By Anne Fraser and Barbara Zuchegna
With assistance from Sharon Pickrel and Jean Lamb
Copyright 1999

Chapter Eleven

It is just after sundown of the third evening of our little group's adventures in the mountains of western Pakistan. This is a desert area, and as in any desert, when the sun disappears, temperatures drop dramatically and darkness comes with a suddenness not known in gentler climates. Adrian Talbot, vampire, actor, and scholar, has emerged from the deeply recessed cave where a young Baluchi tribesman named Naajy has been guarding him throughout the day ... and providing certain other services Adrian has been happy to take advantage of, and one in particular that Naajy himself is ardently eager to provide again. As a matter of fact, Adrian has had to use a certain amount of forceful persuasion to get out of the damned cave without having this particular service rendered immediately upon waking, bearing in mind that he will soon be required to ride a horse for hours across rough terrain. Are we at all surprised that Adrian's persuasion has included a bit of breakfast for himself? Not really.

Richard Plantagenet was in a foul mood. He was, of course, perfectly courteous to everyone. And he was demonstrating exactly how insufferable courtesy could be. He strode about, among the Baluchi tribesmen, courteously pointing out in a tone impossible to misunderstand just how dissatisfied he was with the length of time it took to reassemble the loads on the packhorses. When Zabour had the temerity to say, rather stiffly, that he could direct the work of his charges without Effendi Richard's assistance, Richard fixed a glittering dark eye on him and said, in a tone that could have frozen large sections of Hell, "Forgive me ... I'm sure that is quite true, and that it is only my ignorance of your methods that makes it seem inefficient to allow several of the packhorses to break free and to wander away from camp."

Zabour, his own eyes darting to discover that, indeed, this had happened, bowed quickly, mortified, and scurried away with what dignity he could muster to correct the situation.

Ed Perry, watching all this, dared to say, "Richard, you might want to be just a bit more tactful. We need these people's good will," and Richard inclined his head graciously before saying, in that same unforgivably courteous voice, "I bow to your greater knowledge of our guides, of course, but I have never found that suffering incompetence from one's hirelings led to the improvement of their performance or their respect for their employer." He stalked away before Perry could reply ... which was just as well, since Perry clearly couldn't think of anything to say.

Jake, who should have known better, made the mistake of opening his mouth as Richard passed him. "Can't you lighten up a little? Somebody made a mistake, that's all. People do."

He knew it hadn't been a good idea to draw attention to himself the minute Richard turned his head to look down at him with the most exquisite courtesy imaginable. Richard said, "As an anthropologist, my dear Jake, I'm quite certain your study of primitive peoples has given you insights of which I have been deprived. Against this, I can only place my own lifelong experience of commanding men in difficult circumstances in which my life, as well as theirs, depended absolutely on their immediate obedience to my instructions. You will forgive me, I'm sure, if, lacking your knowledge, I am forced to depend on my own."

Jake wasn't as lucky as Ed Perry. Richard stood there, waiting courteously, for whatever reply Jake chose to make. Jake wisely chose to make none at all, and Richard eventually turned and walked away, looking, Jake was sure, for someone else to be courteous to.

"I don't know what the hell he's got to be so pissed off about," Jake grumbled when Adrian joined him by the small fire the Baluchis had built, but which was carefully banked down now to coals and surrounded by a sort of rock well. It would be invisible unless viewed from directly above.

"Bad dreams?" Adrian suggested.

Jake almost choked on the coffee he was drinking. "Are you kidding? You think you had fun today! Shit, Adrian, if he keeps this up, I'm gonna start looking at the damned horses with a gleam in my eye." It wasn't really funny; Jake was finding his unwelcome impressions of Richard's dreams ... uh, harder and harder to ignore.

'There is a simple solution to the problem,' Adrian suggested silently, his face all innocence, but with an undeniable little longing in the thought.

