”

Aminullah Khan appeared, with his supporters. ”Well, well,” he said heartily, ”I see that all is ready. After you join the camp I have arranged for you, I shall accompany you as far as the Sher Darwaza pa.s.s. After that, my people will escort you all the way to Dera Ghazi Khan...”

Mariana's uncle acknowledged Aminullah's remark with a careful nod.

An hour later, Aunt Claire let out a piercing scream as her camel lurched to its feet.

”If I survive this journey,” she confided as she and Mariana swayed, side by side, toward the fort's main entrance, ”I solemnly promise I survive this journey,” she confided as she and Mariana swayed, side by side, toward the fort's main entrance, ”I solemnly promise never never to leave my bed again.” to leave my bed again.”

The double doors of the fort stood wide, revealing a cold, sunlit landscape beyond. Aminullah Khan rode out first on his bay stallion, followed by Mariana's uncle and a few of his men. Next came the two heavily guarded camels, the gaggle of Indian servants, on foot and with their own protecting tribesmen, and the line of baggage animals.

The kafila turned and followed a trampled path through the snow toward the Bala Hisar, the city, and the great caravanserai to the west of Kabul, where their escort waited.

As Mariana rode out through the gate, a small figure flew toward her across the snow. She raised the flap of her chaderi in order to see who it was, but she already knew.

”Muns.h.i.+ Sahib sent me,” Nur Rahman panted as he jogged along beside her camel, his balled-up chaderi beneath his arm. ”He told me there was something I had to do for you, Khanum. I wept and kissed his hands, but he insisted I leave him. I would do anything for him,” he added, ”and so I have come.”

His fringed eyes darkened. ”He told me that, Allah willing, I will receive a great reward.” But when he said it, tears stood in his eyes.

AS Ha.s.sAN rode toward the city for the third time, a caravan came toward him, traveling in the opposite direction.

Strongly guarded, its pace set by camels, the kafila moved at a dignified speed, taking up the width of the road. Two of the camels carried heavily shrouded female figures.

His eyes carefully averted from the women, Ha.s.san guided Ghyr Khush off the road. As he did so, one of them turned, saw him, and cried out.

January 4, 1842 Nur Rahman!” Her heart thundering, Mariana searched over her shoulder for the dancing boy among the file of servants and guards behind her. ”Nur Rahman!” she shouted, not caring who was listening.

”Behind us,” she gasped, when he arrived at her side. ”A man on a gray horse!”

She reached under her chaderi and tore Ha.s.san's gold medallion and chain from her neck. ”Give him these,” she ordered breathlessly, dropping them into his outstretched hand. ”Tell him a lady wishes to see him.”

”Which man?” the boy asked, his face bunching in confusion. ”Who?”

”He is wearing a poshteen and a brown turban made from a shawl,” she half shouted. ”He is on a gray horse. His name is Ha.s.san. Hurry!” Hurry!”

The boy nodded, pocketed the bauble, and ran.

Stiff with anxiety, Mariana swayed on her camel, hating the lengthening distance between her and Ha.s.san, wis.h.i.+ng she could use her sudden, fierce energy to speed Nur Rahman on his way as he raced back the way they had come, past the guards and the pack animals, along the narrow, trampled track leading to the city.

Had the boy understood her? Had she described Ha.s.san sufficiently?

If there were more than one gray horse on the road, would Nur Rahman give the medallion to the wrong man?

What would she do if Ha.s.san disappeared, unfound, into the city?

What if the man she had seen was not Ha.s.san?

”Whatever is the matter, Mariana?” inquired her aunt from atop the other camel. ”Why were you shouting at the top of your voice?”

NUR RAHMAN ran heavily, the cold air burning his lungs, his poshteen weighing on his shoulders.

Why, he wondered, had the English lady ordered him to stop a stranger on the road and offer him the fine gift that now lay in his pocket?

She might have gone mad, of course, but whatever illness had unexpectedly overtaken her mind, it was clear that at this moment she wanted desperately to meet that mysterious man on his gray horse.

But powerful as her desire might be, it was no greater than Nur Rahman's need to live. When the road cleared for a moment, he stopped, looked about him carefully, then took his blue chaderi from beneath his arm and threw it hastily over his head and shoulders.

He peered ahead of him, through his disguise. Whoever this stranger was, he had ridden away as soon as the lady saw him, for there were no gray horses anywhere nearby.

Of several riders in the distance, only one, who rode apart from the others, seemed to be on a pale-colored mount.

His eyes on that faraway figure, Nur Rahman trotted along the road, the chaderi catching at his legs, his breath rasping in his ears.

A group of hors.e.m.e.n rode toward him, obscuring his view. Moments after they pa.s.sed, others came from behind and did the same.

When they moved away, Nur Rahman stared at the road ahead.