SILK AND SECRETS (12 page)

Ross leaned casually back against a boulder and folded his arms across his chest. “Do I look that strange? Or are you hoping that if you glare long enough, I’ll vanish?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” Juliet felt her face coloring; she had blushed more in the last day than the whole previous year. She was tempted to retreat into generalities, but stopped herself. Control might not be one of her strong points, but directness was, so she should exercise some now. “I don’t know how to act with you, Ross. You are both familiar and a stranger at the same time. Do you have any suggestions?”

Though he did not move, she had the impression that he stiffened before he replied. “Familiarity is an illusion. We knew each other very briefly a dozen years ago, in a relationship that was intense but basically superficial. We’ve lived most of our adult lives apart, doing different things in vastly different cultures. We are strangers, Juliet, though for the next couple of months we will share a common goal. I suppose we should act like distant relatives who have nothing in common but who are amiably disposed to each other.”

Her lips twisted with painful amusement. For better and for worse, her love for Ross had shaped and defined her life, yet he could dismiss their marriage as “basically superficial.” However, having asked him what he felt, she deserved whatever answer he gave. “Very well,” she said, making her tone light. “I’ll think of you as a second cousin.”

“A second cousin, long since removed,” he said with dry humor. “Then, once we begin our journey, it would be appropriate if you show a groveling desire to please your employer.”

Juliet raised her eyebrows loftily. “I was planning on being the sort of servant who is erratic and unreliable, but who won’t let you be cheated by anyone other than myself.”

“That does sound more your style than groveling,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Speaking of servants, I’ve decided to dismiss the two I hired in Teheran. Having spent the night in your fortress, they will have heard about the mysterious Guli Sarahi by now, and once they know that a tall ferengi woman is the chief of Serevan, there’s a good chance they’ll guess who my new veiled servant is. That could be dangerous.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Juliet frowned. “My people are unlikely to have said much about me to strangers, but you’re right, it is wiser to dismiss your servants. Though I usually dress as a man, I’ve never tried to masquerade as one for a long period of time, and it might prove difficult to conceal my identity from people I am with constantly. Better to pay your servants off now.” Mentally she reviewed other issues that needed to be discussed. “Did Saleh speak with you?”

“Yes. He will be an asset in Bokhara, and I assume that he can be trusted not to betray your identity. Can you and Saleh be ready to leave for Sarakhs by noon? We can be there by nightfall, and with luck we’ll catch the caravan I missed in Meshed.”

Juliet was momentarily startled by his haste, but managed to conceal it. Ross was right; if there was any chance that Ian was still alive, speed was vital. Glancing at the sun, she estimated that it was two hours until noon. “We’ll be ready.”

“Good. We’ll need camels for crossing the Kara Kum desert. I assume we can get some in Sarakhs?”

She nodded. “I know a man there who will sell us decent camels for an only mildly extortionate price. Some of my men can ride with us to Sarakhs, then bring our horses back here.”

That settled, Juliet scanned her husband’s well-tailored European coat and trousers, her brow furrowed. After years of seeing only loose, multilayered Eastern clothing, it was strange to see a man in garments that followed the form. Finding herself disturbingly aware of the contours of his lean, muscular body, she took a deep, slow breath. There were other, less personal reasons to be concerned about his mode of dress. “I think it is a mistake for you to wear Western clothes.”

“Dressing like this is a calculated risk on my part,” he explained. “Whatever status I might have in Bokhara is as a ferengi who has traveled a great distance to plead on behalf of my countryman, so I thought I should look the part. Also, I was afraid that wearing Asiatic clothing would leave me open to charges of being a spy, since it’s unlikely that I can convincingly pass as a native.”

“Those are valid points,” she agreed, “but I think we will all be safer if you wear local dress until within a day’s ride of Bokhara. Admittedly it would have been hard to conceal your foreignness when traveling with just your servants, but it is much easier to be inconspicuous in a caravan. All you have to do is dress like everyone else and cover your hair with a turban. I can get you local clothing if you’re willing to wear it.”

