BEAUTIFUL STRANGER

By

TaleBearer

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The story opens two years after the destruction of Hamunaptura.

Julia scanned the horizon. The heat shimmer made it look like the entire desert was melting into one enormous tawny puddle. She sipped from her canteen, making a face at the warm, metallic taste of the water. Despite the dull pain in her lower back and the headache brought on by staring through the endless glare, she kept quiet. She was not some fragile flower to be pampered by the men. Julia was a scholar, a researcher, a soon-to-be professor here in Egypt on a foundation grant. She would tough it out as her fellow anthropologists had done so before her. Her khaki pants and shirt were hardly the height of London fashion, but they were far more practical. She'd even accepted the pistol Mr. Collins insisted she wear holstered on her belt. He'd drilled her in its use until he was satisfied she'd shoot nothing but her target.

She'd met Samuel Collins in the museum last week while she was surveying the Tuareg jewelry on display. She tried to ask one of the museum staff where she might find a Tuareg camp. Her lack of fluent Arabic left her unable to make herself understood. Mr. Collins stepped in to translate for her. More than that, the tall, rawboned American offered himself as her guide, describing his extensive experience with desert expeditions. His persistence and obvious experience at desert expeditions convinced her.

Three days later they set out across the Sahara, bound for what Mr. Collins assured her was the site of a large Tuareg encampment. He had taken care of all the details, organizing the equipment, hiring the camels, and rounding up a willing group of bearers and diggers. Julia found his speed and efficiency a trifle puzzling. Back in London she'd heard nothing but complaints about how long it took to get anything done in Cairo. It was almost as if Mr. Collins was simply waiting for an opportunity to rush out into the desert.

Now the line of camels and horses carrying the fifteen Bedouin bearers and diggers rode into a welcome stretch of shade spreading out from the base of some particularly high dunes. Julia let her camel go at its own pace. She pulled off her headcloth and mopped at her face and neck. Her single braid uncoiled to slap against her hips. Gleaming with red and gold highlights, her chestnut hair once again proved its defiance of mere hair pins.

Julia glanced down. The shadow of the dunes had changed. Five silhouettes now stood along the uppermost edge. Shading her eyes against the sun, Julia searched the dunes. Five riders dressed in black, their faces covered, rifles across their saddlebows and the hilts of paired scimitars showing on their belts. Tuareg warriors!

"I say!" Julia reined in, waving her headcloth at them. "Hello there! Do any of you speak English?"

Mr. Collins rode up beside her in a thunder of hooves. He yanked her arm down. "Are you nuts? Keep that up and they'll start firing on us!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Collins. They're just having a look at us."

"That's all I want them to do, look." He grabbed her camel's bridle and pulled her along with him up to the head of the line. "You just cover up now. We don't need the locals knowing we've got a woman along with us."

"And why not? I hardly think they'll coming riding down to carry me off like some bride-stealing nonsense from the Bronze Age."

"Just listen to me, will you, Miss Lawrence? You hired me as your guide, let me do the guiding, all right?"

"Oh, very well."

Julia turned for a last glimpse of the riders. The one in the middle sat taller in his saddle than the others. The hilts of his scimitars flashed silver in the lowering sun. Between the high black hat he wore low on his forehead and the black veil covering most of his face, Julia could just make out his eyes. She had the strangest feeling he was staring right at her, a challenging stare that demanded to know what she was doing in his territory. She'd be more than happy to explain, if only Mr. Collins wasn't so madly cautious about every little thing. Without quite meaning to, Julia raised her hand above her head and held it there a moment, just long enough to make it clear it was a gesture of greeting. The Tuareg warrior made no reply.

Sunset left them an hour or two to make camp before the absolute darkness of the desert night engulfed them. Mr. Collins led them to a sheltered area where the bitter wind wouldn't scatter their tents or their campfire. Under his expert direction, the bearers set Julia's tent up and stowed all her baggage inside. She viewed her waiting cot with great pleasure. Every bone in her body ached, every muscle stiff and sore. Camels were certainly exotic, but she would have much preferred a good plain horse. Once again Mr. Collins had insisted he knew best.

"Well done, Mr. Collins." She paused for a moment by the campfire. Four of the Bedouins were busy with pots and various small bags. "What's on the menu, may I ask?"

"Couscous, with mint and a little lamb jerky." Mr. Collins flashed her a grin, his teeth gleaming redly in the firelight. "Should be good stuff."

