Sold! A Romance In The Sudan (2 page)

“How much?” Hafiq asked.

The auctioneer turned to him with a wide
grin. “This girl is not for sale, boss!”

“Then why the sales pitch?”

“We are selling the girl’s favours! What
would you pay to be her first?”

Hafiq laughed. “She? A virgin? If that’s so,
she’s the only one in Atbara!”

The auctioneer giggled, an odd sound for such
a big man. “It’s true! I swear it on my mother’s grave. We haven’t
touched her, have we, Khalil?”

From the way the two men giggled, Hafiq
realised they were homosexual. Instinctively he drew away, then
realised the advantage of the situation. The girl would be
unharmed.

“We don’t want her for ourselves,” the
auctioneer leered, “and there isn’t enough money in all Atbara to
buy a girl like this but we are businessmen! There will be many
customers, each willing to pay to possess her for a little
time.”

Hafiq looked at the girl again. She stood
totally still, staring at him. For a moment he was confused by the
look in her eyes. They were dark green, he noted. The way she was
looking at him, it was like she was asking him for help.

Idris, the auctioneer, grinned as he took in
Hafiq’s interest in the girl, his gold watch and finally the Vector
SMG hanging from his shoulder. This was a man with money.

Idris rubbed his hands together in
anticipation. It had been the impulse of a moment to take the girl
after she been foolish enough to jump into his boat but the
prospect of the money she could make for him was just too tempting.
Now he was certain the gamble had been a good one.

It was impossible to sell a white girl in
Egypt. While Atbara was a safe market, Idris was well aware that if
he wasn’t careful, he and Khalil might find themselves on the
block. They were strong and there was a pressing need for field
workers in Sudan and the farmers weren’t fussy about using slave
labour.

Idris and his partner, Khalil, had been
prepared to hang around for a week or two in order to make a profit
on this girl; if she lasted that long. However, if this man offered
a reasonable price, Idris intended to take the money and hightail
it back up the Blue Nile as fast as possible.

Hafiq vaulted into the makeshift platform. Up
close the girl smelled terrible. Her hair was black with dirt and
matted into huge knots but the roots shone through dark copper. Her
skin would be creamy white if it hadn’t been covered in scrapes,
bruises and insect bites. Looking at her, Hafiq realised she was
exhausted and close to collapse.

He half expected her to kick him and was
surprised when she swayed towards him, coming to rest up against
his chest. Despite the smell, Hafiq couldn’t stop himself from
putting an arm around her waist.

Used to exquisitely small oriental girls,
Hafiq was surprised to feel her head resting on his shoulder. He
could feel her breath on his neck. Instantly he was sure. He wanted
this girl.

Worried his prize product was worming her way
into a position where she could kick this prize customer in the
balls, Idris quickly grabbed hold of the girl’s collar and
signalled Khalil to hold her tightly.

Lilly sucked in her breath with pain as her
elbows were lifted high, almost dislocating her shoulders.

“Let go!” Suddenly furious, Hafiq pushed
Idris and Khalil away, wrapping his arms around Lilly protectively.
“I’ll take her,” he said. Digging into his money belt he hauled out
10 crisp hundred-dollar bills and thrust them into the auctioneer’s
hands.

Idris gasped. It was more money than he’d
seen in his entire life. “We have a sale!” he announced loudly.
Quickly, before anyone could see how much money he had, Idris
sketched a bow at Hafiq, signalled urgently to Khalil and
disappeared.

Aware that the show was over, the crowd
drifted away. The only person left was Ali, looking open mouthed at
Hafiq.

“Look in my bag and give me a shirt!” Hafiq
commanded.

His fingers couldn’t untie the rope knotted
around her elbows so he carefully cut them through with his knife.
He thought the girl had fainted but as he wrapped a shirt around
her, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Amazingly, she
smiled.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her voice was soft and sweet now that she
wasn’t screaming like a devil.

“You’ll be all all right,” Hafiq said
soothingly. “Let’s get you out of this place, ok?”

“You speak English?”

Hafiq smiled at her obvious surprise. “One of
my mothers was English.”

“One of your mothers?” Lilly thought she
couldn’t have heard him properly.

“That’s right. Come on, now, on your
feet.”