Jake glared at him. "Forget it, Talbot," he said aloud. "Christ, look at that bunch over there." He nodded toward the busy younger Baluchis, among whom Naajy was swaggering with great satisfaction amid sullen looks from his fellows. "The line is forming on the right for tomorrow's shot at 'guarding' Effendi Adrian."

Adrian's huge, vividly-colored eyes glittered soulfully in the meager light of the coals. "Is that my fault?" he said mournfully.

Jake just looked at him.

Adrian sighed. Okay, maybe it was.

Ed Perry braved his employer's mood to draw him to one side while the Baluchi tribesmen, with vastly increased efficiency, finished their packing. "Richard," he said, "we should break out the guns sometime tonight. Tomorrow we'll be too close to the border to let these people practice without risking being heard by the patrols."

Richard's eyes were unreadable, but his voice was mild enough. Where it mattered, he could control his temper. "No amount of practice will make marksmen of them in the time available."

"No," Perry agreed. "But they should at least know enough about handling firearms to avoid shooting their own asses off. They need to know how to engage and release the safety, and to get the feel of the guns when they fire. Otherwise, they won't be able to shoot when they need to, or they'll drop the damned guns when the recoil hits them."

Richard's sigh was irritated and impatient. "We will do whatever you think best, of course," he said. "Did you wish to do so now?"

"No. Not here." Perry shook his head firmly. "There's not much chance that anyone will hear gunfire out here, but even a small chance is too much to take at one of these peoples' regular campsites. We owe it to Shahid to be certain we don't attract attention to this place."

"Then, forgive me, but I would like to get underway as quickly as possible," Richard said, and went back to hounding anyone who even thought of slowing down the fevered rate of packing. Courteously, of course.

Will Scrope, finished now with packing up his own bedding, his king's, and Adrian Talbot's, had taken a cup of coffee for himself and another for the woman Alexis over to where she sat, watching Richard as he urged the hurrying Baluchis to ever greater speed. She took the offered coffee with a small smile of gratitude, but made no effort to drink it. "I think your employer," she said, "is making himself very unpopular among our Baluchi friends."

Will smiled down at her with his usual serenity. "The King's Grace knows how to lead men, lady." He was regarding her with a new camaraderie Alexis didn't quite understand. Will had watched this woman go with his king to his bed for the past two days, and he had not seen her leave. He had also found, in Richard's bedding as he packed it away, the obvious signs of other activities taking place there besides sleeping. In Will's equable mind, Alexis had joined his conspiracy of tending to Richard's wants and needs whether or not Richard wanted their help. And he had no way of knowing how very wrong were the conclusions he had drawn.

Once they were finally moving, Richard Plantagenet almost wished they were back in camp, where he had at least had the business of hurrying their preparations to occupy his mind. Now, riding solitary on a narrow mountain trail that allowed only single-file passage, the placid horse beneath him plodding along at a measured gait that had nothing at all to recommend it except that the horse could keep it up all night, Richard could not keep his mind from the dreams that were becoming more vivid each time he closed his eyes.

She had come to him again while he slept today, and he had given up even hoping that she would not. The truth was that, despising his weakness, yet he closed his eyes when he was alone with a pathetic longing for her, and he was as much terrified that she would not appear as he was that she would. In the barely-lit darkness of the cave where he had slept earlier today, deliberately far enough from the entrance that no one could see him while he slept, he had not even been able to imagine seeing her. He caught her scent, again, and then she was with him, in his arms, and he had only the remembered softness of her under his hands, the murmur of her voice in his ear, to guide him. She could not see him, either, and it had been a slow, loving game, exploring each other with fumbling hands until their bodies, impatient, took over and found each other with no difficulty at all.

Somehow, he had to put an end to this. She was back with her husband, and he had to find a way to live without her, and without pitiful, adolescent dreams of her. He needed a challenge to engage his life beyond the temporary diversion of this journey. He need to learn enough about this modern world to find a place for himself where he could use the arts and skills of another lifetime to fully occupy his mind and body in this one. He needed, above all, to work.

