Stephen Lawhead - The Skin Map

“Looks like you’ve had it, old man!” called the tour leader. Chuckling, he walked back to join his group members, who had dismounted and were moving towards the temple. “You’ll have to give them something to get rid of them.”

“Thanks for your help,” called Kit, still trying to extricate himself from the clutches of the insistent young vagabonds. His efforts aroused the attention of some older boys with donkeys; they rode their diminutive animals into the besieging horde, clicking their tongues and swatting their rivals with switches made from palm branches. “Mister! You ride donkey! We take you! Ride, mister!”

“No! I don’t want a donkey ride,” said Kit, backing away.

“What are you doing?” asked Lady Fayth, stepping up beside him.

“I got a little tangled up here,” he said. “But I’m working on it.”

“Pray, do not farce about. Ask them if they have seen Cosimo and Uncle Henry,” she suggested.

“I was just about to do that,” replied Kit. “There probably isn’t much that happens around here that they don’t know about.”

“Well?” she demanded, swatting away the hands that were trying to find their way into her pockets.

“Excuse me!” shouted Kit. “Excuse me! We are looking for two Englishmen. Two English-big men. Has anyone seen Englishmen?”

Though his repeated inquiries appeared to have no effect on the bawling horde, one of the donkey boys left the pack and returned a moment later with one of the camel drivers. “You English?” called the driver. “You look for men?”

“Yes,” Kit answered, hurrying to meet him. His noisy entourage moved with him. “Two Englishmen. They came here a few days ago. Did you see them?”

The camel driver waded into the throng and, with a word and a flick of his camel whip here and there, instantly scattered the begging children. They ran to catch up with the tour group just now entering the temple. “Old men,” said the Egyptian.

“Yes,” confirmed Kit. “Old men-two of them. One was a big man, tall, with wavy white hair.” He rippled his fingers over his head to demonstrate. “The other had reddish hair and a pointed beard.” His fingers stroked an imaginary goatee on his chin. “They were wearing dark clothes-black coats.” He patted his own shirt and breeches. “Did you see them?”

“Yes. Them I see.”

“Do you know where they went? Can you show us where they went?”

“Why you want knowing this?”

“They are our friends. We were meant to meet them here.”

“They are bad men,” said the camel driver, and spat.

“No,” countered Kit quickly. “No, please-they are good men. But they may be in trouble. Bad men were following them. We have come to help.”

The Egyptian considered this, his crinkled eyes examining Kit and his companions. “I take you.”

Turning to Lady Fayth and Giles, Kit shouted, “He has seen them. He says he’ll take us to them.”

“Fifty dirhams,” added the driver.

“Ah, yes,” said Kit. “Wait here.” Returning to his companions, he said, “I need some coins-a few crowns should do it.”

“Sir Henry and Cosimo-the fellow knows where they are?” said Giles as he stooped to remove a satchel from the bundle he carried. “He has seen them?”

“And he’ll take us to them?” questioned Lady Fayth.

“That’s what he says,” replied Kit. Taking the purse from Giles’s hand, he opened it and poured out a handful of coins, took up two of the larger silver ones, and passed back the rest. “This should do it.”

He crossed to the camel driver and held up the two coins. “This one to take us to find our friends,” said Kit, handing the coin to the driver. “And this one when we have found them.” He returned the second coin to his pocket. “Agreed?”

The Egyptian whipped the coin out of sight and made a little bow. “I am Yusuf,” he said. “We go now.” He turned and started toward the line of kneeling camels.

Kit called to the others, “Come on! He’s taking us now.”

They shouldered their bundles and hurried to join their guide and were soon clambering up onto the awkwardly sloping backs of three camels. Yusuf commandeered a donkey from one of the lads and without so much as a backward glance, they were soon jolting off along the avenue of sphinxes and into the desert. Of the three travellers, Giles most quickly mastered the odd swinging, lurching gait of their long-legged mounts, and Lady Fayth soon caught the knack; Kit, however, could not quite adjust to the jerky, undulating sway and resigned himself to an uncomfortable-and very smelly-ride. The camels, all but silent on their flat, padded feet, passed along a low rise of dust-coloured hills; away to the west, tawny dunes of sand undulated like the waves of a stationary sea.

The sun rose higher, growing steadily hotter beneath a cloudless sky. The line of hills stretched into the distance, disappearing into the silver shimmer of the burgeoning heat haze. It was not long before Kit began wishing he had thought to bring a hat-and a canteen filled with something cool and refreshing. It was an unfortunate thought, because once it had entered his head, it quickly passed from idle fancy into fixation. The more he thought about it, the more it grew to occupy his mind, filling it and driving out all other thoughts. He began to feel as if his mouth were stuffed with cotton and his throat made of tree bark; his vision became rimmed and distorted as if he were peering through cheap binoculars.

“Sir?” Kit became aware of someone calling him. “Kit, sir?”

He turned his head to see that Giles had reined up beside him. “Hmm?”

“Are you well, sir?”

“I’m fine.” Kit swallowed. “A little thirsty is all.”

“I fear, sir, that we forgot to bring any water.”

“I know. We’ll just have to wait.” Urging his mount forward, he came abreast of their guide. “Is it much farther?” he asked.

The swarthy Egyptian pointed to the rock-rimmed hills. “There,” he said. “Not far.”

Turning around on his saddle, Kit called back to Giles and Lady Fayth. “He says we’re almost there.”

Lady Fayth, shielding her face with her hand, nodded grimly.

They rode on a little longer, and then, quite unexpectedly, turned toward the same shattered hills the guide had indicated. As they approached the base of the nearest hill, they saw what appeared to be little more than a crease open out onto the desert. Yusuf turned into the crevice and, riding single file, they proceeded into a channel between two sheer rock walls-a wadi cut into the soft stone by the abundant rains of a much younger world. The air was dead still inside the wadi, but at least the high walls afforded significant shade; it was cooler at the bottom of the gulch, and Kit felt himself revive. They came to a place where the gap between the walls widened, and here their guide halted. “We leave the animals,” he said. “We walk from here.”

Kit wasted not an instant scrambling down from his disagreeable perch and hurried to their guide. “We need some water,” he said.

“There is a well,” replied Yusuf. “I take you.”

After securing the beasts, they gathered their gear and started down the wadi, soon arriving at a place where the walls flattened slightly, and there, in a fissure at the base of one wall, a deep pit had been hollowed in the solid rock; the pit was covered by a stone that, after it had been removed, revealed the end of a rope of braided hemp. Yusuf pulled on the rope, and up came a leather bucket dripping with water. The liquid was tepid, but fresh enough, and they all slaked their thirst. Kit was last to drink. “Everyone okay?” he asked, passing the bucket back to their guide. He thanked him and asked, “How much farther?”