“Very well. English dress worked well enough at first, but since it almost got me killed yesterday, I suppose it’s time to change my strategy.” His glance fell on Juliet’s dark blue veil. To take advantage of the spring sunshine, she had loosened it to lie in coils around her neck. “Since we’re on the subject of clothing, I’m curious about your tagelmoust. How do you prevent the indigo dye from staining your skin?”

She smiled; how like Ross to think of such a thing. “You’ve found me out: this is not a genuine Tuareg tagelmoust. To avoid stains, I use a European fabric of the same color and texture.”

“I’m glad to hear that vanity is not entirely dead.”

“One needn’t be very vain to dislike having blue skin,” Juliet retorted, glad to hear a teasing note in his voice. “Speaking of skin, it helps that yours is sun-browned. Allow it to get dirty, and no one will guess that you are a ferengi.”

“You’re in no position to throw stones,” he pointed out. “I never saw a Targui who was remotely as clean as you.”

“That doesn’t matter, since I probably won’t meet anyone in Turkestan who has ever seen one of the Tuareg.” She looked down at her black robe. “Still, in the interests of accuracy…” She handed him the rifle, then lay full-length on the ground and began rolling in the earth.

To her delight, Ross began to laugh. “You’re absurd.”

When Juliet had rolled over several times, she stood and began brushing off the surface dust. The result of her labors was a robe with a nicely mellow amount of ground-in dirt.

There was a gleam of amusement in her husband’s eyes, and he had lost some of his coolness. “It’s fortunate that no one will know what the Tuareg look like, since every one I ever met had brown eyes. However, gray eyes are not unknown in Central Asia, so yours shouldn’t attract too much unwelcome attention. I think you’ll need a new name, though. Since Guli Sarahi is Persian, someone might think it an odd choice for a North African male.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I already have too many names, but I suppose you’re right. Do you have any suggestions?”

He considered. “How about Jalal? It sounds a bit like Juliet and Guli Sarahi, so it should be easy to respond to.”

“Fine. But you’ll need another name too.”

“My servants pronounce my title as Khilburn, which sounds suitably Central Asian, so I’ll use that.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “It will probably be best if you pretend to know little Persian and speak as little as possible.”

“Are you telling me that if I keep my mouth shut, I’m less likely to get into trouble?”

“Exactly.”

Juliet chuckled. “Much as it pains me to admit it, you’re right. Very well, I’ll be silent and eccentric with everyone but you and Saleh. But there is also something you must be careful about, Ross. Or rather, Khilburn. Forget those beautiful manners the duchess taught you. Don’t help me with heavy loads, allow me through a door first, or show me any of the courtesy you usually show a woman. In fact, forget that I’m a woman.”

“When you are swathed head to foot in black draperies, that won’t be difficult,” he said dryly as he stood and returned her rifle. “We’ll have to stop wasting time if we’re going to leave in two hours, Jalal. Packing won’t be hard for me, but I imagine that you and Saleh will have a great deal to do.”

“To say the least.” Juliet slung the rifle across her back, then drew the veil around her head again. As they walked back to Serevan in a not unfriendly silence, she decided that they had gone from being second cousins, once removed, to first cousins. That was about the right distance; any closer would be dangerous.

Ross’s reasonable plan went awry when he tried to discharge his servants. Allahdad accepted dismissal and a severance payment with an unflattering amount of pleasure, but Murad balked. After Allahdad left the room, the young Persian said, “I know you wish to punish me for my cravenness in abandoning you to the Turkomans, but please, Khilburn, do not dismiss me.”

“I am not punishing you—there would have been no purpose in your sacrificing yourself,” Ross said, a little surprised at the young man’s vehemence. “But thinking you were gone, yesterday I hired two new servants. Since they are more knowledgeable about the Kara Kum and Bokhara, it makes sense to keep them on and release you and Allahdad. It should be easy for you to find more work in Meshed, and because of the severance payment, doing that will be more profitable for you than staying with me would be.”

“I do not want another job!” Murad said. “I wish to go with you to Bokhara.”

Ross studied the young man. About twenty, Murad was a handsome, likable youth even if he had proved to be an erratic guide. Still, the reasons Ross had given Juliet for dismissing his servants were still valid. “I’m sorry, but I will not need you for the rest of my journey.”

His dark eyes tragic, Murad said, “You do not trust me, Khilburn, and justly so, but I swear I will not fail you again.”