And he needed a woman.

His mind drifted back to the night at Hoolihan's, to the sleek, dark woman who had sat with Adrian, whose eyes had caught his across the room. She had been speculating, measuring him, attracted but also challenged by him, as interested in fighting him as she was in the other, more conventional, things she was clearly thinking. At the time, he hadn't been interested in pursuing the possibilities she offered. But times had changed.

T'beth was a woman who would not expect, and probably would not want, an emotional involvement from him. But she was also a woman who would engage his mind as much as his body, and if she was alive, and if they could succeed in extricating her from whatever danger she had fallen into, it was possible that her interest could be revitalized. It would at least be interesting to find out.

They had been travelling for perhaps three hours, and had entered the bottom of a deep canyon, when Ed Perry called a halt and spurred his horse back along the line to Richard. "We aren't gonna find a better place than this," he said, his brows lifted questioningly.

Richard nodded, sighing. He had very deliberately avoided mentioning guns to his companions, or that they might be required to be able to shoot their way out of possible complications before this journey was over. Now he would find out how they were going to take the news.

"Why have we stopped here?" Jake asked Alexis. Asking Richard anything was risking having him be courteous to you. Jake was at the point where he would have preferred being punched to having Richard be courteous to him.

"I don't know," Alexis replied. "I guess we wait to find out."

"Sure, use logic," Jake grumped.

"Dismount, please," Ed told them, "and gather around."

"Oh, boy, campfire songs," said Jake.

'Somebody's asking for a good smack,' Adrian thought at him.

'I'm sure that Mansour or Naajy would be happy to oblige you,' Jake sent back.

Adrian dismounted and took two steps towards Jake before Ed Perry stopped him. "Do you know how to use one of these?" the ex-CIA agent asked, obviously without much hope.

Adrian stopped in his tracks and looked down at what Ed held in his hand. A gun. Moonlight glanced off of dark metal, revealing the unmistakable shape of a 9 mm handgun.

"Guns?" Adrian asked.

"N Roses?" Jake added, coming over to investigate, glad that Ed had diverted Adrian.

Ed managed, just, not to roll his eyes. "We are going to be crossing the border into Iran very shortly. If we don't quite make it tonight, then tomorrow night. We are in danger of running into Iranian border patrols. You need to know how to use a gun; your lives depend on it from now on."

"Nobody said anything about guns!" Jake said, staring in dismay at the lethal thing Ed held.

"Jake," Richard had joined them, "in case it has failed to come to your attention thus far, this is a very serious business we are about. We are crossing into enemy territory. They will kill us if they can. We must be able to defend ourselves."

Ed went over to the appropriate packhorse and broke out the weapons ... more of the 9 mm automatic handguns and an equal number of rifles. "Russian semi-automatics," he explained. "Leave them on automatic, and fire only short bursts, to conserve ammunition. Both these and the handguns are effective man-stoppers. They will both recoil, the handgun a bit more than the rifle. I'm going to show you how to treat them, and how to adjust for the recoil." He looked again at Adrian, whom he considered the most utterly useless of the entire party. "Ever seen a gun before, Pretty Boy?"

"Of course," Adrian purred in his most dangerous tone, "we have these on stage. You point them, pull the trigger, and a little flag pops out that says 'Bang!' on it."

Alexis giggled, while Jake choked. Richard didn't look amused, and Ed looked like he wanted to pack up and go home. Will, having had to take a moment to answer a call of nature, came belatedly to join them.

"Guns?" he asked Richard in some dismay. "Do we need to use these, Your ... sir?"

Richard didn't show it if he was grateful for the interruption, but at least Will wasn't being silly. "I am afraid so, Will," he replied, quickly outlining his reasons.

Will's appearance eased the tension. Ed remembered that his job was to teach this bunch of weirdoes how to point and shoot, and dammit to hell, he was going to do that if he had to break every one of their pointy little heads. Who were his pupils? An actor, an anthropologist, a socialite and ... he had never quite decided what Will was. A professional flunky, maybe. And Effendi Richard, of course.

