Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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started his wound aching brutally. He clutched his bandaged jaw with one

hand and started down the trail again, breaking into a trot as he

reached the paved causeway that led down to the monastery.

ahoot Guddabi ran full into von Schiller around a corner of the maze,

and in a peculiar way the old man's presence, even thoug  he was of no

conceivable value in this crisis, steadied him and kept at bay the panic

that threatened at any moment to boil over and overwhelm him. Without

Hansith the maze was a weird and lonely place. Any human company was a

blessing. For a moment the two of them clung together like children lost

in the forest.

Von Schiller still carried part of the treasure that they had been

examining when Hansith had panicked and run.

He had Pharaoh's golden crook in one hand and the ceremonial flail in

the other.

"Where is the monk?" he screamed at Guddabi. "Why did you run off and

leave me? We have to find the way out of these tunnels, you idiot. Don't

you realize the danger?"

"How do you expect me to know the way-' Nahoot began furiously, and then

broke off as he noticed the chalk notations on the wall behind von

Schiller's shoulder, and for the first time realized their significance.

"That's it!' he exclaimed with relief. "Harper or the Al Simma woman

have marked it out for us. Come on!" He started down the tunnel,

following the signposting. However, by the time they came out on the

central staircase almost an hour had passed since Hansith had left them.

As they hurried down the staircase into the long gallery the sound of

the river rose to a pervading hiss, like the breathing of a sleeping

dragon, Nahoot broke into a run and von Schiller staggered along behind

him, his aged legs weakening with fear.

"Wait!" he shouted after Nahoot, who ignored his plea and ducked out

through the opening in the plaster-sealed doorway. On the landing the

generator was still running smoothly, and Nahoot did not even glance at

it as he hurried down the inclined shaft in the bright dazzle of the

light bulbs along the roof.

He turned the corner still at a run, and stopped dead 41, as he realized

that the tunnel below him was flooded, right back up to the level of the

ancient high-water mark on the masonry blocks of the walls. There was no

sign of the sinkhole or the pontoon bridge. They were submerged under

fifty feet or more of water.

The Dandera river, guardian of the tomb down all the ages, had resumed

its duty. Dark and implacable, it sealed the entrance to the tomb as it

had done these four thousand years past.

"Allah!" whispered  ahoot. "Allah have mercy on us." Von Schiller came

around the corner of the tunnel and stopped beside Nahoot. The two of

them stared in horror at the flooded shaft. Then slowly von Schiller

sagged against the side wall.

"We are trapped," he whispered, and at those words Nahoot whimpered

softly and sank to his knees. He began to pray in a high, nasal

sing-song. The sound infuriated on Schiller.

"That will not help us. Stop it!" He swung the golden flail in his right

hand across Nahoot's bowed back. Nahoot cried out at the pain and

crawled away from von Schiller.

"We must find a way out of here." Von Schiller's voice steadied. He was

accustomed to command, and now he took charge.

"There must be another way out of here," he decided.

(We will search. If there is an opening to the outside then we should

feel a draught of air." His voice became firmer and more confident.

"Yes! That's what we will do. Switch off that fan, and we will try to

detect any movement of air."

Nahoot responded eagerly to his tone and authority, and hurried back to

switch off the electric fan.

"You have your cigarette lighter," von Schiller told him. "We will light

tapers from these." He pointed at the papers and photographs that Royan

had left lying on the trestle table by the doorway. "We will use the

smoke to detect any draught."

For the next two hours they moved through all levels of the tomb,

holding aloft the burning tapers, watching the movement of the smoke. At

no point could they detect even the faintest movement of air in the

tunnels, and in the end they came back to the flooded shaft and stared

despairingly at the pool of still black water that blocked it.

"That is the only way out," von Schiller whispered.

11 wonder if the monk escaped that way," said Nahoot as he slumped down

the wall.

"There is no other way."

They were silent for a while; it -was difficult to judge the passage of

time in the tomb. Now that the river had found its own level there was

no movement of water in the shaft, and the faint and distant sound of

the current running through the sink-hole seemed merely to enhance the

silence. In it they could hear their own breathing.

Nahoot spoke at last. "The fuel in the generator. It must be running

low. I did not see any reserves-'

They thought about what would happen when the small fuel tank ran dry.

They thought about the darkness to come.

Suddenly von Schiller screamed, "You have to go out through the shaft to

fetch help. I order you to do it., Nahoot stared at him in disbelief.