"Indeed. Do call me when it's ready." Julia stepped into her tent and carefully positioned her lantern so it would throw no revealing shadows that might be seen from outside. She stripped off her salt-stained khaki shirt and draped it across her camp stool, then fetched a fresh blouse of lightweight blue cotton. Its wide sleeves and square yoke gave her a delightful sense of freedom. The night would turn cold, but for now she longed to feel fresh air on her skin.

Tantalizing smells from the campfire lured Julia out of her tent. She looked up at the sky, marveling at all the millions of stars. No sounds of motor cars, no smell of factories, no clinging damp that was London at this time of year. Just the purity of the sand and the stars. She walked around to the back of the tent, putting it between her and the intrusive firelight. Once she stood in the deeper shadow behind the tent, she let her breath out in a contented sigh. Silence. Privacy. Peace.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the shadows took on distinct shapes. One in particular looked for all the world like a horse. Only when it stamped and neighed did she realize it was no illusion. Moonlight gleamed on the silver parts of its harness. The Tuareg were here, right here, perhaps even surrounding the camp. As much as she longed to speak to them, Julia was no fool. She drew the pistol from her belt, then backed toward the campfire.

A hand clamped down over her mouth, pulling her back against a tall, slender figure. The metal buckles of twin sword belts pressed hard against her shoulder blades through the thin cloth of her blouse. She cocked her pistol. One shot into the air would alert the camp. Another hand closed around her wrist and twisted. Julia cried out as her sore muscles protested. Her fingers opened, dropping her pistol on the sand. A dull thunk told her the man behind her had kicked the pistol away.

A low voice hissed Arabic into her right ear. Julia shook her head.

"English?" the voice asked.

She nodded.

"Tell me what I wish to know. We will do you no harm that you do not bring upon yourselves."

The voice was a rich baritone, heavily accented, its consonants crisp and its vowels reflecting an education in British English. Julia nodded again. The hand over her mouth slid down her chin to her throat. Her pulse beat against his fingertips.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I've come to study your people. I'm doing research on your native handicrafts, on the patterns in your jewelry and what they reflect about your spiritual beliefs."

"Why do you wish to know this?"

"The Tuareg are singular in their craftsmanship. They deserve to be recognized for their unique skills."

Her captor was silent for a space of heartbeats.

"Please," Julia said. "May I have my arm back? It's beginning to hurt rather a lot."

The man held her wrist against her stomach. That pinned her more firmly against his torso, enveloping her in the scent of hot sand, leather, and horses. A tattoo marked the back of the hand that held hers, a solid line above the wrist with four spikes extending toward his knuckles. His fingers were long and slender, strong as iron bands.

"Who are these men with you?"

"My bodyguards." If that word impressed him at all, he gave no sign of it.

"Did you bring them with you to Cairo?"

His fingers tightened slightly around her throat. Julia flinched. When his grip tightened no further, she suddenly understood. He was watching the rate of her heartbeat. If it sped up, he'd assume she was lying. Why did he expect her to lie about this?

"No, not at all. I just met Mr. Collins a few days ago."

"Collins?" The man's breath hissed out between his teeth. "And you let him lead you into the desert? You are a fool. This man will be your death."

Julia was tired, sore, hungry, and quite out of patience. "Now what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

His hands grasped her shoulders and spun her around. Julia found herself looking up into those same dark eyes that had followed her with such intensity that afternoon.

"We know Samuel Collins. He is forbidden on our lands. Turn back at dawn, or you will share his fate."

His hands fell away from her. Before he could vanish into the shadows, Julia caught the loose sleeve of his black robe. He jerked out of her grasp. In the same movement he drew one scimitar in a flash of silver.

"Please!" Julia fell back, both hands up. She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. "This is as close as I've ever been to a true Tuareg warrior. I'll do as you say, I swear I will, but please, grant me one small thing."

He regarded her in waiting silence.

"Let me see your face."

His eyes narrowed. "That is not a small thing."

"Please," Julia said. "I've never found an exact depiction of the tribal markings you wear. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me. I have nothing but the highest respect for the Tuareg. The more I learn, the more my admiration grows."

The silence stretched. Still he didn't move. Julia took that as a good sign.

"I have no camera, I have no sketch pad, I have nothing but a glimpse of you in the dark by starlight. Please."

"Why does this mean so much to you?"

Julia's mouth went dry. The scholar in her had to seize this opportunity, but the woman in her wanted to see his face. The face that went with that rich voice and those dark eyes, deep and fathomless and full of secrets.

"By warning me you have saved my life. I want to remember the face of the man to whom I owe such tremendous thanks."