He picked up one of the 9 mms. "This is a handgun," he instructed his attentive pupils. "A 9 milimeter automatic handgun. As you can see, it's a fairly large handgun. They are heavy. The ammunition is large, and has a heavy charge of powder that gives it carrying and stopping power almost unequaled in a handgun. Forget your fancy .357 Magnum or your Walther PPK, or whatever other crap you see in the movies. You hit a man with a bullet from this in the chest or head, and he's dead. You hit him anywhere at all, and he’s not gonna get up. That's why it's called a man-stopper. When you fire it, it kicks back. Remember your laws of physics? For every action...? Well, the equal and opposite reaction to firing a gun is the gun moving backwards as the bullet flies out. It's quite a kick, and from a gun this size, it'll hurt and bruise. Be prepared for it. First-timers often aren't prepared for the recoil, and they end up dropping the gun or shooting their own feet or heads off. And up close, a 9 mm will take your head off."

He made them all pick up the gun, feel its weight, memorize the location of the safety catch. "I want to see the safety ON when you're riding, or you'll shoot yourself or your horse or someone in the group. But release it before you fire, or nothing happens. That's the hardest thing for newbies to remember, to release the safety. Think of it like the emergency brake on a car -- nothing's going to happen unless you release it. Practice that."

His students duly practiced setting and releasing the safety catch until he was satisfied. "This is how you load it," he said, demonstrating the insertion of the ammo clip. "It's not a revolver, you don't have to worry about the bullet chambers or how many shots you've fired, within reason. This is how you remove an empty clip." He demonstrated. "Load, and remove. Practice that." Once more they complied. Ed sighed, thinking how wonderful the peace and quiet was. Nobody was arguing or complaining. One or two of his students were showing the whites of their eyes and looked unhappy, but they weren't bitching out loud.

When they had all loaded their guns, he took them through much the same steps with the semiautomatic rifles. When he had them all at the point where they were fed up with loading and unloading the guns and fiddling with the safety, he knew it was time for the part he really dreaded -- teaching them how to shoot.

"The rifles have sights," Ed said, "but the guns don't, they've been filed off. They only get caught on your clothes when you try to draw. You're only going to use the pistols if you are shooting in self-defense, and if you are, you're not taking time to aim accurately, anyway. You're at close range if you're shooting in self-defense. Point it at the guy's chest and fire. You won't really have time to use the sights on the rifles, anyway. And you're leaving them set on automatic, so that aim isn't a matter of a couple of cross-hairs, you're sending a burst of rifle bullets into your target. Chances are pretty good you're going to stop whoever you're aiming at. You are mostly going to be firing the rifles for effect, to make noise. Don't worry about shooting to kill, the Baluchis are good at that; we're just here to make noise and make the group seem bigger than it is. But you do need to learn how to fire these things."

He set up an impromptu target range in their hollow, using bits of scrub and a roughly drawn circle on a rock. The Baluchi had moved well out of range, taking the horses with them. They were probably betting on who would prove to be the worst shot of the crazy Americans (and Canadians). Ed was betting on Adrian to drop the gun at the first recoil and complain about his manicure being ruined. Alexis might not have the strength to handle one of the 9 mms; she might be better off with just the rifle. Richard would do everything efficiently and grimly. Will was an unknown factor, but he would at least try his best, to please Richard.

"Ladies first," Ed said to Alexis, but looking at Adrian.

Adrian ground his teeth, but said nothing. They needed Ed. But when this trip was over...

Alexis sighed. She was no good at all with guns; she knew this from experience. An aborted attempt to assassinate her rival for Blake's wayward affections ... never mind. She lifted the heavy gun and pointed it at the target of scrub.

