INCARNATION (45 page)

She switched on the torch and swung its beam in front of him. All at once, he saw what she’d been up to.

‘I remembered … that we’d packed … the tent on one of the … two leading camels. So … it was just a matter … of finding it.’

‘And setting it up … in this wind.’

‘That as well.’

‘Didn’t you think … I might have gone off … into the storm … looking for you?’

‘Of course not. You’re … not a fool.’

‘You don’t think … I love you that much?’

‘Yes, of course. You’re … very sweet. But you’re … not a fool. And please stop … being so angry. You should be … grateful I didn’t wake you up.’

They found as good a spot as they could in which to pitch the tent. It was an old People’s Liberation Army tent, the best Nabila had been able to find in the bazaar. She had repaired several holes before packing it, but there’d been nothing she could do to turn it from an unwieldy mess of canvas into anything remotely resembling a modern tent.

It took them over an hour to erect it. But once it was | up and they crawled in, zipping the opening firmly against the wind, it transformed everything. The howling was still there, admittedly, but it was outside. Inside, there was no wind, no sand, no constant buffeting. And, in time, the interior grew warm. It felt the greatest thing in the world to have a tent, and to be inside it and to be alive.

They fell asleep soon afterwards, still in the darkness. David had fashioned earplugs for them both out of wadding that he’d found on one of the saddles. The storm vanished while they slept, as though its world and theirs were entirely separate.

David woke first. When he removed the plugs from his ears, he heard the same rushing sound as before. Nothing had changed. He stretched himself and reached for the torch. Reluctant as he was to go outside, the need to empty his bladder was overpowering. He unzipped the opening and slipped out, zipping it again behind him.

The wind was fiercer than ever. He thought they’d have to bed the tent down even more securely. With the help of the torch, he found Doris and, several yards further on, the spot where he’d made a latrine. Swearing loudly, he made use of it, then covered it with the help of a spade - not that he really needed to bother.

Back at the tent, he busied himself reinforcing the ropes and weighing down the sides with sand rammed into bags. If the wind rose any higher, they’d have to hold the tent down with their bare hands.

He went back inside and zipped the entrance tightly. The difference in temperature was remarkable. He swore not to venture out again without his jacket, which he’d taken off in order to sleep.

The soft light of an oil lamp filled the interior. It had come with the tent, a fifties PLA veteran that had graced a hundred mess halls and hung at the poles of a hundred tents. The zip had been an eighties improvement. Nabila looked up and smiled.

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

'This?’ She held up a broad sheet of paper that had been lying across her lap. 'It fell out of your jacket. I’m sorry if ...’

He dashed across and snatched the paper from her hands. It was the map he’d been studying earlier.

‘You have no right ...’ he started.

Nabila snapped back at him before he could go further.

‘Right? What do you mean I have no right? This is a map, isn’t it? I assume it’s not intended as an exotic wall decoration. As far as I can see, it’s a map of the Taklamakan - which by some incredible coincidence happens to be where we both are. You and - in case you’re suffering from a lapse of memory - me. I think I have as much right as anyone to look at this.’

‘I’m sorry, love, but ...'

‘Don’t call me “love”. If you don’t trust me, then you certainly don’t love me.’

‘Nabila, please - let’s not have an argument. This isn’t the ideal place for one, is it?’

‘I don’t see that we have any choice.’

‘Listen, it wasn’t a case of my not trusting you. I … just thought the map might confuse things, that’s all. But if you want to see it, that’s fine by me.’

He sat down beside her and unrolled the map across the bumpy floor. Nabila bent down and stared at it for a couple of moments.

‘How old is it?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

‘About one thousand three hundred years,’ he said. ‘In the early Tang Dynasty. It was drawn by a Buddhist monk named Zhang Hsueliang. He started work on it at the Hsiang Guo monastery in Kaifeng, and completed it in the course of a visit to the Da Yan pagoda in Chang’an. He was seventy-five years old then. It’s all there, if you want to read it.’

He pointed to several lines of rapidly executed calligraphy along one edge of the map.

‘Where did you come by this?’ asked Nabila, impressed in spite of herself.

‘From my father. He found it in the bazaar at Hami before the revolution. When he guessed where I was going, he handed it on to me. I think he meant it to be some sort of talisman.’