"It's over a hundred yards back through the tunnel to the outside, and

the river is in flood."

Von Schiller sprang to his feet and stood over Nahoot threateningly.

"The monk escaped that way. It's the only way. You must swim through the

tunnel and reach Helm and Nogo. Helm will know what to do. He will make

a plan to get me out of here."

"You are mad." Nahoot backed away from him, but'von Schiller followed

him.

"I order you to do id'

"You crazy old man!" Nahoot tried to scramble to his feet, but von

Schiller swung the heavy golden flail, a sudden unexpected blow in

Nahoot's face that knocked him over backwards, splitting his lips and

breaking off two of his front teeth.

"You are rnad!" he wailed. "You can't do this-' but von Schiller swung

again and again, lacerating his face and Is of the whip cutting

shoulders, the heavy golden tai through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"I will kill you," von Schiller screamed, raining blows on him. "If you

don't obey me I will kill you."

"Stop!, Nahoot whined. "No, please, stop. I will do it, only stop."

He crawled away from von Schiller, dragging himself along the floor of

the tunnel until he sat waist-deep in the water.

AZT',, "Give me time to prepare he pleaded.

"Go now!" Von Schiller menaced him, lifting the whip high. "Very likely

you will find air trapped in the tunnel.

You will find your way through. Go!'

Nahoot scooped a double handful of water and dashed it into his own

face, washing away the blood that poured from one of the deep cuts in

his cheek.

"I have to take off my clothes, my shoes," he whimpered, pleading for

time, but von Schiller would not allow him to leave the water.

Do it where you are standing, he ordered, brandishing the heavy whip. In

his other hand he held the heavy golden crook. Nahoot realized that a

blow from that weapon cou Id crack his skull.

Standing knee-deep "at the water's edge, Nahoot hopped on one foot as he

pulled off his shoes. Then, slowly and reluctantly, he stripped to his

underpants. His shoulders were deeply scored by the lash of the flail,

fresh blood welling up and slithering like scarlet serpents down his

back.

"He knew that he had to placate this crazy old madman.

He would duck under the surface and swim a short way down the tunnel,

hold on to the side wall down there for as long as his breath lasted,

and then swim back again.

"Go!" von Schiller shouted at him. "You are wasting time. Don't think

that I will let you get out of this,, Nah6ot waded deeper into the shaft

until the water covered his chest. He paused there for a few minutes as

he drew a series of deep breaths. Then at last he held his breath and

ducked below the surfAce. Von Schiller stood waiting at the edge of the

pool, staring down into it but unable to see anything beneath the black

and ominous surface. In the lamplight Nahoot's blood stained the

surface.

A minute passed slowly, and then suddenly there was a heavy swirl

beneath the waters, and a human arm rose through the dark surface, hand

and fingers extended as though in supplication. Then slowly it sank out

of sight again.

Von Schiller craned forward, "GuddabW he called

"I -. "What are you playing at?" angrily  There was another swirl below

the water, and something flashed like a mirror in the depths.

"Guddabi !'von Schiller's voice rose petulantly.

Almost as if in response to the summons, Nahoot's head broke out through

the surface. His skin was.waxen yellow, drained of all blood, and his

mouth gaped open in a dreadful, silent scream. The water around him

boiled as though a shoal of great fish were feeding below. As von

Schiller stared in incomprehension, a dark tide rose up around Nahoot's

head and stained the surface a rose-petal red. For a moment von Schiller

did not realize that it was Nahoot's blood.

T

Then he saw the long, sinuous shapes darting and twisting beneath the

surface, surrounding Nahoot, feeding upon his flesh. Nahoot lifted his

hand again and extended it towards von Schiller, pleadingly. The arm was

halfdevoured, mutilated by deep half-moon wounds where the flesh had

been bitten away in chunks.

Von Schiller screamed in horror, backing away from the pool. Nahoot's

eyes were huge and dark and accusing.

He stared at von Schiller and a wild cawing sound that was not human

issued from his straining throat.

Even as von Schiller watched, one of the giant tropical ee Is thrust its

head through the surface and its teeth gleamed like broken glass as it

gaped wide, and then locked its jaws on to Nahoot's throat. Nahoot made

no effort to tear the creature away. He was too far gone. He stated at

von Schiller all the while that the eel, twisting and rolling into a

gleaming ball of slimy coils, still hung from his throat.