"Two hands," Ed told her. "Just forget what you see in the movies. You can't fire a gun with this kind of heft and kick one-handed, you'll break your arm." He demonstrated the proper grip and stance, showing her how to support her firing arm. "This will be tricky from horseback, I grant you, but remember to keep a grip on the horse with your knees. If you don't use two hands, you'll fall off for sure with the recoil. And if you're shooting in self-defense, you're probably on the ground."

Alexis copied his stance, and once more pointed the gun at the target. She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She sent a puzzled glance to Ed.

"The safety," he said with more patience than he felt.

She released it, blushing a little. She once more eyed the target, and pulled the trigger. The gun fired, kicking back as hard as Ed had warned, and the scrub moved, losing a portion of its anatomy. Bits of the rock behind it went pinging off into the night.

"Again," Ed's voice was a whip.

Alexis kept at it until he was satisfied, handgun and rifle both, and walked way grateful for the lack of nerve-ends and muscles, which would have been cramped and aching by this point.

"Jake," Ed said, "you next."

Jake took up his position. "This is a lot heavier than a target pistol," he observed, weighing his weapon thoughtfully, "but the principle's the same, right?"

Surprise flickered across Ed's face. "Right," he nodded. "You've done target shooting?"

"Yeah, I used to belong to my Dad's target shooting club, and still practice on the range whenever I go back home to Meaford."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ed asked.

"You didn't ask." Jake released the safety catch and tried his luck on the mocked-up range. It took him a try or two to get used to the heavier gun, and the recoil made his arm ache, but he acquitted himself well enough to draw approval from his instructor. The rifle, too, he proved better than expected with. He walked away grinning and rubbing his shoulder.

"Next up, the actor," Ed called out. "Audition for me, Pretty Boy."

Adrian's eyes blazed with cold fire, but he merely took his handgun and approached the line Ed had drawn for the firing line. He braced his firing arm expertly, and sighted the replenished scrub target. He fired, and the scrub disintegrated. Smiling at Ed's openmouthed astonishment, Adrian blew on the muzzle of the gun (although, being an automatic, it was not smoking), and fired three more times in rapid succession, reducing the scrub to toothpicks and cutting a gouge out of the rock.

"So, do I get the part?" Adrian asked a gape-jawed Ed.

If Adrian's performance with the rifle was not quite so impressive, at least it was good enough to keep Ed silent, and Adrian walked away, mincing a little just to keep the ass stewing, and stood with Jake to watch the rest of the show.

Will Scrope was a surprise. He had never handled firearms of any sort, but he understood the principles involved almost at once. And the recoil of the heavy weapons meant nothing to Will's massive strength. He needed only to develop an eye for the geometry involved, and he was quickly hitting what he aimed at. Richard, who was last to try, but who had already had a day's training from one of the world's foremost experts in firearms, had no difficulty at all. He had not used these particular kinds of guns, so he had watched and listened carefully to grasp the niceties of the safeties and the procedures of loading and unloading, but once the guns were in his hands, it was obvious that this was not the first time he'd done some shooting. Richard and Will were soldiers; weapons of any kind held no mysteries for them, and endless fascination.

"Okay, good enough," Perry said at last. "And please, for God's sake, remember the safeties. ON when you're not using the gun, OFF the minute you need to use it." He had not the slightest hope that they would remember it ... at least, some of them. He sighed. "I guess that's about all we can do. We might as well get moving again."

Richard, clearly, was in complete agreement. They had lost almost two hours of travelling time.

"I didn't know you could shoot like that," Jake said, as he and Adrian walked back to the horses the grinning Baluchis were bringing forward, now that it was safe to do so.

Adrian looked at him with a perfectly sober face. "You didn't ask," he said, imitating Jake's earlier reply to Ed perfectly. "I have a number of talents you don't know about, Jake."

"Christ, can't you give it a rest?" Jake's irritation was quite genuine. "How many times do I have to say no?"

Adrian looked mildly offended. "As it happens, I wasn't referring to that particular talent. I was thinking of something Richard and I were talking about on the train ... a number of abilities I don't often have the need to use. But I'm beginning to think that you're becoming obsessed with sex, Jake."