He sheathed his scimitar. His hand hung at his side for a moment, then rose to grasp his veil and pull it down beneath his chin. Julia bit her lip to stifle a gasp of pure wonder. There was just enough light to show her the blue tattoos he wore on each cheek, something like the Eye of Horus or the sacred bird designs. While the researcher in her filed away the comparisons for later analysis, the woman in her admired the high cheekbones, strong nose, and the jawline fringed by a closecut beard and mustache. The shape of his lips fascinated her. She longed to reach up and run her thumb over the fuller curve of his lower lip. He was handsome, more than handsome. His presence was so intense it made the night seem pale beside him.

"Have you seen enough?" he asked.

"No...." Julia heard the breathless note in her voice and ducked her head to hide her blush. "Please, may I know your name?"

"I am Ardeth Bey." He stepped back into the shadows. She heard the rustle of his robes, he thrust her pistol back into its holster.

"Thank you." That breathless note crept into Julia's voice again. "Thank you. For everything."

"You can thank me by leaving this place."

Ardeth Bey clicked his tongue against his teeth. His horse trotted over to stand beside him. Julia opened her mouth, trying to think of another question, anything, just to keep him there with her. He pressed two of those long fingers against her lips.

"Do everything within your power to leave before sunrise. Inshallah, you will reach Cairo safely."

Ardeth Bey pulled his veil back into place, then mounted his horse and wheeled it around. The sound of hoof beats faded, further muffled by the sand. Julia stared after him, straining to keep him in sight. She raised her eyes and gasped. On a low ridge of dunes nearby, the fifth rider joined four other silhouetted against the starry sky.

"Hey, Miss Lawrence! Soup's on!"

Mr. Collins' harsh voice broke the stillness. The last thing on earth Julia wanted to do was sit down to supper with him. She'd never actually liked the man, and now she had good reason to fear him.

"Thank you, Mr. Collins," she called. "Do have a plate brought to me, won't you? I must jot down a few things in my notebook."

Julia hurried back into her tent, desperate to record every detail of her meeting with Ardeth Bey. She smiled, reassured by the knowledge that he was out there watching over her.

#

Julia opened her eyes to see the tent filled with the soft gray light that preceded the dawn. Her hand, tucked demurely under her pillow, ached from grasping her pistol all night. She sat up and massaged her fingers, working out the stiffness. She'd packed one bag, limiting herself to the absolute essentials. Fortunately, the bulk of her books and research materials were still piled haphazardly around her hotel room in Cairo. All she'd leave behind were some clothes and her camping gear. Those were easily replaced.

She dressed quickly, pulling on sturdy canvas trousers, a loose white long-sleeved shirt, and her boots. She picked up her headcloth and wrapped the length of lightweight white cotton around her neck. She buckled on her gunbelt, checked the ammunition in her pistol, and tucked the pistol into its holster. Mr. Collins' patronizing lessons in its use might now be her deliverance from him. Julia slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder, settling the strap across her torso. She'd been up half the night making frantic notes by the light of her pocket torch. She'd lose her canteen before she lost that notebook.

Julia paused to listen for any sound of the others stirring. All was still quiet outside. She freed the ties that closed the flap of her tent and slipped out, trying to minimize the crunch of her boots on the sand. She scanned the horizon. No sign of the Tuareg warriors. Julia knew better than to assume they weren't somewhere nearby.

Her camel lay on its knees with the others in their makeshift corral thirty feet away. Julia breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could mount without all the typical camel histrionics. She crept across the sand, trying to keep low as she moved from the cover of one tent to the next. Her camel gave her a drowsy scowl, then started to creak to its feet. She sprang forward to catch its reins and sling her leg over the saddle. The camel dropped to its knees, dumping her on the opposite side. It let out the raucous gargling noise that passed for camel laughter.

A loud babble of Arabic came from the bearers' side of the camp. Julia groaned. They probably thought someone was trying to steal the camels. She dropped onto the camel's back and got a firm grip on the reins. The camel lurched to its feet. From the height of her saddle Julia saw the bearers popping out of their tents, shouting and pointing. She dragged the camel's head around and kicked it smartly. It plodded into motion, picking up speed until it was moving at its herky-jerky version of a gallop. Julia glanced around at the tops of the dunes, hoping to see the line of Tuareg warriors, to have one last glimpse of Ardeth Bey.

"Hey! Hey, lady!"

That was Mr. Collins' voice, somewhere ahead of her. He burst out from behind the low dune to her right.

"Where do you think you're going? That's back the way we came!"

Mr. Collins rode to cut her off. The thunder of more hoof beats behind her told Julia the bearers were catching up. There was no way she could outrun them all. Still, she had to try. She whacked the camel's backside with the prod, chirping to it. It stretched its long legs, eating up the distance.