Ross thought about it. He judged that Murad was sincere, but unfortunately, he was also young and rather volatile. “It is not just a matter of being loyal to me, Murad, but to the other members of my party. I have decided to make the rest of the journey dressed in Asiatic clothing in the hope that I will not attract unwanted attention, but there is a danger that I might be thought a spy. Also, one of the men I hired here is a Targui from the western desert of Africa. I met him many years ago and know that he will be valuable on the journey, but the ways of the Tuareg are unusual. If you casually tell someone else in the caravan that I am a ferengi, or say how odd the Targui is, you might jeopardize the whole party. I cannot risk that.”

“You are a good man, Khilburn, even though you are a ferengi. I swear I will say nothing that might bring trouble on you. As for the Targui…” Murad shrugged. “The tribes of Asia are many and varied. I have known Uigars, Kafirs, Baluchis, Kirghiz—I doubt that a Targui is so much more unusual.”

“The men of the Tuareg always go veiled. With their faces covered, they seem uncanny, for it is impossible to know what they think. Even in their own desert lands, they are a legend.”

“If the Targui is a believer and a reasonable man, I shall not quarrel with him.” The young Persian leaned forward earnestly. “Yesterday I disgraced myself, and only by serving you well can I redeem my honor. I beg you to give me the chance.”

Ross made a sudden decision. Besides the fact that he liked Murad, he felt that the young man would prove useful, and Ross had learned to trust his feelings. “Very well, you may come. Call me Khilburn and try not to think of me as a ferengi. If we return safely to Serevan and you have done your job well, I will give you a bonus beyond the fee we agreed on in Teheran.”

Murad bowed. “I will serve you well, not for the bonus but for honor’s sake.” He flashed a charming smile. “Though I shall not refuse the bonus. You will not regret keeping me, Khilburn.”

Ross certainly hoped that would prove to be true.

After sending Murad off to pack his belongings, Ross had a servant take a message to Juliet that the young man would be accompanying them and she would have to be in her role of Tuareg man from the very beginning. From Ross’s perspective, the sooner she obliterated herself in folds of fabric, the better; if he couldn’t see any of her lovely face or body, it should be easier to control his inconvenient desire. Down at the shooting range, with her fair complexion set off by her black robes and a thick braid of fiery hair falling over her shoulder, he had had to back away and cross his arms to ensure that he would not involuntarily reach out and touch her. Having Juliet break his arm for impertinence would be a poor start to their journey.

On returning to his room, Ross found his new wardrobe laid out on the bed. Inspecting the garments, he decided that the quality was just right, neither lavish nor impoverished. But then, he would never expect Juliet to be anything less than efficient, even on such short notice.

Loose, multilayered clothing was worn throughout the Islamic world. However, although there were endless variations, the rule of thumb was that North African clothing was generally simpler, most often consisting of robes that pulled over the head like a nightgown and mantles that wrapped around the body in various ways. That shapelessness was why Juliet could successfully disguise herself in Tuareg apparel. In contrast, Asiatic clothing tended to be more structured and usually involved one or more long, loose, sleeved coats worn over a tunic or shirt and trousers.

After stripping off his English clothes, Ross donned his new garments. Fortunately Juliet had managed to find a white cotton tunic wide enough in the shoulders to fit him. The baggy gray trousers could have been a bit longer, but were not so short as to arouse comment. A green-and-black-striped coat called a chapan went over tunic and trousers and fell to his knees. He belted that in place with a long white sash, then topped the outfit with a quilted coat that reached almost to his ankles. He was glad the garments were comfortable, because he would probably be wearing them day and night for the next month.

Not surprisingly, there was no footwear, for his feet were definitely not a standard size in this part of the world. However, his own dark brown leather boots were of unremarkable appearance and should not attract attention, particularly in their present scuffed condition.

Under the pile of clothing was a beautiful curving dagger. Sliding the blade from its sheath, he saw that it was not just decorative, but a lethally edged weapon that meant business. He thrust the dagger in his sash; with that, his rifle, a pistol, and the knife in his boot, he was armed like a hill bandit. But with luck, none of the weapons would be needed; he had long since decided that the only good fight was one that never happened.