Erin Yorke - Desert Rogue

Outside, the guards moved closer, herding her at a quick pace through the dusty streets. A few heavily veiled women averted their eyes as they passed, while a large group of men leered openly and began to follow her, shouting in Arabic. Two particularly persistent fellows tried to push past Zobeir’s men to reach her, but they were easily repelled by her human shield. The slave trader had not exaggerated when he said many men would want her. But would Hayden continue to desire her, if he ever found her?

All too quickly, they stopped before a guarded enclosure, its eight-foot-high walls topped with spikes embedded in the sandstone. Heavy wooden gates provided the only interruption in the rough-textured expanse, at the top of which stood a sentry’s post.

“Zobeir wants her in the pens until tomorrow’s auction,” announced the man beside her. “We will take her through.”

“There is no need—”

“Zobeir knows you have sampled his wares in the past and he wants her untouched,” refuted the slave trader’s deputy.

Not understanding the sharply spoken exchange, Victoria dared hope for a moment that she was being turned away. Instead, the high gate opened and they were motioned inside.

As she moved, the young Englishwoman looked about and was startled to see men on every side of her: short, tall, dark-toned, light-skinned, bearded, clean-shaven, clothed in every possible garb. Some were asleep, but more were standing about, carefully watching her progress across the compound.

“Zobeir said the women’s pen,” she reminded her keeper. She was nervous because of the hungry leers on dozens of faces, most of them destined for slavery themselves.

“They are sheltered behind the men’s quarters to offer extra security from anyone who would interfere,” the man explained gruffly. “The guards and these slaves are between the women and the street in case of trouble.”

“Has anyone ever tried to free Zobeir’s women?” Victoria asked, a tiny glimmer of hope sparking to life.

“To be certain, no one has succeeded, though once in a while there’s been a halfhearted attempt by the Europeans to interrupt an auction. But all that happened was a temporary postponement or relocation of the sale.”

Dropping her eyes to the ground, Victoria tried not to acknowledge her fear as the guards led her forward. The lounging men awaiting their own purchase by others continued to watch her every move, devouring her pale flesh with their ravenous eyes, despite her escorts’ cursing and shoving them out of the way.

In front of the interior gate, she stood silently, searching for some chink in the security, determined to find a means of escape. If she could rally the other women, perhaps they could break and run when they were led to the market.... They couldn’t all be docile when it came to being sold into slavery.

“A word of advice, do as you are told or you will know pain,” said the leader of Zobeir’s contingent as he released her arm. “If you listen to your master, you may find your life not too unbearable, though I expect you’ve many more lessons to learn before that happens.”

Then, with his hand at the small of her back, he pushed her through the gate and signaled that it be shut.

The area was much the same as the men’s compound. Women of various shades, though none as light as Victoria, paced uneasily, apparently too nervous to stay still.

Victoria was the first white woman any of them had ever seen, and some of them crowded around her, reaching out to stroke her skin, only to pull back in fear when they saw her blue eyes.

“It is all right. I am a woman like you,” she assured them, holding out her hand to display its color. If she could convince these women that they had something in common, there might be a chance. “I am here against my will, just as you are, but I am not ready to be sold. What about you?”

But the women had withdrawn from her, eyeing the pale witch with suspicion and giving no indication of whether they had understood. Once more she was alone to contemplate her future.

* * *

In the short while they had been inside the city, he and Ali had learned a lot, Jed realized with satisfaction. The hardest part had been restraining himself from beating the hell out of his spurious captor to put a stop to that sand rat’s lordly manner.

If the damned Egyptian didn’t watch his step, Jed just might consider leaving Ali Sharouk behind when things started heating up and it came time to flee the city. But even as the temptation crossed his mind, Jed knew he would never do such a thing. Unaccustomed as he was to working with a partner, he and Ali were in this together, and Jed Kincaid was, if nothing else, an honorable man—at least of sorts.

A snap of the halter around his neck caused a resentful Jed to hasten his steps and struggle to keep his demeanor docile as he followed Ali along a dark, narrow alley.

Their path ran along the outer wall for a short distance, past a minor gate, Jed noted, surreptitiously raising his eyes to take in every detail while he planned their escape route and alternate ones, as well. Then the narrow street turned in upon itself, and shifted direction once more.

The slave block was located at the center of this maze full of twisting turns and forbidding passageways so that it was hidden from prying eyes. Slavery might be an accepted way of life in Khartoum, yet it appeared the local citizenry was smart enough not to want to offend the sensibilities of visiting Europeans, especially when one of those foreigners was occasionally placed on the block. From what he had heard about Khartoum, its foreign residents ignored the trading in human flesh that took place here, pretending it existed only in the realm of rumor. Nonetheless, they kept their women close at hand, knowing they would be lost forever if they disappeared into the serpentine streets of the city.

Jed’s thoughts ended abruptly as the alleyway left the darkness behind and spilled out into the strong, oppressive heat of a sunlit marketplace. Realizing danger surrounded them, the American felt a rush of excitement course through his blood. Ali had been right. Jed Kincaid needed adventure like this as surely as he needed air.

Anxious to set things into motion, Jed nonetheless patiently allowed Ali to lead him around the perimeter of the bazaar, the Egyptian stopping often to talk to Khartoum’s inhabitants in Arabic. Within a short time, Jed had discerned the layout of the pens, chosen the partially concealed spots in which to plant the explosives, and stealthily accomplished the task while Ali stood in front of him, presenting a shield to anyone who would be curious enough to observe them.

Still, they had yet to uncover the slave merchant mentioned by the kidnappers at the oasis. And without locating him, Jed couldn’t be certain Victoria Shaw was anywhere near Khartoum’s infamous marketplace.

“Time’s growing short, Ali. Find Zobeir,” Jed commanded with whispered authority. The Egyptian’s only response was to pull Jed behind him as he approached an ancient water seller.

This was hardly the time to get thirsty, Jed thought in disbelief when the old man, his back bent under the weight of the large, long-spouted cask he carried, leaned forward to pour Ali a cup of the precious liquid.

“I will have some more, grandfather, along with information,” Ali said, pressing a coin into the gnarled hand. “I need advice on how to sell this worthless slave. Can you direct me to a knowledgeable man, a slaver who knows what needs to be done in order to get a decent price for such poor merchandise?”

“The most celebrated of all is Zobeir. There he is, the fat one sitting in the midst of the others. It is he who can best advise you. And for such a pretty man as this, he might offer to purchase the slave himself. It would save you the auctioneer’s fee.”