"Damn it, woman, stop that camel!" Mr. Collins yelled. "We can't be running them ragged this early in the day! We've got a lot of ground to cover!"

"Cover it yourself, Mr. Collins! I'm going back to Cairo!"

"The hell you are!"

Mr. Collins spurred his horse straight across her camel's path, so close the two animals nearly collided. The horse reared, flailing its front hooves in the camel's face. Julia screamed, trying keep her grip on the camel's saddle while ducking the horse's kicks. Mr. Collins leaned forward. A knife flashed in his hand. Her camel bellowed in pain and leaped away. With the leather belt of its girth slashed, Julia's saddle slid sideways. Julia hit the sand with a thud that left stars flashing behind her eyes. The mad need to keep moving brought her upright before her head had quite cleared. As long as she did everything she could, she'd reach Cairo safely. Ardeth Bey had said so. She kept repeating that to herself over and over again, even as the riders behind her closed in. A hard shove from behind sent her sprawling facedown in the sand.

"Looks like it's a good thing I decided to take the dawn patrol." Mr. Collins swung down off his horse and crouched beside Julia. "You want to tell me what this is all about?"

Julia rolled over, holding the pistol cocked and ready. "No. I do not. I want a fresh mount and no interference. I am going back to Cairo."

Mr. Collins stared at her, at the barrel of the pistol aimed right between his eyes. "Would this have anything to do with the hoofprints I found in the sand behind your tent?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Is that so? Not only were there hoofprints, there was a fair amount of manure there too. That horse stood there for a while. Now I wonder who was on it."

Julia met his stare. "I haven't the faintest." She stood up, keeping the pistol on him. "I am paying the bills here, Mr. Collins. If I say I wish to return to Cairo, then to Cairo I will go."

Mr. Collins rose to stand a head taller than her. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. Every man surrounding them pulled out a gun of some sort, every single one of them aimed right at Julia. Without a word, she handed over the pistol.

"Just tell me one thing, Mr. Collins. Where are we going? It's plain to me you have no intention of taking me to a Tuareg camp."

"So you finally caught on, huh?" Mr. Collins grinned. "That's right. We're not going to visit your bandit buddies in black. We're off on a treasure hunt."

Julia stared at him in growing horror. "Oh no. You can't be serious. You mean—robbing tombs?"

"I like to think of it as collecting on an investment made by our ancestors."

"But what earthly use am I?"

"You're one of those Egyptologists. You can help us figure out where to start digging."

Julia's fear was momentarily shoved aside by her exasperation. "Mister Collins, how many times do I have to say this? I am not an Egyptologist! I am an anthropologist specializing in the nomads of northern Africa."

"You know about these Tuareg guys, right?"

"Well, yes."

"Then you know they're supposed to be guarding something. After all hell broke loose in Cairo a couple years ago, some mighty fine tomb treasure started turning up in some funny places."

The sudden chill gripping Julia banished the heat of the desert morning. "Hamunaptura."

Mr. Collins snapped his fingers. "That's it! See, I figured you knew something about it."

"There were rumors about some tremendous find, but—It's gone! If it ever existed. It was only a legend to begin with, scarcely any documentation, just a myth—"

"It's real. As real as that treasure I saw sitting in that museum case." Mr. Collins stared out across the horizon at the growing heat shimmer. "They couldn't have brought more than a little tiny piece of it out. That means there's a whole lot more." He looked down at her, an unpleasant edge to his smile. "You're going to help us find it."

He turned to one of the bearers and snapped something at him in Arabic. The man brought Julia's camel back, put a new saddle on it, and bullied it down onto its knees.

"Now get on that camel and ride." Mr. Collins made his point with the muzzle of his rifle, prodding her toward the waiting camel.

Once they were back in camp, the bearers dashed around packing up while Mr. Collins shouted orders and drank coffee. Julia sat stiffly on her camp stool, uncomfortably aware of the rifle cradled loosely in Mr. Collins' other arm. A horrible apprehension gripped her, a sense of impending disaster. Every moment that passed quietly only made her anxiety worse. She had to make the man see reason. Their very lives depended on it.

"Mr. Collins," she began.

"Oh hell, call me Sam. We're all friends here."

"Mr. Collins, last night the Tuaregs could have swept through and slaughtered us all. Fortunately, I stumbled upon their leader before they had fully decided what steps to take."

"Did you now? How's that for a coincidence?"

"I assured him that I came out here to study his people, nothing else."

"And he believed you? Wait a minute, how did you talk to him? You don't speak the lingo."

