The Wrath and the Dawn(44)

“What possessed him to learn this trade?”

Omar shrugged. “He believes such knowledge gives him an edge over his enemies.”

Tariq nodded pensively. “He sounds like an interesting man.”

“As are you, sahib. But I am most curious; what is the nature of your business with the Badawi?”

Tariq hedged. “It is personal.”

“Personal?” Omar laughed. “Then you are trying to overthrow a family member or . . . win the heart of a woman.”

“What?”

“Why else would a rich young sahib have business of a personal nature with the Badawi? So which is it? Is your father a despicable despot of lore? Are you the hero your people long to serve?”

Tariq glared down at Omar.

“Ah! So then you are trying to win the heart of a beautiful young woman.”

Tariq turned to his horse.

“She must be very beautiful,” Omar mused. “To bring a handsome sahib with a falcon and a fine al-Khamsa this far into the Sea of Sand.”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Tariq muttered.

“Then she is not beautiful?”

Tariq whirled around. “It has nothing to do with her beauty.”

“So it is about a girl!” Omar crowed.

Glowering, Tariq grabbed the reins of his stallion and swung into the saddle.

“Do not be offended by old Omar, sahib! I did not mean to press the issue. I am just curious at heart, and my curious heart has quite a fondness for love stories. Please! If you follow me, I would be happy to introduce you to the sheikh.”

“And why would you do that?”

“For the sake of my curious heart,” Omar replied with a ridiculous smile that emphasized the dark gap between his crooked teeth.

Tariq paused in deliberation. The old servant could be lying to him, but this could also be his best chance to meet with a sheikh from one of the most celebrated of the Badawi tribes.

It was worth the risk.

“I will follow you to your camp.” Tariq adjusted the quiver of arrows on his back, for good measure.

Omar nodded, straightening his rida’. “I will be sure to tell the sheikh of your helpfulness at the well today.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sahib! I am nothing if not honorable.”

Tariq followed Omar at a wary distance as Omar guided the two camels back into the desert. Omar rode the smaller camel at a steady pace, looking over his shoulder every so often to give Tariq a reassuring grin.

The sky darkened to blue-black, and the brightest stars began to flicker above, winking white at the edges. After riding for half an hour, a large enclave of tents surrounded by a ring of torches materialized in the sea of rising dunes.

Omar led the camels directly into the center, whistling cheerfully to himself. As he passed, several men stopped to nod at him, and Omar bowed back, with a hand to his brow. He dismounted from the camel before a large, patchworked tent in the middle of the encampment. The instant his sandaled feet hit the ground, a pattering of footsteps burst from the shadows to the side.

Tiny burnished arms grabbed at his legs and battled for his embrace.

“Baba Aziz! Why are you so late?” several children cried in discordant harmony.

Tariq’s eyes narrowed.

The flap of the tent opened, and an elderly woman with a beautiful braid of muted copper strode into the moonlight. “Omar-jan, where have you been? Your grandchildren are hungry, and your daughters are irritated, as a result.”

Omar smiled indulgently. “I’ve brought a guest. Can we make room for one more?”

She shot her eyes heavenward before shifting to Tariq. “And who are you, young man?”

“He is our nameless sahib. And my curious heart longs to hear his story. I believe it is a good one, Aisha. About love and its many struggles,” Omar answered with a wink.

She shook her head. “Well, bring him inside.”

Tariq continued staring at Omar, his suspicions rapidly reaching a logical conclusion. He dismounted from his horse.

“You are not a servant,” he said.

Omar turned back to Tariq. Again, his gap-toothed grin took over his weathered face. “Did I say I was?”

Tariq held Omar’s gaze. The guise of a silly old man had vanished in the lambent torchlight. In its place was a look of wisdom and mirth.

A look of cunning intelligence.

“Forgive the misunderstanding,” Omar continued.