Slowly Nahoot's head sank below the surface again.

For long minutes the pool was agitated by the movements in its depth and

the occasional gleam of one of the serpentine fish. Then gradually the

surface settled as still and serene as a sheet of black glass.

Von Schiller turned and ran, back up the incline shaft, past the landing

on which the generator still puttered quietly, blindly trying to get as

far away as he could from that dreadful pool. He did not know where he

was going, but followed any passageway that opened in front of him.

At the foot of the central stairway he ran into the corner Of the wall

and stunned himself, falling to the agate tiles and lying there

blubbering as a large purple lump rose on his forehead.

After a while he dragged himself to his feet and lurched up the stairs.

He was confused and disorientated, his mind starting to break up -in

delirium, driven over the edge of

652 it's sanity by horror and fear. He fell again, and crawled along the

tunnel on his hands and knees to the next corner of . Only the was he

able to regain his feet to the maz  stagger onwards.

The steep shaft leading down into Taita's gas trap opened under his feet

without him seeing it. He fell down the steps, jarring and bruising his

legs and chest. Then he was on his feet again, reeling across the store

room past the ranks of amphorae, up the far staircase and into the

painted arcade that led to the torrib of Pharaoh Mamose.

He had tottered dowh half the length of it, dishevelled and wild'eyed

and demented, when suddenly the lights dimmed for a moment, fading to a

yellow glow. Then they brightened again as the generator sucked the last

drops of fuel from the bottom of the tank. Von Schiller stopped in the

centre of the arcade and looked up at the lights with despair. He knew

what was coming. For another few minutes the bulbs burned on, bright and

cheerfully, and then again they dimmed and faded.

The darkness settled over him like the heavy velvet folds of a funeral

pall. It was so intense and complete that it seemed to have a physical

weight and texture. He could taste the darkness in his mouth as it

seemed to force its way into his body and suffocate him.

He ran again, wildly and blindly, losing all sense of direction in the

blackness. He crashed headlong into stone and fell again, stunned. He

could feel the warm tickle of blood running down his face, and he could

not breathe. He whimpered and gasped and slowly, lying on his side, he

curled himself into a ball like a foetus in the womb.

He wondered how long it would take him to die, and his soul quailed as

he knew that it might take days and even weeks. He moved slightly,

cuddling in closer to the stone object with which he had collided. In

the darkness he had no way of telling that it was the great sarcophagus

of Mamose that sheltered him. Thus he lay in the darkness of the tomb,

surrounded by the funeral treasures of an emperor, and waited for his

own slow but inexorable death.

he monastery of St. Frumentius was deserted.

The monks had heard the gunfire and the  sounds of battle echoing down

the gorge, and had gathered up their treasures and fled.

Nicholas ran down the long, empty cloister, pausing to catch his breath

at the head of the staircase that led down to the level of the Nile and

the Epiphany shrine where he had stored the boats. Panting, he searched

the gloom of the deep basin below him into which the sunlight se! Clom

reached, but the moving clouds of silver spray from the twin waterfalls

screened the depths. He had no way of telling if Sapper and Royan were

down there waiting for him, or if they had run into trouble on the

trail.

He adjusted the tattered and bloodstained bandage around his chin, and

then started down. Then he heard her voice in the silver mist below him,

calling his name, and she came pelting up the slippery, slime-covered

stairs towards him.

"Nicholas! Oh, thank God! I thought you weren't coming." She would have

rushed into his embrace, but then she saw his bandaged and blood-smeared

face, and she stopped and stared at him, appalled.

Sweet Mary!" she whispered. "What happened to you, Nickyr

"A little tiff with Jake Helm. Just a scratch, but I am 4, not much good

at kissing right now," he mumbled, trying to grin around the bandage,

"You will have to wait for later."

He put one arm around her shoulders, almost swinging her off her feet,

as he turned her to face down the stairs again.

"Where are the others?" He hurried her down.

"They are all here," she told him. "Sapper and Mek are pumping the boats

and loading."

"Tessay?"

"She's safe."

They scrambled down the last flight of steps on to the jetty below the

Epiphany shrine. The Nile had risen ten feet since Nicholas had last

stood there. The river was full and angry, muddy and swift. He could

barely make out the cliffs on the far bank through the drifting clouds

of spray.

The five Avon boats were drawn up at the edge. Four of them were already

fully inflated, and the last one was billowing and swelling as the air

was released into it from the compressed air cylinder. Mek and Sapper

were packing the ammunition crates into the ready boats and strapping

them down under green nylon cargo nets.

