Silk and Secrets(58)

The dervish was still expounding when Murad checked to see if dinner was ready. Since it was, the young Persian gave Ross an inquiring glance.

Knowing exactly what was being asked, Ross said to the dervish, "We are about to partake of our evening meal. Will you honor us by sharing our humble fare?"

"The honor would be mine," Abd said happily.

The dervish looked so pleased that it occurred to Ross that the main purpose of this visit might not be theology but a simple desire to cadge a free dinner. Ross didn't mind; Abd was a pleasant old fellow and he obviously could use a solid meal.

Murad looked regretful at dividing the lamb one more way, but he made no protest as he piled the food onto the communal platter. Islam had a tradition of sharing that Ross thought the Christian world would do well to emulate.

With dinner imminent, Juliet came instantly awake and settled cross-legged by the platter. Ross introduced her as Jalal, adding that she spoke little Persian.

After murmuring a blessing, Abd remarked, "It is very rare to see a Targui in Turkestan."

"I am surprised that you have seen any," Ross replied.

"Aye, there have been one or two through Merv. The caravan routes are the lifeblood of Islam, and they carry the sons of the Prophet from one end of the earth to the other."

The dervish went on to expound on how caravans and pilgrimages promoted unity throughout the Muslim world, a topic which progressed into a general discussion of transportation. After Ross had described a railroad, the old man said, perplexed, "It sounds most unnatural. Of what value is such speed?"

"It shortens journeys and transports good more quickly so men might live better lives."

Abd shook his head firmly. "The pace of a camel or donkey gives a man time to see, to reflect, to understand—those are the things that create a better life. To a simple man like me, it seems that you ferengis are over-concerned with doing and having. In Islam, we are more interested in being."

Ross's opinion of the dervish rose still further. "As I gave you an intriguing new thought, now you have done the same for me. I thank you, good Uncle."

They were just finishing a pleasant meal when a group of Turkomans galloped into the campground in a flurry of dust, shouting, and thundering hooves. In their tall black sheepskin hats, the riders looked like a light cavalry troop.

Terrified goats and chickens scattering before them, they cut from one campfire to another while members of the caravan drew back and watched warily. Even though their dress indicated hat they were of the local Tekke tribe, not raiders from a hostile Turkoman band, Ross felt a prickle of disquiet.

His disquiet deepened when he realized that the Turkomans seemed to be searching for something, or someone. Then the leader of the riders drew close enough to identify.

Ross swore under his breath. Aloud he said, "The man approaching is Dil Assa, the leader of the Turkomans I met near Serevan."

Remembering that Ross had almost been killed, Saleh and Juliet looked up sharply. Murad, who might have been enslaved on that occasion, did his best to look unobtrusive. Only Abd was unalarmed. His back to the newcomers, he placidly mopped up the last of the lamb juices with a piece of bread.

A moment after Ross spoke, Dil Assa spotted his quarry and recognition became mutual. With a shout of triumph, the Turkoman spurred his horse toward their ire, reining his mount back just in time to avoid ramming the unconcerned dervish.

"It is the British spy!" Dil Assa roared, his gaze fixed on Ross. "Truly God is merciful, for he has given you into my hands again. This time I shall not fail to kill you, ferengi."

Juliet lunged for her rifle, which was only a yard from her hand, but Ross threw his hand up to stop her. "No! A gun battle here would endanger too many innocent people." Rising to his feet, he said, "I also remember you, Dil Assa. Why do you have this passion for killing Englishmen?"

"I need no reason. Prepare to die, dog!"

Dil Assa was raising his matchlock rifle when Abd stood and turned to face the Turkomans. Before Ross's fascinated gaze, the old holy man seemed to take on an extra six inches of height and an air of compelling authority. His voice cutting across the nervous camp like a lash, the dervish said, "If you wish to kill the ferengi, you will have to kill your khalifa first."

Ross gasped. Good Lord, their ragged visitor must be the Khalifa of Merv, the spiritual leader of the Turkomans and the only man with any influence on their wild behavior.

In the hush that fell over the camp after the old man spoke, Dil Assa's gasp was clearly audible. "Abd Urrahman!" He scrambled off his horse and bowed deeply, all of his men doing the same. "Majesty, I did not recognize you."