The Pharaoh Key

24

THE MEN SILENTLY closed in on them. They were bareheaded, with long, unkempt black hair falling to their shoulders in curls. One of them, evidently the leader, was gigantic: well over six and a half feet tall, with a broad black beard and a massive neck and chest. They were dressed alike, in a long piece of deep-orange cloth wound around their waists with one end draped over the shoulder. The orange dye had come off in places, giving their skin a bronze appearance. The huge barbarian had an elaborate bracelet of what looked like human molars fastened to one of his wrists. Each man wore a leather belt around the middle, with the sheath of a copper-bladed dagger snugged tight against the stomach. Those daggers were all out, in their hands.

“We’re friends,” said Gideon. “Friends!”

“As-salamu alaykum,” Imogen said in Arabic. “Peace be with you.”

Both greetings were ignored. The heavily bearded man and two others stepped forward, moving in absolute silence, like ghosts. The bearded man seized Gideon’s upraised hand, pulled it behind him, and in one efficient movement threw him facedown on the ground. Gideon struggled but the man quickly tied Gideon’s wrists together with a leather thong, then pulled him back to his feet. In seconds the three of them had been seized and tied, then leashed to each other in a line. It was done so swiftly Gideon barely had time to think, let alone resist.

The huge bearded man took the end of the leash and gave it a jerk, pointing down the trail.

Garza yanked back. “No one’s going to lead me around like a dog!”

The man stepped toward Garza, waving his crude dagger. Garza charged him, intent on butting him with his head, but the man was too fast and dodged the blow, neatly stepping aside and slamming Garza across the face with the back of his fist. Then the man spun Garza and held a dagger to his throat.

“Son of a bitch!” Garza said as struggled.

“Don’t—!” Gideon cried as the blackbeard cut him across the neck, Garza crying out in pain as he did so. It took Gideon a moment of horror to realize the cut was superficial, just deep enough to draw blood.

Blackbeard released Garza, gave a loud order, and the other warriors closed in on them. Imogen tried to speak Arabic again but was quickly muffled by a hairy goatskin that was stuffed in her mouth, then tied with a gag. Gideon and Garza got the same treatment. The skin in Gideon’s mouth was horribly rank.

Blackbeard now gestured at them again to walk down the trail. Gideon glanced at Garza. He was pale and shaken, a rivulet of blood running down his neck. For a few moments at least, Garza must also have thought he’d been about to die.

In silence they hiked along the trail, emerging from the misty valley at the far end into higher mountain country, the land rising in a series of ridges, surrounded by peaks. Topping the highest ridge they turned sharply westward, then came to a pass. Below, a second, even more remarkable valley opened up: a vast, mysterious world hidden within the mountains, carpeted in grass and dotted with groves of trees. Gideon could see tiny goatherds driving their flocks and several herds of camels grazing. The tinkling of bells reached his ears. In the middle of the great valley, at least a mile or more away, stood an encampment of tents arranged around a grassy plaza. It was as if they had fallen through a time warp: there was not the slightest evidence of the modern world visible anywhere.

With a shouted command, Blackbeard prodded them down the trail. At length, they entered the encampment and were led to a large tent that stood on a promontory of rock in the middle of the settlement, dyed deep yellow, with an elaborate geometric design in black along its border—the residence, Gideon surmised, of whatever chief ruled that land. As they approached, the flap of the tent was thrown aside and an old man emerged. He wore a long saffron-colored robe with a leather belt in which was tucked a dagger with a handle trimmed in precious metal. He carried a tall staff. The man’s wizened face was small and dark, with two eyes under bushy eyebrows peeping out from under a headcloth. Those pinpoint eyes, glittering with suspicion, rested on each of them in turn. As the eyes fell on Gideon, he had a crawling sensation of doom.

The flap of the tent moved again and out stepped a most extraordinary-looking old hag, so bent her body was practically the shape of a question mark, dressed in greasy goatskins. She was using two canes to support herself, and they looked to Gideon as if they were made of human long bones. A veil, draped over her head, trailed on the ground behind her. She slowly worked her way around until she was standing just behind the old man. Lastly, a young woman materialized out of the darkness of the tent. Unlike the others, she was dressed in a soft, gauzy material that no doubt passed for finery. Gideon saw a long swirl of dark, mahogany hair and equally dark eyes. She came up to stand beside the chief, looking at them with the same suspicious gaze as the other two.

A crowd began to gather.

Imogen bowed to the man and tried to speak, gesturing vigorously for the gag to be removed. After a few moments, the old man said something to Blackbeard, who stepped forward and removed her gag. Imogen spat out the disgusting goatskin. The old man waited for her to speak, leaning on his staff.

Collecting herself, Imogen began again in Arabic. The old man listened briefly and then interrupted her angrily. Imogen tried to continue, but Blackbeard made a cutting motion across his throat with the dagger, making it clear she should stop talking. She fell silent.

Now the crone began to speak, in a language that to Gideon did not sound at all like Arabic. What she said caused a stir in the crowd; a wave of suppressed excitement. In response, Blackbeard began prodding the three forward with his dagger, herding them along a faint trail that led out the far end of the valley. Meanwhile, the young woman and old crone were lifted and placed together in a rudely fashioned sedan chair, hoisted up by four men, in preparation for the journey. The crowd gathered behind, chattering excitedly, as if in anticipation of a sporting event.