She tried to stand but her knees buckled
under her. There was nothing for it, Hafiq decided. Filthy as she
was, he would have to carry her.

He took her by the wrist, placed it over the
back of his neck, squatted and with one smooth lift hauled her over
his shoulders. She was a dead weight. Luckily it wasn’t far to the
warehouse.

“Who are you?” she whispered in his ear.

For a moment Hafiq hesitated. Shades of his
ancestors. With a chuckle he realised he now knew what his great
grandfather, Zubayr Pasha, the man the world had dubbed Africa’s
Slaver King, must have felt like. “I am your master,” he said
lightly.

“Mr Master,” Lilly said seriously, her breath
tickling his ear. “My name is Lilly Chamberlain. Thank you for
helping me.” She hiccupped and then shuddered. “I’m very sorry but
I’m afraid I’m going to be sick.”

And she was, all over his last clean
shirt.

The train rattled along the tracks, shaking
loose every last bone in her body but Lilly didn’t care. She lay
curled up on a packing crate, holding on to a can of Coke. It was
warm and sickly sweet but to Lilly it wasn’t just a drink; it was a
symbol of civilisation.

She’d lost count of the days that had passed
since that fatal evening at the lake. After that knockout blow to
her jaw, she’d woken with a crashing headache to find herself
locked into the hold of a riverboat.

Seasickness or rather river-sickness, coupled
with concussion, fear, hunger and dehydration, had made her too
weak to do anything but lie on the floor. The two fishermen had put
down an occasional plate of watery fish stew but had otherwise left
her entirely alone. Until they’d reached the town.

When they’d entered the hold with the rope
and collar, Lilly had tried to fight them off but a sock to the jaw
had sent her crashing to the floor. By the time she’d come round,
they had trussed her up, leaving her unable to defend herself.

Certain she would be raped, Lilly discovered
an inner core of pure steel. Taking no heed of the punches and
slaps her captors used to try to cow her, Lilly kicked, bit, swore
and even spat.

They hadn’t raped her but it hadn’t helped
her either. Closing her eyes, she could still feel the crowd
staring at her as they cut off her shorts and t-shirt. She
shuddered as the memory of fear flashed through her.

“Are you ok?” He was standing next to her,
touching her cheek gently. Her rescuer. Her wonderful saviour.

He’s cute too, her inner self piped up.
Tall, dark and handsome. Just what the doctor ordered.

With a supreme effort, Lilly sat up. “I’m
fine, thank you.”

He was looking her over with an almost
clinical detachment. Curious, she stared back.

At the market, she’d thought he was European.
Now she could see him properly, he had the pale skin and aquiline
bones of the Egyptians she’d seen in Cairo. The rifle, combat boots
and aggressively short, black hair gave him a military look.

Up close she saw the toughness was real but
,from the moment she’d spotted him pushing through the crowd, she’d
been mesmerised by his dark, brown eyes. Among the leering crowd
who’d fingered her as if she were a farm animal up for auction,
only he had looked at her as if she were a human being.

Instinctively she’d looked to him for help.
He’d charged to the rescue like a knight out of a fairytale and
she’d rewarded him by being sick all over him.

He hadn’t said a word about it. He’d just
carried her to a warehouse, sat her in a plastic chair, taken off
his shirt and rinsed it under a tap. It was still soaking wet. She
could see the outline of his muscles clearly under the fine
material as it clung to him.

“I’m sorry about your shirt.”

The brown eyes softened and smiled. “You’re a
most unusual girl.” He sat down on the packing case next to her,
idly examining her face. “I was expecting tears and hysterics.”

Lilly shrugged. “I did cry but it didn’t
help. So I’ve quit. I’m all cried out.”

Hafiq ran a finger down her cheek. She
shivered, not sure if it was his gentle caress or the fever.

“Where did you come from? There are no
tourists here.”

“I was on a tour of Lake Nasser. You see, I
got a bit lost and there was this crocodile.” It sounded absurd
when she heard herself say it but he just nodded. “I jumped into a
boat and well... here I am.”

Hafiq thought for a moment. “That fits. I
thought they were from the north. From Wadi Halfa probably.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Lilly
deadpanned.

