The pool remained calm as he got to his feet and it was only when he looked up that he realized that darkness was indeed falling. With a final glance at the pool, he turned to the rising circle of steps that wound its way upwards. Suddenly, he wanted more than anything else to be out of the confines of the well and with the torchlight cutting a bright swathe out of the darkness, he half ran and half scrambled upwards towards the fading circle of light that spelt safety.
The Arabs and the oil company rescue team arrived at Al Antara at much the same time. The storm was still raging when the camels padded up to the oasis, the sand-laden wind shrieking in fury around them as the bedouin, wrapped to the eyes in their red-checked head-gear, couched their camels among the palm trees and looked around fearfully.
“The well, Hassan,” said the sheikh, his voice muffled by the tearing wind. “We’ll find him by the well.”
Lewis saw them through the storm and relief flooded through him for he hadn’t much relished the thought of spending the entire night in the choking heat. He pulled his T-shirt from his face and stood up but even as he got to his feet, the headlights of a fleet of rescue vehicles pierced the driving, swirling sand. The sheikh lifted a warning hand and the bedouin waited by their camels as the Englishmen piled out of their vehicles and ran towards Lewis.
“Water,” one of them shouted, “bring some water!”
“It’s okay, Mr Williams,” Lewis said. “I found the well. I’m all right!”
He sounded so cocky that Gareth Williams was sorely tempted to give him a good telling off there and then. Driving his father’s car at his age! Of all the stupid idiots!
He was furiously angry but bit back his words as he glimpsed the Arabs and it was only their presence that stopped him from giving Lewis a real mouthful. Curbing his temper with an effort, he walked across to the bedouin and, recognizing old Sheikh Rashid, shook his hand.
“As salaam aleikum, Sheikh Rashid,” he smiled.
Sheikh Rashid touched his forehead. “Wa aleikum as salaam,” came the response.
“Thank you for coming out in such weather. We appreciate your being here and I will tell Mr Grant personally of your efforts on behalf of his son.”
“It’s nothing,” the sheikh disclaimed politely. “I saw him as he passed our tents.”
“Come here, Lewis,” Williams called, “and thank Sheikh Rashid for coming out in the shimaal to rescue you.”
As Lewis stammered his gratitude, the sheikh stiffened suddenly and took a step backwards. A curious expression crossed his face and ignoring Lewis’s outstretched hand, he bowed low. Very low.
Williams looked shrewdly at the old sheikh. Now what was up, he wondered. But the sheikh said nothing and the cars were waiting.
“Fii amaan illah,” Williams said, unsure now as to whether to offer his hand or not.
“Fii amaan al kareem, Mr Williams,” came the response and the sheikh held out his hand to him. Gareth shook it warmly and thanked the sheikh again for his help. Nice old chap, he thought, as he turned to take Lewis’s arm. His lips tightened. The sooner he got him back to the township the better. Goodness knows what his father was going to say when he heard the story!
Battling the howling wind, Gareth Williams guided Lewis across the sand to the vehicles and, bundling him in, struggled round to the driver’s door. The Arabs stood as he had left them, watching their departure. He gave a final wave and, slamming the door shut, took off in a swirl of dust.
Even as they left, the force of the wind seemed to quieten. Williams pondered over the old sheikh’s odd behaviour as they drove back through the waning storm; their powerful headlights throwing into relief the moving, rippling sea of streaming sand that half obliterated the serrated ridges of the track. Half an hour, he reckoned, and they’d be home. Thank goodness they’d managed to find Lewis so quickly. But why had Rashid refused to shake the boy’s hand?
Back at the oasis, the huddled group of bedouin watched the red rear-lights of the 4x4s disappear into the night and made to mount their beasts.
Sheikh Rashid, however, gripped his camel’s halter and led the animal towards the dim outline of the ruined houses that loomed vaguely among the trees.
“Father,” Hassan gasped, running after him and grabbing his sleeve. “Father, where are you going? We can’t stay here at night, you know that! What about the djinn?”
His father turned and looked at them all as they stood amid the waving palms. “The djinn has gone,” he said calmly. “We can now return to the village of our ancestors and sleep safely.”
“But, Father,” Hassan gulped, “how do you know the djinn has gone?”