Sapper looked up at Nicholas and a comical expression of astonishment

spread over his bluff features, "What the blue bleeding blazes happened

to your face?"

"Tell you about it one day," Nicholas promised, and turned to embrace

Mek.

"Thank you, old friend," he said sincerely, "Your men fought well, and

you waited for me." Nicholas glanced at the row of wounded guerrillas

that lay against the foot of the cliff. "How many casualties?"

"Three dead, and these six wounded. It could have been much worse if

Nogo's men had pushed us harder."

"Still, it's too many," said Nicholas.

"Even one is too many," Mek agreed gruffly.

"Where are the rest of your men?"

(on the run for the border. Kept just enough of them with me to handle

the boats." Mek stripped the filthy bandage from Nicholas's chin. Royan

gasped when she saw the injury, but Mek grinned.

"Looks as though you were chewed by a shark."

"That's right, I was,'Nicholas agreed.

WI BE, Mek shrugged. "It needs at least a dozen stitches." He shouted

for one of his men to bring his pack.

Sorry, no anaesthetic," -he warned Nicholas as he forced him to sit on

the transom of one of the boats and poured antiseptic straight from the

bottle.

Nicholas let out a gasp of pain. "Burns, doesn't it?" Mek agreed

complacently. "But just wait until I start sewing."

"This kindness will be written down against your name in the golden

book," Nicholas told him, and with an evil leer Mek broke the seal on a

suture pack.

As Mek worked on the wound, pulling the edges together and tugging the

thread tight, he spoke quietly so that Nicholas alone could hear. "Nogo,

has at least a full company of men guarding the river downstream. My

scouts tell me that he has placed them to cover the trails on both

banks."

"He doesn't know that we have boats to run the river, does he?" Nicholas

asked through gritted teeth.

"I think it is unlikely, but he knows a great deal about our movements.

Perhaps he had an informer amongst your workmen." Mek paused as he

pricked the needle into Nicholas's flesh, and then went on, "And Nogo

still has the helicopter. He will spot us on the river as soon as this

cloud breaks."

The river is our only escape route. Let's pray that the weather stays

socked in, like this."

By the time Mek had tied off the last knot and covered Nicholas's chin

with a Steri-Strip plaster, Sapper had finished inflating and loading

the last boat.

Four of Mek's men carried Tessay's litter to one of the boats. Mek

helped her aboard and settled her on the deck, making sure that she had

one of the safety straps close at hand. Then he left her and hurried to

where his wounded men lay in order to help them into the boats too. Most

of them could walk, but two had to be carried.

After that he came back to Nicholas. "I see you have found your radio,"

he said, as he glanced at the fibreglass case that Nicholas had slung

over his shoulder on its carrying strap.

"Without it we would be in big trouble." Nicholas patted the case

affectionately.

"I will take command of that boat, with Tessay."

"Good!" Nicholas agreed. "Royan will 90 with me in the lead boat."

"You had better let me lead,'Mek said.

"What do you know about river running?" Nicholas asked him. "I am the

only one of us who has ever shot this river before."

"That was twenty years ago," Mek pointed out.

"I am an even better man now than I was then," Nicholas grinned. "Don't

argue, Mek. You come next, and Sapper in the one behind you. Are there

any of your men who know the river to command the other two boats?"

"All my men know the river," Mek told him, and shouted his orders. Each

of them hurried to the Avon he had been allocated. Nicholas gave Royan a

boost over the gunwale of their boat, and then helped his men launch her

down the rocky bank. As soon as the hull floated free they scrambled

aboard and each man grabbed a paddle.

As they bent to their paddles, Nicholas Saw at once that every man of

his crew was indeed a riverman, as Mek had boasted. They pulled strongly

but smoothly, and the light inflatable craft shot out into the main

stream of the Nile.

The Avons were designed to accommodate sixteen, and were lightly loaded.

The ammunition cases that held the grave goods from the tomb were bulky

but weighed little, and there were not more than a dozen people in any

one boat. They all floated high and handled well.

"Bad water ahead," Nicholas told Royan grimly. "All the way to the

Sudanese border." He stood at the steering sweep in the stem, from where

he had a good forward view.

 Royan crouched at his feet, clinging to on of the safety straps and

trying to keep out of the way of the oarsmen.