Hafiq grinned. The girl was tough.

“I guess you saw a bit more of the Nile than
you bargained for.”

Lilly nodded. It was odd but, after being
terrified for days, she felt completely detached. She didn’t really
care what would come next, although she hoped the near future
contained food. She was days past hungry.

“I’m sorry to bother you but do you have
anything to eat?”

Hafiz laughed out loud. He hadn’t heard such
beautifully polite language since Fang Hua, a China doll addicted
to stories of the Imperial Court, had left. She’d been fun but
incredibly rapacious. He’d sent her back after three months,
considerably poorer for the experience. She probably had her hooks
into half of Beijing’s billionaires by now.

Hafiz dug into his bag and produced a bar of
chocolate and a packet of raisins. Lilly thanked him but she was so
weak that she could hardly tear open the wrapping. Hafiq found
himself holding her up and feeding her small bites as if she were a
child. She was trembling and sweaty.

Lilly slowly became aware that she could
smell herself. “I stink,” she mumbled. Suddenly that seemed more
embarrassing than being stripped in public.

Hafiq laughed. “We’ll be home in a few hours.
I have a big bath. You can go first.” He visualised helping her
soap up but seeing her shiver he regretfully abandoned the fantasy.
It would have to wait. This girl clearly had a touch of
malaria.

He’d have to give her a couple of days to
recover from her ordeal. Then he’d have a bit of fun and ransom her
back to her family. He’d probably make a nice profit.

Lilly was aware of the chills racking her
body. Reaction, she thought hazily. It’s relief at being safe
again. “I should contact the tour people,” she said vaguely. “
Honey Honeymoons. They’ll be looking for me.”

“You have a husband?” he asked quietly. It
sounded good. A new husband would pay a high price.

“No!” Lilly couldn’t help laughing. “This is
supposed to be a honeymoon but as it turned out, the groom didn’t
fancy it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ashton, the man I was to marry, went off
with Rachel Finn. She’s a tart who works on her feet in the bar of
the Anchor Hotel by day and on her back in the rooms upstairs by
night.”

Hafiq guffawed. “You don’t sound very upset
about it.”

“I was. In fact, I cried for weeks,” Lilly
admitted. “But now it seems very unimportant.”

“You have other family?” Hafiq asked.

“Not one aunt, not one uncle, no cousins and
no brothers or sisters,” Lilly said cheerfully. “I am all alone in
the world.”

Hafiq thought for a moment, then relaxed. She
had no family but her government would pay. A beautiful, young girl
like this would make newspaper headlines. He’d make a profit, for
sure.

“Good,” he said out loud.

Lilly was taken aback. “What’s good about
being all alone?”

“Oh, you know, “ Hafiq prevaricated. “No
screaming relatives to deal with.” Having dozens of sisters, aunts
and cousins, all of whom could put up a screech at the smallest
matter, he dreaded family conferences.

This girl was quiet and self-contained. She
reminded him of his father’s English wife who had been the daughter
of a Kenyan coffee rancher.

“She’s sweet as honey if you treat her right
but a lioness with a scorpion’s tongue if she thinks you don’t
value her,” her father had complained loudly for all to hear.
“She’s a lot of trouble.”

But for all his protests, his father had done
everything to please her. He had given up his nomadic ways and
disbanded his harem. Ten-year-old Hafiq couldn’t remember his own
mother, Aini Mali, as she had returned to her desert home in
As-
Salif across the Red Sea before he could
walk. He expected the English woman to despise him but she had
surprised him.

“
You’re Hafiq, are you?
Well, I’m not your mother, boy but I will raise you as if you were
my own.”

She had been as good as
her word. She had taught him to read, insisted he go to school and
had petted and scolded him in equal measure as he grew up. Hafiq
had adored her and always thought of her as his real
mother.

When his father died,
the family fully expected her to live a long widowhood but Hafiq
knew better. She died in her sleep, just a week after burying his
father. Hafiq knew she’d died of a broken heart.

Thanks to her, Hafiq
had an education. Thanks to his great grandfather’s genes, he had
inherited fantastic business acumen. He was rich and successful but
he was aware that he was feeling stale. Making deals was fun but
the women in his life bored him.