Silk and Secrets(106)

The nayeb said quickly, "Give me what you have and also your note of hand saying that the British ambassador in Teheran will pay the difference. You see how I trust you."

"But the British ambassador will not honor such a note, for I am here privately, not as a representative of my country. I cannot permit you to risk ruin on my behalf." Deciding that it was time to leave, Ross stood. "I thank you for your concern, Abdul Samut Khan. You have given me much to ponder."

"Ponder well, ferengi," the nayeb said with exasperation. Raising his voice, he said to the guard at the door, "Zadeh, you must stay with Lord Khilburn at all times except when he is in his rooms. Do not let him out of your sight."

The guard opened the door for Ross, then followed him out. Since leaving the compound was forbidden, Ross decided to go back to his rooms and write a note to the Tekkie imam to explain his absence.

He would also write to his other acquaintances. Some might be willing to visit him in the nayeb's house.

As they made their way through the sprawling house, a soft whisper came from behind him. "Do not trust Abdul Samut Khan, Lord Khilburn. He pretended to be the friend of Yawer Cameron, then betrayed him. He will do the same to you."

Startled, Ross realized that the warning must have come from his guard, Zadeh, who was one of the younger soldiers assigned to the nayeb. Without turning his head, he said, "What do you think of his offer to help me escape?"

"He would use it as an excuse to take your gold, then see you charged with spying and executed," was the prompt reply.

"I suspected as much," Ross murmured. "Tell me, if I tried to escape from the compound some night, are there any among the guards who might... look the other way?"

"There are many who would wish to help you," Zadeh said cautiously, "though since there is risk involved, a small gift would be appropriate."

Ross nodded, then went into his rooms. He suspected that it would be both cheaper and safer to bribe the guard directly rather than rely on the nayeb's uncertain aid. But escaping from the compound would be only the first step, and the easiest.

* * *

Juliet spent the morning with Saleh and Murad, discussing possible courses of action, for instinct told her that time was running out. Practical conversation was a relief, for it kept her from thinking about the soul-searing night with Ross.

Later she visited several caravansaries to learn when caravans were expected to leave and what the destinations were. Toward the end of the afternoon, when the heat was at its worst and the city baked under the brazen yellow light of Central Asia, she returned to the nayeb's house.

She had entered and was walking along a dimly lit corridor when she encountered Yawer Shahid Mahmud. He had never deigned to notice her existence before, but today a speculative glint came into the burly officer's eyes when he saw her.

There was no one else about, and Juliet felt a prickly sense of warning. Her gaze straight ahead, she tried to walk past the Uzbek, but he reached out and caught her arm before she could slide away. "Not so fast, Targui. I have not been hospitable enough to you. Your name is Jalal, is it not?"

She did not answer, just glanced at him with narrowed eyes. He was an inch or two taller than she, and much heavier, and she did not like the way he was looking at her.

Shahid continued, "I have wondered why your master would tolerate such a surly slave, but now I know that you have hidden charms." He gave a slow, unpleasant smile. "You should have been quieter last night."

Juliet swore to herself. In spite of their efforts to keep their voices down, they had been overheard, and it was undoubtedly her fault. When Ross returned from seeing the amir, she had been in his arms even as the door closed. The yawer, balked of his prey, must have decided to linger outside to see what he could learn. Now he knew Juliet was female, and she had a horrible suspicion of what he intended to do about it.

She tried to pull away, but the Uzbek twisted her arm, forcing her toward the wall. "There is a famous Pushtu love song called 'Zakmi Dil,' which means 'Wounded Heart,' " he said softly. "Perhaps you have heard it? It goes 'There's a boy across the river with a bottom like a peach, But alas! I cannot swim.'"

He smiled again and touched his tongue to his lips. "In Bokhara we are fortunate, for the great river Amu is many miles away and there is no need to swim." With sudden violence he spun her around and slammed her face first against the wall, jerking her right arm up behind her back. "You move like a youth, as slim and graceful as a woman."

He grabbed her buttock with his free hand and squeezed hard, his fingers digging deeply into her flesh. "Ah, yes, boy," he said hoarsely. "Your bottom is very like a peach. You should not waste it on an unbeliever."