They cut across the current that was scouring the great stone basin

below the falls, and Nicholas lined up for the narrow heads through

which the river was escaping to the West. He looked up at the sky and

saw through the spray that the rain clouds were low and purple. They

seemed to sag down upon the tops of the tall cliffs.

"Luck starting to run our way," he told Royan. "Even with the helicopter

they won't be able to find us in this Weather."

He glanced at his Rolex and the spray was heading the glass. "Couple of

hours until nightfall. We should be able to put a few miles of river

behind us before we are forced to stop for the night."

He looked back over his stem and saw the rest of the little flotilla

bobbing along behind him. The Avons were reflective yellow in colour and

stood out brilliantly even in the mist and murk of the gorge. He lifted

his clenched fist high in the signal to advance, and from the following

boat Mek repeated the gesture and grinned at him through his beard.

The river grabbed them and they shot through its portals into the

narrow, twisted gut of the Nile. The men at the oars stopped paddling,

and let the river take them.

All they could do now was to help Nicholas to steer her through any

desperate moments, and they crouched ready along the gunwales.

The high water in the gorge had covered many of the reefs of rock, but

their presence below the surface was clearly marked by the waters that

humped up in standing waves or foamed white in the narrows between them.

The flood reached up high on either bank, dashing against the cliffs of

the sub-gorge. If an Avon overturned, or even if a crew member were

thrown overboard there would be no place on this river to heave-to and

pick up survivors.

658 95, Nicholas stood high and craned ahead. He had to pick his route

well in advance, and once committed he had to steer her through. It all

depended on his ability to read the river and judge her mods. He was out

of practice, and he had that tight, hard cannonball of fear in the pit

of his belly as he put the long sweep over and steered for the first run

of fast green water. They went swooping down it, Nicholas holding their

bows into it with delicate touches of the sweep, and came out into the

bottom of it with all the other boats following them down in sequence.

"Nothing to it!" Royan laughed up at him.

Don't say itV Nicholas pleaded with her. The bad angel is listening."

And he lined up for the head of the next set of rapids that raced

towards them with terrifying speed.

Nicholas steered through the gap between two outcrops of rock and they

shot the barrel, gaining speed down the chute. It was only when they

were halfway down that he saw the tall standing wave below them over

which the river leaped. He put the sweep across and tried to steer round

it, but the river had them firmly in its grip.

Like a hunter taking a fence they shot up the front of the standing

wave, and then with a sickening lurch plummeted down the far side into

the deep trough. The Avon folded across the middle, the bows almost

touching the stem as she tried to pull through the hole in the river

surface.

The crew were tumbled over each other and Nicholas would have been

catapulted overside if it had not been for his body line and his grip on

the steering sweep. Royan flung herself flat on the deck and hung on to

the safety strap with all her strength as the Avon's buoyancy exerted

itself and the boat bounded high in the air, whipping back elastically

into its original shape, then hovered a moment and almost capsized

before it crashed back, right side up.

One of the crew had been hurled overboard and was floundering alongside,

carried along at the same speed as the flying Avon, so his comrades were

able to lean out and haul him back on board. The cargo of ammunition

crates had tumbled and shifted, but the nets had prevented any of them

from being lost over the side.

"What did you do that for?" Royan yelled at him. "Just when I was

beginning to trust you."

"Just testing'he yelled back. "Wanted to see how tough you really are."

"I admit it, I am a sissy," she assured him. "You really don't need to

do it again."

Looking back, Nicholas saw Mek's boat crash through the trough just as

they had, but the following craft had enough warning to steer clear and

slip through the sides of the run.

He looked ahead again, and his whole existence became the wild waters of

the river. His universe was contained within the tall cliffs of the

sub-gorge as he battled to bring the racing Avon through. He did not

know whether it was spray or rain that stung his cheeks and his wounded

chin, and that flew horizontally into his eyes and half-blinded him. At

times it was a mixture of the two.

An hour later Nicholas misjudged the rapids again, and they went in

sideways and almost capsized. Two of his crew were hurled overboard.

Steering fine and leaning outboard they managed to pull one of them from

the river, but the other man struck a rock before they could reach him.

He went under and did not rise again. None of them spoke or mourned him,

for they were all too busy staying alive themselves.

Once Royan shouted up at Nicholas through the rattling spray and the

thunder of the river all around them, "Helicopter! Can you hear it?"