"He speaks English."

Mr. Collins paused with the coffee mug halfway to his mouth. "Is that so? Did this bandit happen to tell you his name?"

"Ardeth Bey."

The noise of the bearers suddenly ceased. Julia watched as they glanced at each other, clearly uneasy. Mr. Collins spat in the sand and slurped at his coffee.

"He seems to know you, Mr. Collins. He recognized your name."

Mr. Collins choked, spraying coffee across the table. "He knows I'm here?"

Julia smiled. "Oh yes. And he's not at all happy about it. It seems you're not welcome on Tuareg lands. I can't imagine why."

Julia looked around with great satisfaction. Some of the bearers had begun to back away, edging toward the corral. She raised her voice.

"He told me to leave this place before dawn, or I would share your fate."

Mr. Collins shoved back from the table and stood up. He threw out his arms, waving them at the horizon. "I don't see him anywhere, do you?" He leaned down to grin right in her face. "Looks to me like we're in this together, honey. So you just do as you're told."

Despite an overwhelming urge to slap him, Julia smiled. "Oh I will, Mr. Collins. I already have."

#

Two days later Julia sat in the shade of a beach umbrella, watching Mr. Collins roam from one group of digging men to the next. Two sets of dunes like towering golden walls made the valley into more of a corridor. Six groups were ranged from the campsite to the end of the valley, searching for any hole, gap, or even crack that might lead them down into the underground chambers of the fabled Hamunaptura. Earlier Mr. Collins had thrust a tattered bit of parchment at her and demanded she decipher the faded, water-stained ink marks on it. It looked remarkably like modern Arabic, but Mr. Collins insisted it was a genuine map of some sort. Julia picked out three squiggles at random, chose a compass point, and made up her hypothesis from there. It was enough to satisfy Mr. Collins for the moment, and that was all that mattered. Julia had no idea if they were within even a hundred miles of the lost city, and she didn't particularly care.

Bad luck and coincidence had led them to this valley. The sense of oppression, of approaching disaster, continued to haunt Julia. This valley only made it worse. It put her in mind of a medieval castle's defenses. Castles were often protected by a narrow approach corridor lined with armed men, archers, pots of boiling oil and pitch. It was the perfect place to pen the enemy in and either capture or kill him.

Julia shook her head against such morbid fancies. The hours were blurring into a continuous nightmare. She had scarcely slept, waiting through the long nights for any sign, any sound of the Tuareg. The slightest noise brought her bolt upright and left her shaking for minutes afterward. She wished she'd smuggled some insignificant trinket along with her. She could drop it in some likely place then run for her life while Mr. Collins and his men dug like crazed badgers searching for more.

She was so worn out with anxiety and fatigue her eyes had begun to play tricks. Every deeper shadow became the folds of Ardeth Bey's robes. Every glint of sunlight on metal was his scimitar. To see him by daylight, to see the exact shade of his tattoos and the details of their design. . . . Julia dragged herself up onto her feet. If she was going to dream about the mysterious nomad leader, she might as well do so while lying down in her tent. She'd be marginally more comfortable in her canvas prison cell. She squinted into the afternoon sunlight, searching for her jailer.

"I say, Mr. Collins!"

He looked up from harrying the nearest group of diggers. Julia waved.

"If you have no further need for my utterly superfluous services, I believe I'll go take a nap."

Mr. Collins merely wave one hand in dismissal.

Grateful for his preoccupation, Julia made her unsteady way to her tent and collapsed on her bedroll. She was exhausted. Every mummy ever entombed beneath these wretched sands could rise up to rip them all limb from limb and she wouldn't so much as turn over in her sleep.

The increasing discomfort of her sweaty, sandy clothing forced Julia to get up long enough to struggle out of her boots, pants and shirt, leaving them in a crumpled heap. She dug through her bags and came up with a bundle of green hand-woven cotton. Loose pants, a tunic, and a filmy overblouse. The cuffs and collar were sewn with Arabic patterns in gold and black thread. The hem of the overblouse tinkled with small beads and coins. She'd hoped the outfit might make an acceptable trade for some Tuareg jewelry. Rather flamboyant for pajamas, but it would have to do. Longing for a cold bath, then a hot one, Julia put the fresh clothing on, then unplaited her braid, brushed out her hair, and lay back to welcome unconsciousness.

What felt like only minutes later, Julia woke to the sound of someone shouting her name. She lay in darkness. Full night had fallen. By the remaining warmth in the air she judged it to be no more than three hours past sundown. She sat up, trying to shake off the muddled feeling that always came with sleeping in the heat.