Jake looked contrite ... and miserable. "Oh. Sorry. And how in the hell do you think I feel when his royal nibs there is broadcasting dreams every day that make stag films look like Saturday morning cartoons?"

Adrian's interest quickened. "He still is? Strange..."

"Well, I don't know that I'd call it strange," Jake said. And it wasn't anything like a stag film, either, for that matter, he thought, perfectly aware that Adrian was probably picking up what he was thinking. Richard's dreams were about a woman he loved one whole hell of a lot, and Jake could admit to a certain amount of envy if Richard had that woman waiting for him when he was through with this crazy trip ... although why he would ever have left her to go on this trip Jake couldn't imagine.

"I meant," Adrian said, thoughtfully, "that he smelled of perfume again tonight. And it's not Alexis's perfume. Nor can I imagine that he's got a bottle of the stuff stashed somewhere and is splashing it on himself."

Jake had stopped, staring at him. "Adrian, that's crazy."

"Yes," Adrian agreed. "Isn't it? But interesting, Jake. Very interesting."

"You can be interested all you want," Jake groused. "I'm sick of being surrounded by guys who are getting laid when I'm not."

Adrian clapped him on his aching shoulder. "There's always the horses," he pointed out.

The rescue party and their Baluchi guides reached the final stop before crossing the Iranian border. This time, there were no friendly caves, or unfriendly ones for that matter. They would have to pitch the tents, and risk being seen by Iranian border patrols. The older men in the party were looking grim; there was much consulting between Shahid, Zabour, Richard, and Ed.

The younger men were examining their guns and pitching the tents. The Baluchi's tents were a ragbag assortment of scraps that blended perfectly with the rocks and surrounding terrain. Even those who knew where the tents were had a hard time picking them out.

The newer equipment bought in Toronto presented more of a problem. It was all silk, and a light tan in color, except for Adrian's special "tent within a tent", which was black, lightproof silk and intended to be raised inside a larger tent. So these were pitched as much in hiding as possible, and camouflaged with what loose branches and foliage could be scrounged. The effect was not too bad; from the air it would simply look like normal terrain. There had been at least one pass-over by a plane, looking for the weird passengers who had jumped the train.

Once the work was done and the horses seen to, the young Baluchis stopped checking their weapons and gathered into a rough circle around a scraped-away stretch of sand. Dice were produced, and half a dozen pairs of gleaming black eyes were focussed on the pieces of bone. A heated discussion in their native language wafted over to the other half dozen, the rescue party. Had anyone cared to look at Zabour, they would have seen a thunderous expression on the lean Baluchi man's features...

Ed Perry listened to the young men arguing for awhile. He failed to notice Zabour, but his own expression was far from happy as he rejoined his party.

"What's up with them?" Jake asked the ex-CIA man as Ed came over to their fire.

The former agent shot a look of pure disgust at Adrian, who raised an eyebrow in surprise. "They’re gambling," Perry said. "The winner of the dice game gets to be the one to spend the day guarding Pretty Boy here against any of his ‘attacks’ during the day." Apparently, Ed's opinion of Adrian had once more sunk to below sea level.

Jake gulped and wondered if he could hold Adrian back from murder. To his surprise, the vampire looked weary rather than angry.

"I didn't ask for this, Ed," Adrian said quietly. "I can't help the way I look."

"Perhaps not," Ed acknowledged, "but you could have refrained from letting any of them fuck you."

"Why don't you leave him alone, Ed?" Jake asked heatedly. "How'd you like to be treated as something to be won in a dice game?"

Adrian looked a bit surprised at Jake coming to his defense, but not ungrateful. But he just shook his head. "I don't want them to fight," he said.

"Well, it sure looks like they're going to," Ed said.

"Gentlemen," said Richard, "that is enough. Ed, is the situation dangerous?"

Ed jerked his head in the direction of the dice game. The argument was heating up; there were hands on knives. "There's going to be blood shed," he replied. Then he noticed Zabour. "And he doesn't look very happy."