Half-deafened, he looked up at the lowering grey belly of the clouds

that hung at the level of the cliffs, and faintly made out the whistle

and flutter of the rotors.

"Above the cloud!" he shouted back, wiping the rain and the spray from

his eyes with the back of his hand.

"They will never spot us in this."

The onset of the African night was sped upon them by the low cloud. In

the gathering darkness another hazard leaped upon them with no warning

at all. One instant they were running hard and clear down a smooth

stretch of the river, and the next the waters opened ahead of them and

they were hurled out into space. It seemed that they fell for ever,

although it was a drop of not more than thirty feet, before they hit the

bottom and found themselves floating in a tangle of men and boats in the

pool below the falls. Here the river was stalled for a moment, revolving

upon itself while it gathered its strength for the next mad charge down

the gorge.

One of the Avons had capsized and was floating belly up – even its

highly stable hull had not been able to weather the   down the falls,

The crews of the other ro boats gathered themselves and then paddled

across to drag the survivors from the water and to salvage the oars and

other floating equipment. It took the combined efforts of all of them to

right the overturned Avon, and then it was almost completely dark by the

time they had it back on even keel, "Count the crates!" Nicholas

ordered. "How many have we lost?"

He could hardly credit his good fortune when Sapper shouted back,

"Eleven still on board. All present and correct." The cargo nets were

holding well. But all of them, men and women, were exhausted and soaked

through and shivering with the cold., Any attempt to go on in darkness

would be suicidal. Nicholas looked across at Mek in the nearest boat and

shook his head.

"There is a bit of slack water in the angle of the cliff." Mek pointed

towards the tail of the pool. "We might be able to find moorings for the

night."

him-

There was a stunted but tough little tree growing out of the vertical

fissure in the rock, and they used this as a bollard and made a line

fast to it. Then they lashed all the Avons together in a line down the

cliff and settled in for the night. There was no chance of hot food or

drink, and they had to make do with some cold tinned rations eaten off

the blade of a bayonet, and a few chunks of soggy injera bread.

Mek scrambled over from his own boat and huddled down close beside

Nicholas with one arm over his shoulder and his lips close to his ear.

"I have made a roll call. Another man missing when we went over the

falls. We won't find him now."

"I am not doing too well," Nicholas admitted. "Perhaps you should lead

tomorrow."

"Not your fault." Mek squeezed his shoulders. "Nobody could have done

better. It was this last waterfall-' he broke off and they listened to

it thundering away in the darkness.

"How far have we come?" Nicholas asked. "And'how much further to go?"

"It's almost impossible to tell, but I guess we are halfway to the

border. Should reach there some time tomorrow afternoon."

They were silent for a while, and then Mek asked, "What is the date

today? I have lost count of the days."

"So have  Nicholas tilted his wrist-watch so that he could read the

luminous dial in the last of the light. "Good God! It's the thirtieth

already," he said.

"Your pick-up aircraft is due at Roseires airstrip the day after

tomorrow."

"The first of April,'Nicholas agreed. "Will we make it?"

"You answer that question for me." Mek grinned  in the night without

humour. "What, chances of your fat friend being late?"

jannie is a pro. He is never late," said Nicholas. Again a silence fell,

and then Nicholas asked, "When we reach Roseires, what do you want me to

do with your share of the booty?" Nicholas kicked one of the ammunition

crates.

"Do you want to take it with you?"

"After we see you off on the plane with your fat friend, we are going to

be doing some hot-footed running from Nogo. I don't want to be carrying

any extra luggage. You take my share with you. Sell it for me – I need

the money to keep fighting here."

"You trust me?"

"You are my friend."

"Friends are the easiest to cheat – they never expect it," Nicholas told

him, and Mek punched his shoulder and chuckled.

"Get some sleep. We will have to do some hard paddling tomorrow." Mek

stood up in the Avon as she pitched and rolled gently to the push of the

current. "Sleep well, old friend," he said, and climbed across to the

boat alongside, where Tessay waited for him.

Nicholas braced his back against the soft pneumatic gunwale of the Avon

and took Royan in his arms. She sat between his knees and leaned back

against his chest, shivering in her sodden clothes.

After a while her shivering abated, and she murmured, "You make a very

good hot'water bottle."

"That's one reason for keeping me around on a permanent basis," he said,

and stroked her wet hair. She did not answer him, but snuggled closer,

and a short while after, wards her breathing slowed as she fell into an

exhausted sleep.