"She might as well be good for something!"

Mr. Collins' voice, bellowing, slurring the words. His shadow approached her tent, wavering side to side. Sudden panic drove Julia up onto her knees. Mr. Collins was drunk, and clearly meant to take his frustrations out on her. She pulled on her boots then scrabbled around the tent, digging through bags and emptying her document case. All she found by way of a weapon was an ivory letter opener her mother had given her for a birthday long ago. Holding it in her teeth, she raked her loose hair back from her face and tied it into a hasty pony tail using a strip torn from her headcloth.

"What's that critter's name?" Glass shattered. Mr. Collins roared with laughter. "You know, the one with the head like a dog. Greyhound or German shepherd. Maybe a fox. You know! The big ugly one who weighs your heart after you kick the bucket."

Anubis. Ruler of the afterworld. What interest could Mr. Collins possibly have in that particular god? Julia stretched out one cautious hand to the flap of the tent. She might be able to slip out and hide until Mr. Collins finally passed out. Just as her fingers touched the first tie, the flap was torn out of her hands, ripped half off the tent itself.

"Get out here, Miss Priss!" Mr. Collins grabbed Julia by the arm and hauled her out of the tent. "Well look at this! All done up like one of them harem girls!"

"Take your hands off me, you animal!"

Mr. Collins swayed on his feet, hat off, collar open, his eyes unnaturally bright. He laughed, hiccuped, belched, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'll tell you about animals, lady. These here ol' Egyptians must have thought people were awful ugly. Every one of their gods has the head of some bird or animal."

"How nice for you," Julia snapped. "If they have an ape god, I'm sure he'll make you his high priest. Now let go of me!"

Only Mr. Collins' drunken state left him clumsy enough for Julia to break his grip and yank her arm free. She backed away a few steps, mindful of the crowd of bearers and diggers gathering to watch. Keeping the hand holding the letter opener behind her back, she took two more steps away.

Mr. Collins grinned. "Y'know what your problem is, honey? You're so busy reading up on these bandits you don't pay enough attention to the real men right in front of you."

"And that would be you?" Julia shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Well I do." He took a swaggering step toward her. "Your boyfriend in black hasn't shown up again, has he? Guess you didn't do much for him, huh?"

Julia put every ounce of her loathing into her voice. "More than I'll ever do for you."

Mr. Collins stopped swaying. His jaw clenched, making the muscles flex in his cheek.

"Lady," he said, his voice suddenly cold and clear, "you got three choices. One: you own up to whatever you're hiding about Hamunaptura. Two: you start showing a little appreciation to the man who decides whether or not you get back to Cairo safe and sound. Three—"

"Will you kindly throw up or fall down or do whatever it is you're going to do? I find your speechmaking as tedious as your attempts at charm."

"Well lah dee dah. Hot as it is in this desert, there's one thing still cold as ice." Mr. Collins squinted at Julia. An ugly smile spread over his face. "I get the feeling you haven't had much to do with real men, honey. Just all those bookworm types with the glasses thicker than the bottoms of beer bottles."

He rattled off a long stream of Arabic. The Bedouins started laughing, pointing at Julia and making faces she could only think of as lewd. It seemed like an excellent moment to panic.

"Now y'know," Mr. Collins said. "That might come in handy. The way I hear it, there ain't nothin' these old gods like near as much as some pretty little gal all trussed up and laid out like a Christmas turkey."

Julia couldn't believe her ears. Was Mr. Collins really suggesting using her as a human sacrifice? Was he that drunk, that desperate, that insane?

Mr. Collins laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "Let's make that Number Three: we give you to Mr. Doggy Head or the guy that looks like an eagle. Or maybe that gal with the cat's face. I don't really care. As long as whoever it is returns the favor by showing us the way to the treasure."

Looking at the evil glee shining in his eyes, Julia chose the one option he hadn't mentioned. She turned and bolted into the night.

"Hey! Hey!" Mr. Collins started bellowing in Arabic.

Julia heard the sounds of harnesses jingling behind her. It was only a matter of moments before they rode her down.

"Ardeth Bey!" she screamed. "Ardeth Bey! He's going to sacrifice me to Anubis!"

"There she is!"

A jabber of voices in Arabic grew louder. Several spots of light struck her, throwing her shadow far ahead of her across the sand. Lanterns and the bigger pocket torches. Now she was nothing more than a deer in Mr. Collins' headlights.

"I see you, Miss Priss!" Mr. Collins hooted with laughter. "Time to meet your maker! All of them!"

Julia ran straight toward the darkest patch of shadows. She'd brave any of the desert's poisonous vermin before she let that madman catch her.

