On returning to his room, Ross found his new wardrobe laid out on the bed. Inspecting the garments, he decided that the quality was just right, neither lavish nor impoverished. But then, he would never expect Juliet to be anything less than efficient, even on such short notice.
Loose, multilayered clothing was worn throughout the Islamic world. However, although there were endless variations, the rule of thumb was that North African clothing was generally simpler, most often consisting of robes that pulled over the head like a nightgown and mantles that wrapped around the body in various ways. That shapelessness was why Juliet could successfully disguise herself in Tuareg apparel. In contrast, Asiatic clothing tended to be more structured and usually involved one or more long, loose, sleeved coats worn over a tunic or shirt and trousers.
After stripping off his English clothes, Ross donned his new garments. Fortunately Juliet had managed to find a white cotton tunic wide enough in the shoulders to fit him. The baggy gray trousers could have been a bit longer, but were not so short as to arouse comment. A green-and-black-striped coat called a chapan went over tunic and trousers and fell to his knees. He belted that in place with a long white sash, then topped the outfit with a quilted coat that reached almost to his ankles. He was glad the garments were comfortable, because he would probably be wearing them day and night for the next month.
There was no footwear; his feet were not a standard size in this part of the world. However, his own dark brown leather boots were of unremarkable appearance and should not attract attention, particularly in their present scuffed condition.
Under the pile of clothing was a beautiful curving dagger. Sliding the blade from its sheath, he saw that it was not just decorative, but a lethally edged weapon that meant business. He thrust the dagger in his sash. With that, his rifle, a pistol, and the knife in his boot, he was armed like a hill bandit. He hoped none of the weapons would be needed; he had long since decided that the only good fight was one that never happened.
Finally Ross turned his attention to the yards of white muslin intended for his turban. Turbans were vastly practical garments, protecting the head from both sun and cold, absorbing sweat, capable of being drawn over the mouth against dust or sand. And, with grim practicality, there was enough material in one to cover a man's body completely so that it could be used as his shroud if necessary.
But a turban was a great deal more than practical: it was a statement of tribe and class, of fashion and personality. After careful consideration, Ross decided that an Afghan style would be best. Afghans were often tall, so his height would be less conspicuous. Also, like most Central Asians, Afghans were Sunnis, members of the largest, most orthodox branch of Islam, while most Persians were of the Shiite sect.
Outside of their own country, Shiites were often harassed, sometimes even killed, so it would be best not to look like a Persian. Safety lay in being as unobtrusive as possible.
He put on the felt skullcap that Juliet had sent, then folded the length of muslin into rough pleats. It had been several years since he had worn a turban, and then it had been a Hindu style, but his hands remembered the technique. After a couple of false starts he managed to wind and tuck the fabric into a respectable Afghan turban, complete with a tail hanging down the side of his neck.
Juliet had even supplied a small pouch of surma. Though his lashes and brows were several shades darker than his hair, they were still light by Asian standards. After applying surma to his eyelids, Ross carefully rubbed a little into his eyebrows.
He surveyed himself as best he could in the small mirror. Not bad, he decided; it was a pity that he didn't have a full dark beard, but in this guise, no one would immediately single him out as a ferengi.
As important as altering his appearance, and rather more difficult, was changing his thinking to that of an Oriental rather than an Englishman so that he would not betray himself in subtle ways. He had done that successfully before, in less critical circumstances, so he would be able to do it again.
Next he cut the letters of introduction from the lining of his English coat. Sealed in oiled cloth packets, they were easily sewed into the padded chapan. Then he turned his attention to his European wardrobe, packing some garments to take to Bokhara while leaving more at Serevan.
Finally he was ready to go. Looking at his baggage, he smiled humorlessly. The journey across the Kara Kum would be hazardous, his reception in Bokhara much more so. Yet more difficult by far would be living cheek by jowl with the only woman who had ever had real power over him. Because, God help him, she still did.
Chapter 7
The camel lowered its head and brayed malevolently at Ross. Guessing that it was about to spit at him, he sidestepped neatly and muttered under his breath, "I think you're pretty ugly too."