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the slave, Fedeyah. He must be washed.
Fedeyah rose and started down the hill. Ian staggered to his feet, yanked forward, dread filling
him. His reprieve was ended. Fedeyah and the keeper took Ian to the barrel of water. The keeper
dipped a rag in the precious liquid and scrubbed at Ian with the lye soap. It stung in his wounds.
The rough handling opened some of the fresher cuts. But he was used to that. Fedeyah rummaged
in a pack on one of the camels and came up with a leather bag attached to a very long wooden
nipple, not unlike a water skin. Ian stared, uncomprehending, while Fedeyah calmly filled it with
water.
 Kneel! the keeper barked. Fedeyah handed him the bag.  On all fours.
Ian obeyed, his forehead creasing in premonition. He had not long to wait until his dread was
made certain. The keeper spread his buttocks and inserted the wooden nipple, squeezing the cool
water up into him.  Hold it, he commanded,  or you will feel the lash.
Ian scrunched his face in shame. What new humiliation was in store? Was he to be given to the
keeper? He had seen the keeper at the other slaves, but never with one of Asharti s chosen and
never bothering with preparation. Fedeyah rummaged in the pack again and brought out two
phalluses, one shaped like a man s cock, made out of some kind of polished wood, and one of
intricately carved stone that looked horribly inhuman.
Ian stared at Fedeyah in horror. The Arab wore no expression. He simply turned, strode the few
paces to the palanquin, and handed the two rods in through the silks. Breath rasped in Ian s
throat. Asharti had found a new way to break his spirit. He vowed to let her.
Ian s stomach clenched. Apparently he had not tried hard enough to let his spirit be broken. Use of the
phalluses had become one of her favorite games with him. As he looked back, it was probably the fact
that he hated what she did that made his will  flutter against hers. His only comfort was that no one here
knew his shame. Let her do what she would in Africa. She could kill them all for all he cared. He had
escaped. Except for that part of her he carried inside. No one else need ever know what he had become
in the desert.
He was not sure himself. He knew about drinking blood, of course, and the long life, from Fedeyah. And
he had discovered the healing. He knew the sun burned him, but that seemed to be getting infinitesimally
better. He used compulsion to get blood. But surely there was more.
That brought him back to the girl. Her scrolls might be able to tell him. He rose and let himself into the
common cabin. Light showed under her door only. The bell outside struck softly. It was two in the
morning. As he stood hesitating, the light blinked out. He could not accost her in her cabin this late. He
would merely frighten her. And that he could not afford to do.
Beth nodded over her scroll and the careful transcription she was making. It was no good to continue.
She rolled the scroll carefully and replaced it in her satchel, then doused her lamp and crawled into her
cot. Now that she was in her bed, sleep fled.
There had been no more references she could make out either to Mr. Rufford s condition or to Kivala.
But she was determined to know more about her strange fellow passenger. Why had his agitation
disappeared? Why had he been in such distress about Callow? Why did Callow s wounds echo Rufford
s own? He was so eager to reach Gibraltar. She had heard him ask the Captain repeatedly about it.
Why? What was there for him? She had to know.
A bold plan began to take shape. He would go ashore in Gibraltar. She wanted to know what he did
there. A British woman in a dress would attract too much attention. She smiled in the dark. She could fix
that. She was about to do something that Lady Rangle would despise.
Eight
P r e v i o u s T o p
N e x t
The convoy put in to the harbor at Gibraltar on the late-afternoon tide. Mrs. Pargutter had recovered
miraculously and now stood with Beth and Jenny at the rail as the Beltrane found her place among the
crowded shipping fleet rocking on the water in the translucent light.
 How long are we to have in port? Mrs. Pargutter asked Beth.  I must see all the shops. Her voice
was eager, her plump cheeks pink.
 The Captain says we sail on tomorrow evening s ebb. We stay to acquire some five new members of
our convoy. Beth hoped Mr. Rufford would have time to carry out whatever it was he was planning, for
she meant to discover what that was.
Mrs. Pargutter gasped in dismay.  A single day? Well! I shall bespeak a room ashore tonight, for a
prompt start in the morning. She turned to Beth.  You will come with us, dear Miss Rochewell? Will it
not be heaven to feel solid land beneath our feet?
Beth gazed out at the immense Rock that rose above the little harbor town. The stark stone rising sharply
into the sky loomed over the waterfront. Lush gardens by the shore lined a broad avenue Beth
remembered as the Grand Parade. It was filled to overflowing with a cross section of the world. She
could pick out the red coats of the lobsters and the blue of naval officers of course, though not as many
as during the war, before the Rock had been ceded back to Spain. Even from here she spied white
turbans, the rich colors of Turks and Greeks, the pale blue robes of Tangier Coptic Christians, the black
of Barbary Jews. Whitewashed walls, terracotta roof tiles, and bright shutters marched up the shoulders
of the Rock.  I hope you are not disappointed of dress shops, she said to Mrs. Pargutter.  This has
always been a military town.
 Nonsense, my dear, Mrs. Pargutter tutted, her brassy curls shivering.  Wherever there are military
men, you find the women who follow them and mantua makers aplenty. I am only sorry we are to be
whisked away so cruelly.
 Not a moment to be lost. Beth smiled, quoting the naval phrase heard most often on any ship, even a
Company Indiaman.
 Captain! Mrs. Pargutter called, interrupting the Captain s discussion of the state of the ship s best
bower anchor with his first mate.  How soon may we have a boat to go ashore?
 Another glass. The Captain frowned.  I will send my barge with you.
Mrs. Pargutter turned to Beth.  Is he making me wait while he drinks? she asked, outrage pulling down
the corners of her mouth.
 No, no, Beth soothed.  He means in half an hour. You have remarked that the sand runs in the glass,
there by the bell, in half-hour increments? They toll their bell on the half hour.
 The infernal bell! Mrs. Pargutter exclaimed.  It has been giving me the headache for two weeks and
more.
Beth noted with satisfaction that the barge would be shipping across at sunset. True to her surmise, Mr.
Rufford appeared just as the boat was launching, and ran down the side into the barge with a small valise. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]