"Ardeth Bey! He will profane your land with foreign blood! That might stir up whatever it is you people are hiding!"

Piercing howls tore through the night. Shouts and the neighing of horses mingled with shrieks of pain, gunshots, and the thunder of hooves. Julia kept running. A stitch in her side made her stumble. She drove herself on, not daring to glance back at the doom sweeping through the camp. Her knees gave, spilling her in the sand. She felt rather than heard a rider bearing down on her. Clutching the letter opener, she scrambled to her feet and turned to face her pursuer. The rider lay low along the horse's neck. His arm caught her around the waist and snatched her off her feet. She landed face down across the saddle. The impact drove the wind from her lungs. Her hair had come loose, blowing in her face and blinding her. The next several minutes were a blur of bruised ribs and a bone-jarring gallop.

Not until the horse finally slowed could Julia gather her wild hair into one hand and look ahead. They rode into a camp that was little more than a cluster of crude tents hidden in a hollow between dunes. Her captor reined in between them. Keeping one hand planted between her shoulder blades, the man swung down out of the saddle. Hands that were surprisingly gentle eased Julia down off the horse. She jerked around, falling back against the horse, and raised the letter opener. Long fingers closed around her wrist, pinning it against the saddle. With the other hand the man reached up to pull down his veil.

"You." Relief swept through Julia, so intense it stole the last of her strength. She sagged against him. Only Ardeth Bey's arm around on her waist kept her upright.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

Julia shook her head. "Just winded. And bruised. And terrified. Where have you been?"

Ardeth Bey took the letter opener from her hand and tucked it into his belt, then bent to gather her up in his arms. He carried Julia to the nearest tent and ducked through the open flap. He sank to his knees, still holding her, then laid her down on a pile of thick, soft blankets. For the moment Julia didn't care about anything but lying there trying to breathe. When the aches in her body had subsided a little, she looked up at the deeper darkness looming over her. She reached out. Her fingers touched Ardeth Bey's arm. She followed the hard muscle of his forearm down to his hand where it rested on the hilt of one scimitar.

"I tried to leave that morning. Collins cut me off before I could get away. I did everything I could."

"I know. That is why I brought you here, away from what must be done." He pulled a blanket over her, up to her shoulders. "Sleep. I will wake you in the morning."

He turned away. Julia clasped his hand, drawing him back to her.

"Please." Her voice shook. "Please. Stay."

She could feel his stare, cold and disapproving.

"Just sit with me for a little while, until I fall asleep." Her breath hitched. "He—Mr. Collins—he very nearly—" Tears of fright and exhaustion ran down her cheeks.

"You are safe." The low, rich music of Ardeth Bey's voice held a gentle note. "He will never trouble you again."

His robes rustled, then Julia heard one soft thud followed by another. She guessed them to be his sword belts. After being blinded by the lanterns and torches, her eyes had finally grown used to the darkness again. She could see the shape of Ardeth Bey's head above her. He took off his hat and laid it aside, then raked his fingers back through his hair. It fell loose to his shoulders, thick, no doubt black, a hint of curl. He stretched out beside her, leaning on one elbow. Julia longed for a light of any kind that would let her see him like this.

Now that the adrenaline rush had passed, Julia's eyelids grew heavy. The nap she'd taken hadn't been enough to make up for two nights' lost sleep and all the anxiety in between. She turned on her side toward Ardeth Bey, wishing she was bold enough to cross the few inches that separated them and nestle against his chest. She tried to make her breathing even out, tried to relax, to settle down into sleep. The tension in her muscles began to drain away. Her breathing deepened. For all that, her mind was strangely clear.

Minutes passed. Ardeth Bey remained perfectly still. Were it not for the feel of his breath on her cheek, Julia wouldn't have believed he was still there beside her. At last he moved. Julia kept still, kept her breathing regular, every sense alert. Ardeth Bey's fingertips touched her forehead, gliding back along the length of her hair. Again and again he stroked it, the lightest feathery touch. All the pain, the fright, the sense of dread faded away under the sweetness of his caress. Julia sighed and turned her head, making those long fingers sink deeper into the thickness of her hair. True sleep began to steal over her. As she balanced on the edge of dreaming, the heavy black silk of Ardeth Bey's hair fell across her face and throat. His lips brushed her cheek. He murmured in her ear, a phrase in Arabic. It was all Julia could do to keep still, to keep her hands from gliding through his hair, to resist the overwhelming need to taste the fullness of his lips.