Richard's expression dismissed Zabour. But there was a momentary thoughtfulness. Then he said, "In my reading of the practices of these people, there should be no diminishing of their respect for Adrian because of his ... indulgences." He was not about to tell Ed Perry, Jake thought, that Adrian's "indulgences" were also feeding him, which Jake was pretty sure was the only reason Richard was allowing it.

"Shit, no," Perry agreed, still scowling. "Richard, the problem isn't between them and Adrian. It's entirely among themselves. But Pretty Boy here is the prize, and someone is liable to be killed if this goes on. We can't afford this. We need these people working together or none of us will get out of this alive."

Richard thought about it a moment more, his eyes resting, dark and unfathomable, on the squatting circle of the younger Baluchi, where voices were getting more shrill and tempers clearly rising. Then, decided, Richard spun away and went quickly to where Shahid Khan had settled down at the opening of his personal tent and was enjoying a leisurely cigarette with no indication that he was disturbed by the behavior of his young followers. Keeping them in line was Zabour's business, obviously. Shahid had been smuggling across this border for all of his adult life, and his young followers changed yearly. If they chose to kill one another, for whatever reason, it was no skin off his nose, and larger shares of the profits to all the survivors.

Richard sat on his heels in front of Shahid and spoke briefly and authoritatively. Shahid listened placidly, then smiled and nodded. Whatever Richard was proposing apparently met with his approval. Richard was paying, after all.

Richard came quickly back to his group, but ignored them and strode past them toward the circle of arguing Baluchis. Zabour, his face a mask of frozen anger, stood in his way. Richard could have taken one step to the side to pass him, but chose not to do so. He stopped, his eyes locked on Zabour's, and waited. After a moment, the taller man's eyes dropped and he stepped back, out of the way. Without another glance at him, Richard went on past.

The younger Baluchis, caught up in their deadly "game," didn't even see him until Richard was in the middle of the circle, kicking their dice away and hissing at them in furious volubility that needed no translation. "Dogs and sons of diseased dogs!" he raged, with a display of violent temper that Will, at least, recognized as pure play-acting. His booted feet lashed out, toppling several of the more vocal young men. "Did you dare to believe that my decisions were to be taken into your own unworthy, shit-encrusted, pus-exuding hands? I decide who guards and who cooks, who mucks with the horse dung and who empties the slops! And if I decide I need a receptacle for my piss, I will decide which of you will open your mouth on your knees at my feet!"

Mansour, who was half again Richard's size, and who had already visited the particular well of delight in contention and was determined to do so again, scrambled to his feet, one hand flashing toward the knife at his belt. Richard, prepared for exactly that, did something absolutely unforgivable with his right foot that doubled the big man over in agony, reached down to seize Mansour's luxuriant beard and jerked his head back hard enough to damned near tear it loose from his body. Richard's own knife was sunk half an inch into the young man's throat before anyone could make a move to stop him. The expression on Richard's face left no room for doubt in anyone's mind. Mansour was a second away from death.

"Say nothing," Richard spat into his face, "but 'Yes, Effendi Richard,' or your line dies in the dirt in this moment."

There was a long minute of frozen silence. None of the younger Baluchi, who could easily have overwhelmed Richard with sheer numbers, dared to breathe. Mansour's eyes, on Richard's, read nothing but implacable determination. He whispered, at last, "Yes, Effendi Richard," and Richard threw him contemptuously down into the dirt. Mansour lay there, unmoving, thoroughly cowed.

Richard, bloody knife held ready, raked his eyes over the circle of young men. "Who wishes to dispute my decisions?" he said in a voice that almost begged someone to try.

No one did. With eyes cast down, they stood silent and shame-faced, expecting the worst. Richard took a deep breath and reached down to wipe his knife clean on Mansour's burnoose before sliding it back into its scabbard at his belt. He said, more calmly, "Today, the Effendi Adrian will rest within my tent, and under my protection. If it happens that it again becomes necessary for one among you to watch over him while he sleeps, the one chosen for that duty will be he whose efforts most please me in his other duties. Is that clear?"

