Kadesh gave an agreeable smile and settled himself at one end of the bench. His long forefinger played with the soft skin of his recently shaved chin as he watched Ruth gather her thoughts and emotions.
“Can I offer you anything?”
“I think not.”
“Oh. Well, then.” She sat on a small stool opposite the leader of the Korumak and wondered what he wanted. Despite the barren years of disappointment her heart was pounding with expectation. He had never come to her at such an hour.
Natasha was watching suspiciously from her bed. She held her dolly close to her chest, the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Ruth put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. You must sleep now. We will talk quietly.”
“I think it may be inappropriate to have the girl present,” Kadesh said. His tone was reasonable. “I have arranged an alternative activity for her. Ah –”
Jassim appeared at the entrance. His expression was curiously flat, unreadable. He managed a curt bow but failed to make eye contact. Two of Kadesh’s personal escort hovered by the door, just out of sight.
Ruth felt the first twinges of disquiet. “Jassim? What are you doing here?” Her disquiet turned to fear when she noticed that her brother was wearing his ceremonial scimitar. It dangled loosely at his side, glinting in the low light.
Kadesh spoke quietly but firmly. “Natasha will be comfortable. Please –” He indicated the stool which she had, in her anxiety and confusion, overbalanced.
Jassim beckoned Natasha, who cast a questioning look at Ruth.
They wouldn’t kill a child. Not a child. She took a breath. He is our leader. He is wise. He is kind. Ruth righted the stool and nodded. “It’s okay. Go with Jassim.” She injected her voice with as much persuasiveness as she was able. Natasha obediently allowed Jassim to take her hand. Ruth watched as Jassim led the girl away.
Now she was alone with Kadesh. She swallowed and composed herself with a huge effort of will. Kadesh seemed in no hurry. He looked around the chamber, allowing his eyes to wander across the dull, ochre blend of rock and clay that formed the walls and roof of the scalloped recess Ruth had made her home. The ancients of Kish had capitalized fully on the opportunities afforded by the departure of the Tigris and Euphrates from their ante-diluvian course, working the natural volcanic passages into numerous storerooms, living areas and meeting places. She was happy here, under the temple of her forefathers. It was all she knew and all she wanted. Almost.
Ruth sat very still, afraid to make an inappropriate gesture or give voice to her whirling thoughts. Was her dream about to be realized? Perhaps her diagnosis had been correct. He had finally responded to her patience with an acknowledgment of his own needs. Sara would not be his. He had accepted it at last.
“He is coming – as are the Americans.” Kadesh played with the lid of a glass jar, gently tapping the rim and listening to the high note it produced. “But I am ready for them.”
“How do you know –?”
“I know.” Kadesh replaced the lid and turned to face her. His arms were folded. “I know. They are in Baghdad. Mukannishum failed.”
Ruth was unsure how to respond. She had never warmed to Mukannishum, Kadesh’s right-hand man from the time they were at Harvard together. There was a coldness about him, a ruthlessness she found repellant. His influence on Kadesh had been considerable, none of it positive. When Kadesh had returned to Kish, education completed, to lead the Korumak, he had returned a changed man. Gone was the warmth she had known in her childhood; gone were the dancing lights in his eyes. Instead there was a hardening of will and soul. As she looked at him now, she mourned the person she had once known. And yet, here he was, perhaps not entirely immune to her reasoning, or, she hoped, her feminine charms.
“I am sorry for your friend.” She looked at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. “But they cannot succeed.” She shrugged. The gesture felt inadequate, but the conversation was taking an undesirable detour and she was anxious to steer it back before it was too late. “They are no match for you.”
She moved towards him. He needed comforting, reassuring. That was her role. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and then moved forward, encircling him in her arms. To her amazement he responded. Her heart beat wildly as he returned her embrace. His body was firm and strong, honed by the disciplined training she knew was part of his daily routine. His clothing smelt of musk and oil, some residue of incense that clung to the fabric. Perhaps his love was like that; maybe there was some essence of his old personality that could be redeemed.
She felt his hand gently stroking her hair. He was murmuring quietly, making soothing noises in his throat. And then he tipped her chin up to look him in the face. She had hoped to see the lights again, but in his eyes now she saw a new darkness, something deep and malevolent. She pulled away but he was too strong; he was crushing her in his arms. He spoke just once as the life was choked out of her: “It is time.” She felt a sharp pain in her abdomen, then a numbing paralysis spreading over the lower part of her body. He let her go, and the floor came rushing up to meet her. She felt no impact. As her body came to rest her soul had already stepped out into the endless tunnels of eternity.