He moved back. His sword belts made a small clatter as he gathered them up and slipped out of the tent, closing the flap behind him. For a moment Julia was frightened, then she saw his silhouette arrange itself right in front of the tent's doorway. Again Ardeth Bey watched over her. Wishing she knew what he'd said to her, Julia drifted off into sleep.

#

A great sadness consumed Julia as they approached the outskirts of Cairo. Soon Ardeth Bey would vanish back into the desert like a solemn mirage. When they were within sight of the city's people busy at their tasks, Ardeth Bey reined in.

"From here you make your own way home," he said.

She nodded. "It's not that far to my hotel."

Those hypnotic eyes narrowed slightly in puzzlement. "You must return to London. The desert keeps its secrets."

"I have no interest in mummies or scarabs or the which vases people kept their guts in thousands of years ago." She looked into his eyes, hoping to keep the memory of their exact color forever. "I'm here to study the living. I've been given a grant to do research on your people. I'll be in Cairo for at least a year."

Ardeth Bey's veil concealed his expression. Julia from couldn't tell whether he liked that news or not.

"If you wish to know more about our people, you would do well to speak to the proper authority at the museum." He arched one sardonic brow. "You'll find that much safer than following thieves and blasphemers into the desert."

The moment had come for them to part. Julia couldn't look away from Ardeth Bey's eyes, from the breadth of his shoulders, from those long fingers gripping the reins of his horse.

"Will I see you again?"

Ardeth Bey shrugged. "We are in the hands of Allah."

"Yes, fine, but are you ever in Cairo?"

Those dark eyes studied her, wary. "From time to time I have reason to visit the city."

"Then perhaps you'd be kind enough to look me up the next time you're here?"

The chill returned to his stare. "I am of the Brotherhood."

"And I am of the university. Don't you see? We could work together to preserve your people's place in history."

"My people have their place. We were made for the desert, just as you were made for the city."

"Then-—This is goodbye?" Tears welled up in Julia's eyes. She looked away, hoping they wouldn't spill over and make her look foolish.

Ardeth Bey swung down off his horse. He held up his hands to her, helping her down. For a long moment he stood looking down at her. Julia held her breath, knowing he was about to make some crucial decision.

"Go to the museum," he said. "There is one there who can help you, if that one sees fit."

"You mean. . . . If I needed to reach you, I could send a message through this person?"

"If that one sees fit."

Ardeth Bey reached into his robe and brought out a small object wrapped in cloth. He turned Julia's right hand palm up and closed her fingers over it.

"Wear this, so that one will know you have spoken to me."

Julia unfolded the cloth. On it lay a silver ring. The setting was diamond-shaped. It held a carnelian, the deep red of the desert sky at sunrise. Radiant joy blazed through Julia. To receive an authentic Tuareg ring was stupendous. But to receive this ring, the type given to show friendship and affection, from Ardeth Bey himself. . . . She slipped it on her right ring finger. It was too big, sliding around, but a little yarn around the band would soon fix that.

"Thank you." Julia looked up into those wondrous dark eyes. "I cannot thank you enough."

"Understand, the Brotherhood has its duties. You will see me only rarely, if at all."

Julia nodded, biting her lip against the tears burning behind her eyes. She understood what he was really saying. He couldn't just drop in for tea on Sunday afternoon. She had to be a grown-up about this.

Ardeth Bey touched her chin, making her look him in the eye. He pulled down his veil, revealing a genuine smile. The brilliance of his even white teeth completed his beauty. Julia could only stare at him, lost in admiration.

"I will always be with you, in your heart." His voice was so soft, like a warm breeze off the desert caressing her cheek.

Now the tears did spill over, streaming down Julia's cheeks. Ardeth Bey took her face in his hands, those long slim fingers cradling her chin. Her tears ran down the backs of his hands as if they reached out to him, begging him for comfort.

"I will be in your heart," he said, "just as you will be with me in mine."

He bent his head and kissed her. The sweet pressure of those full lips on hers stole her breath. Julia reached up to twine her fingers in the black curls that spilled over his collar. She wrapped her other arm around his waist, longing to know every contour of his lean, muscular frame. Ardeth Bey raised his head to tuck hers under his chin. He trailed his fingers down the length of her braid. Again he breathed that phrase in Arabic, the same one he had spoken when he thought she was asleep.

"What does that mean?" Julia murmured against his chest.

"'Beautiful stranger.'"

Ardeth Bey stepped back. Even in the burning heat, Julia felt the loss of his warmth. Without another word he swung up into the saddle, turned his horse to the west, and kicked it into a gallop.

Julia stared after him until the black of his robes faded into the shimmering heat of the desert.

END