Part 32 (2/2)

If he was, then please please make him wait for her at Haji Khan's house. make him wait for her at Haji Khan's house.

Nur Rahman pointed toward a narrow path leading north across the snowy landscape. ”This is the road,” he said.

It was two more miles before the path they followed was intersected by a second, equally narrow one. Beside that unprepossessing crossroad, a wooden lean-to sat on a patch of packed snow. In its questionable shelter, a red-cheeked man tended a fire beneath a battered samovar.

As she toiled toward it, Mariana looked longingly at the fire and the worn carpets that had been spread on the snow to accommodate the chaikhana's half-dozen customers.

She and Nur Rahman had not a single coin between them.

A second pot stood balanced at the edge of the fire. It was the scent from that pot that drove Mariana to twist off the small gold ring she had worn since she was eighteen, and hold it out to the proprietor.

He pocketed the ring and pointed to a separate place behind the lean-to, out of sight of his male guests. ”Wait there,” he said, as Mariana and Nur Rahman sat gratefully down on a shabby Bokhara carpet. ”I will bring soup.”

IT WAS noon before Ha.s.san and Zulmai arrived at the caravanserai, Ha.s.san riding a glossy chestnut stallion and leading a black mare. Behind them followed the eight mules, loaded with food supplies and live chickens in cages covered with felt wrappings. Beside the mules, a boy with a stick drove five nanny goats.

Terrified of what Ha.s.san would say, but desperate to share his burden, Ghulam Ali ran heavily toward them and fell to his knees.

”Bibi is gone,” he sobbed, ”she is gone!”

”What? When?”

The courier looked up, hot tears standing in his eyes. ”I went to relieve myself this morning, out of sight of her tent. I could not wait any longer, Sahib.”

”And when you came back?” Ha.s.san sat absolutely still on his stallion.

”They were gone. Nothing had been stolen. The bolsters, the rugs, all are still there. I do not know what happened. I never thought anyone would kidnap them.”

”I did not know,” Ghulam Ali added miserably, gesturing at the four empty servants' tents, ”that the servants had all run away.”

”Did anyone see them leave?” Zulmai demanded.

Ghulam Ali's face crumpled. ”I did not think to ask. I have been so-”

”Get off your knees,” Zulmai ordered, ”and ask the tea seller by the gate.”

”Two women in chaderis went past this morning,” the old man offered when the three men approached him. ”I think they turned that way,” he added, pointing toward the city. ”They appeared to be alone,” he added carefully, ”and they did not seem to be ladies of wealth.”

Before he had finished speaking, Ha.s.san clucked to his new stallion. ”I do not know when I will be back,” he threw over his shoulder, as his horse cantered under the gate and onto the road.

”Ghulam Ali,” Zulmai ordered, ”stay with our baggage. Do not let anyone disappear with our food stores. I will bring more pack animals to carry our tents, and then you and I will wait and see whether Ha.s.san Ali Khan finds his wife.”

January 6, 1842 As she gulped her second bowl of soup, Mariana looked through a gap in the tea shop wall. She elbowed Nur Rahman, and pointed.

A thickly dressed man was approaching the chaikhana. Behind him strode a pair of blond, two-humped Bactrian camels.

Her eyes on the new guest, Mariana reached into the pocket of her poshteen, took out Ha.s.san's medallion, and slid it from its chain and into her palm.

An olive, read its delicate Arabic letters, neither of the East, nor of the West. neither of the East, nor of the West.

”Here is what we will do,” she whispered.

Half an hour later, when the camel-driving customer put down his teacup and stood to leave, Mariana and Nur Rahman got up and followed him to where his tethered animals waited, their jaws moving rhythmically.

Nur Rahman cleared his throat. ”Please,” he said sweetly, ”will you take us toward Butkhak?”

The man's face was seamed from exposure to the sun. He frowned, his eyes politely averted from them. ”But Butkhak is on the road to Jalalabad,” he replied dubiously. ”Why do you want to go there? Do you not know what is happening?”

”We live just past Begrami,” Nur Rahman explained. ”We have become late, and now we fear we will not reach there before sunset.”

The man shook his head. ”I am not going that way.”

Nur Rahman held out his hand. Mariana's gold chain dangled from his fingers. ”We can offer you this.”

The man shrugged, took the chain, and put it into his pocket. ”If there is danger,” he warned, ”I will turn back.”

”Once we are past Begrami, we will be sure to find the head of the British train,” Nur Rahman whispered.

The man picked up a stick. Making a curious guttural sound, he tapped the forelegs of one camel, then the other.

One after the other, they knelt obediently down, front knees first, hindquarters second.

Mariana's had mild, long-lashed eyes. It smelled warm and musty. Even kneeling, it was tall. She reached up and grasped two handfuls of its luxuriant hair, then, with a discreet boost from Nur Rahman, struggled onto its back, and settled between its humps.

Her plight could be worse, she thought, as they started off. The snow had stopped, although the sky was still heavy and gray. Her stomach was full, and the s.h.a.ggy humps protected her from the fiercest blasts of wind. She pushed her hands into the sleeves of her poshteen, hunched her shoulders against the cold, hoping she was doing the right thing.

The afternoon light had begun to change. The city and the Bala Hisar were already behind them. Their escort strode rapidly along, saying nothing, the lead ropes in one hand.

As the light began to fade, sounds came from the distance, of a great body of men, carts, and animals on the move.

Their road was taking them nearer to the retreating army. Sounds began to distinguish themselves from the general din: shouts, cries, and shots.

The Ghilzais were still firing on the column. People must have been killed, but who?

She swayed with her camel's stride, listening intently to the sounds of battle. How long, she wondered, was the column? How much farther must they go to find the vanguard?

Their guide stopped and looked back at her. ”We will reach Begrami after dark,” he announced. ”Do you know the way to your house?”

”Oh, yes, of course,” Nur Rahman fluted.

Mariana closed her eyes. She felt as if she had been traveling for weeks. The rhythmic chiming of the camels' ankle bells reminded her of something She awoke when her camel stopped.

Night had already fallen. Animals blew nearby. A chorus of competing voices combined with the creaks and groans of transport vehicles.

”We have reached Begrami,” their guide announced. He was barely visible in the blackness. ”I cannot take you any farther. The foreigners and their army have blocked the way. They are all around us. I do not know what to do with you now,” he added mournfully. ”I wish I had not agreed to help you.”

<script>