Silk and Secrets(128)

"He tried to extort money from me also. I'm lucky he was called off to war before he got around to charging me with espionage. We're getting away just in time."

Finished with the salve, Ross stood and began to give Ian a rough haircut and beard trim so he would look like a Bokharan rather than a desert hermit. "Once we learned that you might still be alive in the Black Well, we couldn't leave without trying to rescue you. But why did the amir claim you'd been executed?"

"Because he thought I had been. But it was Pyotr Andreyovich who was beheaded." Ian gave a ragged sigh and leaned his head against the wall. "Colonel Pyotr Andreyovich Kushutkin of the Russian army. He was caught spying several months before I arrived in Bokhara."

"A trumped-up charge, like the one against you?"

"No, it was quite genuine in his case. He was an enthusiastic player in the Great Game. His only regret was that he had been caught. Pyotr Andreyovich was some years older than I and had been in the Well longer. He had developed the most horrible cough—sometimes he went on for hours, and there was blood."

Briefly Ian closed his eye, a spasm crossing his face at the memory. "When they came to execute me, he said that since he was dying anyhow, they might as well take him instead of me."

"No one noticed the difference?" Ross asked, startled.

Ian gave him a sardonic glance. "Pyotr Andreyovich and I were about the same height and had hair about the same shade, though his was more brown than red. Skinny and filthy as we both were and hairier than baboons, it would have taken someone who knew us very well to tell the difference."

He swallowed hard. "So he died in my place. I was feverish at the time or I would have protested more. Then it didn't seem to matter much, except that he was released from his misery. But now..." His voice trailed off.

"Wherever Colonel Kushutkin is now, he must be pleased with his decision," Ross said quietly. "From what you say, he probably would not have survived until now, but you have. Now you can send his Bible to his family, as he wished."

Ian's expression eased a little at the words. "He kept a journal in the blank pages at the front and back of the testament, using a pencil he had on him when he was imprisoned. He taught me Russian and I helped him with his English. Spy or not, one couldn't have asked for a better cellmate. Present company excepted, of course."

Ian began putting on the Turkestani clothing that Ross handed him. "Since my jailers thought I was him, I swore at them in Russian whenever they spoke to me. No one ever guessed I wasn't Pyotr Andreyovich."

After dressing, Ian wound a turban, wrapping one of the turns of fabric over his blind eye. When he was done, he said, "You and Juliet—you've reconciled?"

Ross hesitated, thinking that that was a complicated question, one that he did not have a clear answer for. Finally he said, "Yes. For the moment."

"Good." Ian sat down and pulled on Ross's best pair of leather boots, which he had donated to the unknown prisoner. "Then perhaps something worthwhile has come out of this mess."

Hearing a sound in the outer room, Ross turned swiftly, but it was just Juliet, returned from exchanging their mounts. Her eyes widened when she saw her brother. "Amazing. It's hard to believe that you're the same man who came out of the Black Well less than two hours ago."

Ian said with dry humor, "Eton College and the British army were wonderful preparation for a year or two in a dungeon."

Juliet's face lit up and she went to give her brother a longer, more leisurely hug than had been possible earlier.

But while she accepted the words at face value, Ross saw how much effort it took Ian to create that illusion of jauntiness. A stiff upper lip did not come cheap.

Stepping back from the hug, Juliet said to Ross, "Have you told Ian how he and I are leaving Bokhara?"

"Not yet." Ross lifted two folded garments and handed one each to Juliet and Ian. "Riding in camel panniers and wearing these women's mantles, you'll make a nice pair of wives."

"Ingenious. We'll be totally covered and the panniers will disguise height." Ian lifted the horsehair mantle and dropped it over his head. Called a chador, it was a huge, shapeless black sack with a small woven screen over the eyes so that the unfortunate occupant could see out.

After rubbing off her mustache, Juliet also donned her chador. The longest garments available were too short for her and Ian, but once they climbed into the panniers, the deficiency would be unnoticeable. "Time to go. The sooner we're outside the city, the sooner we can take these wretched things off."

She and Ian left the room, her hand on his elbow giving him unobtrusive support. Ross took a quick scan to make sure that nothing had been forgotten.