‘But ... You seemed to be reading it as if it was more than just that.’

‘Did I?’ He smiled. Outside, the wind shrieked darkly between the dunes. ‘Actually, I didn’t give it much thought at first. Then I started looking more closely. Here, let me show you.’

He ran his hand over the stiff paper, flattening it further.

‘The map’s drawn with the West to the top, North to the right. All we have to do is turn it like this’ - he twisted it through ninety degrees - ‘and it suddenly turns into something remarkably like a modern map. Over this way’ - he pointed to a circle at the eastern end - ‘he’s indicated how many days’ journey to Chang’an. The Taklamakan - he calls it the Liu Sha - looks much as it does now - these are the Kun Lun mountains down here, and these are the Tien Shan. You can see that he’s familiar with the route down into India. My bet is he travelled the pilgrim route more than once himself, and that this map’s the result. As you might expect, these little stupas all seem to be monasteries along the southern Silk Road.’

He ran his finger along a line that seemed to represent the road joining China to the West. Caravans had taken this route from as far as Peking in the east to Persia and Rome in the distant west. Nabila traced the same road, from the opposite direction, and their fingers met and touched briefly.

‘Now, look along the southern half of the desert,’ David said. ‘He’s drawn three rivers, do you see, all formed by glacial meltwaters running down from the Kun Lun mountains. That’s not entirely accurate, because we know the rivers had mostly dried up by the third century.’

‘And these?’ Nabila pointed to little circles along the edges of the streams.

‘Ah, those are interesting. They weren’t there either when he drew the map. They’re oasis cities. Just sand and mud-brick now.’

‘Dandan-Uilik, Endere …’

‘Niya. As far as I can see he’s got them all in exactly the right spots. If they hadn’t already been discovered, this map could have led an expedition straight to them.’

He paused and straightened the map.

‘But look up here.’ He stabbed his finger at the northern sector of the desert. ‘There shouldn’t be any settlements here. The Tien Shan waters didn’t drain into the desert the way those in the south did. No river valleys, no settlements. That’s what I was always given to understand. But Zhang has marked five towns slap in the middle of the sands. He’s added their names, the number of their houses, and a few other details.’

She looked, deciphering the name of each in turn.

‘Pan T’ang, Chie Kiang, Ts’ang Mi ...’

‘That’s right. But look more carefully. On the line after each name, he draws a circle within a circle, and inside them he writes the character for “well”. These are oases with artesian wells.’

Nabila scanned the map. The style of calligraphy was rather strange, but if she strained she could make out most of it. She nodded.

‘It does look like that, yes. But what are these?’

She pointed to a series of small triangles stretching between the oasis towns in the north, and at two straggling lines between the northern and southern cities.

‘I’d be willing to bet those are just smaller wells, maybe tiny underground deposits. But they’d be just enough to allow for regular communications between the different settlements. What’s more, I think those wells could all be there today.’

‘But surely ...‘ Nabila’s forehead was creased with little furrows. ‘Surely the cities died out long ago. The wells must have dried up.’

‘Probably, yes. Or they may have been buried by sand. Or the northern towns may have suffered after the southern settlements dried up. I really don’t know. There are too many possibilities. But I’m certain there’s still enough water in any of these wells to satisfy the needs of three humans and nine camels. There’s only one small problem ...'

‘How do we match all this up to the grids on a Tactical Pilotage Chart?’

He took her hand tightly.

‘I’m beginning to think this whole thing was a big mistake,’ he said.

He fell silent. Outside, the wind yammered its way across the never-ending dunes, as it had done for millennia, burying cities, erasing times and dates and places, the names of men and women, their habitations, their graveyards, their fortresses, their watering holes, their hopes, dreams, and memories. With every breath it took, it redrew the map of an entire region.

Nabila took her hand away. ‘I’ve got to go out too’ she said. She opened the tent door. A blast of raw sand was blown across everything.

‘I’ll not be long,’ she said, and tied the flaps behind her.

M
addie sat straight up in bed. She’d been trying to sleep for over two hours now, with no success. If this went on much longer, she knew she’d lose it completely, she’d start screaming the house down, the way she’d done years ago. But her mother refused to let her go back to the clinic, saying this was something they’d have to work through together. It was a load of crap, and they both knew it, but Elizabeth couldn’t bear to lose face.

She was sure she’d heard one of them creeping about out there in the corridor. Lying awake like this in the pitch darkness, she was sensitive to night sounds. She could lie for hours, listening to the house settle round her.

Even as she pondered on what the footsteps might mean, the door of her room opened and closed again. The corridor had been sunk in blackness. She strained to see, comparing one patch of black or grey with another. Yes, someone was standing in her room. Her brain spun. Shit! she thought, it has to be that slimy bastard Anthony, creeping in in the hope of stealing a furtive shag. He’d tried to feel her up before this. He must reckon I’m so out of it by now I won’t care if he screws me silly all night. I think I’ll scream my head off after all.

Just as she opened her mouth to do so, a heavy hand clamped over it and moist lips brushed her ear.

‘Ah’m no’ here tae hurt ye, doll. Ah’ve come tae take ye oota here, y’unnerstan’?’

For a minute or more, she thought she was going to die. Her heart launched a burst of wild throbbing spasms that were certain to knock fatal holes in her chest wall. Who was this? What did he want? Was he going to molest and murder her?

‘Calm doon, pal,’ he said. ‘Yir in safe hands. It’s yir mate, Calum. Remember? Ah wis in here before, Ah brought ye a letter fae yir auld man. Like Ah say, Ah’m no’ here tae touch a hair o’ yir head. Ah’m here tae take ye oot, an’ tae get ye off this cold turkey. Can Ah put the light on an’ take ma hand away withoot you screamin’ yir pretty wee head off? Can Ah?’

She felt her heart slam on the brakes. Calum. The letter. He’d seemed a bit wild, but harmless; she’d no reason to be afraid of him. But how on earth had he managed to get into the house? Had they let him in? Surely not, if he was planning to take her out. And why all this tiptoeing around in the dark?

She made up her mind and nodded.

‘You’re sure now ye unnerstan’ what Ah’m sayin’ exactly? One scream an’ we’ll both be fucked. Yir mither’s a nice woman, but she’ll see they sen’ me off tae prison fir five years an’ keep you in this wee room till ye go out o’ yir heid.’

She nodded more vigorously, and mumbled incoherently through his thick palm. His hand smelled of sweat and drugs. He took it away, very carefully, ever ready to slap it back down again at the first hint of a cry for help.

‘Thank you,’ Maddie whispered. He switched the bedside light on, and she closed her eyes to block the terrible whiteness it threw against her. When she opened them again, he was sitting on the side of the bed facing her. She remembered his rough face and smiled. He answered in a low voice.

‘Yir no’ upset Ah snuk in on ye, likes?’

She shook her head. Blood vessels too small to see or count were pumping up and down the contours of her brain. She felt dizzy and excited at the same time. A strange man in her room in the middle of the night. It was nothing sexual, just a visceral excitement about what might happen.

‘Did you really come to take me out of here?’

‘Better than that, doll. She’s makin’ ye go through cauld turkey here, isn’t that right?’

‘Cold turkey? Well, yes. Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what it is.’

‘Weel, let’s see if Ah cannae do somethin’ aboot that. What were ye on?’

‘On? What drugs? Well, Valium, lithium carbonate, two different antidepressants, and …’

‘Ah’m no’ askin’ what did ye get fae the chemist. That stuff’ll fuck yir mind up an’ turn ye into a drug addict. What were you gettin’ on the street?’

‘Oh, hell, no - I’m not withdrawing from street drugs. I haven’t done drugs in years.’

‘What did ye do the damage with when ye were takin’ them?’ -

‘Nothing much. Hash. I smoked a lot of hash. And I took some cocaine. Then … I got ill, so I never touched the stuff again.’

‘Right, then.’

He rose and went to the dressing table. When he came back, he was carrying a small mirror in one hand. He took the bag of cocaine from his pocket and opened it. Later, he’d divide the contents up, hiding the main stash in his luggage and putting the little packets where the sun doesn’t shine. He traced two lines of cocaine along the mirror’s polished face, then produced a fresh fifty-pound note from his pocket.