It was. But nobody wanted to open his mouth and draw attention to himself by saying so. Richard waited, giving them every chance to protest, and when no one did, disdainfully turned his back on them and strode away. On his way back to Adrian and the others, he quite deliberately chose his path to force Zabour to step out of his way again, but he said nothing further until all of the Baluchis were out of hearing. Then, with weary patience, he said to Adrian, "Forgive me, but today you will have to be satisfied with our ... previous arrangements." He was talking about the packaged blood, but letting Ed Perry draw whatever conclusions he chose. "The sun will rise shortly, Adrian, and I think the sooner you are out of sight, the better."

"Richard, you know I didn't foresee this happening."

Richard's smile was understanding, as was the hand that briefly rested on Adrian's shoulder. "God, I know that," he said. "Nor did I, Adrian, and it was my responsibility."

Adrian wasn't exactly certain how any of this was Richard's responsibility, but then he'd already figured out that Richard assumed responsibility the way other men breathed air. And there was probably no point in arguing with him. Agreeably, Adrian headed for the tent within which his own small, darkened mini-tent waited. No fresh munchies today, dammit.

‘Adrian, you idiot!’ Alexis thought furiously. ‘Men!’ Then she calmed down. At least this time the professor knew what it was like to be the prize, and wasn't actually involved in the fighting. And at least he wasn't acting like Blake, who'd sworn it was purely business when Ahmed had his little 'accident'. Oh, right. Just because the handsome Arab had been her lover at the time had had nothing to do with it! She'd been impressed by Richard's command of the situation.

Alexis easily retraced the journey back to Karachi. Once she had been to a place, it appeared she had no trouble finding it ever again. The powers that C.C. had given her allowed for manipulation of time as well as space, though she was still rather cautious (too cautious, according to C.C.!) about using them.

Damn the man or whatever the hell Gabriel Tallant was! She'd have to cut some of this journey short in order to be there when Richard woke up. Or play with some of her new talents, and possibly end up in the Late Cretaceous. Whatever. She'd better be back in just a few hours. The former king showed all the signs of being one of that dreadful kind, Morning People, and was not adapting well to their new schedule. Alexis generally loathed them, but somehow couldn't manage it in Richard's case. At least he had the good taste to have everything in silk, which showed he definitely had potential.

Well, it wasn't as if she was going to miss sleep -- or even need it any more, how delightful! -- simply because some idiot in charge of things, however handsome, was having trouble unwinding. Why nobody had packed melatonin to help with the schedule change was beyond her. She'd been delighted at the discovery of it in the past few years, when she had still been in a position to suffer from jet lag.

Alexis smiled as she approached Dex's office. Naturally he was busy at this hour. Sad how grim everyone seemed to be these days. God knows she'd worked the clock around, and occasionally whined like a distempered two-year-old in need of nap when she was too tired, but you'd think nobody ever had fun these days. Pity. Dex was about to get a break he hadn't counted on.

She popped into the room, and was glad she hadn't rematerialized. Judging by his position vis-a-vis his current female assistant -- this time a blonde -- his back certainly hadn't been bothering him lately.

Well. She supposed she could amuse herself by removing all their clothes from the floor where they had fallen, and it was a temptation ... but even if they had been married, 'till death do us part' was part of the vows.

She drifted back outside again. Hmmm. She'd have to pay attention to time zones and keep track of actual elapsed time, but she hadn't done this since just after the funeral. Damn the man. He was her first love, and apparently still was.

Alexis amused herself by providing herself with a pair of red high heels covered with sequins. "There's no place like home," she murmured, and in three heel clicks she was in Denver.

He was busy as ever, though aging more each year. ‘I wonder what sort of ghost "he'd" make!’ she thought with speculation. His blood vessels were getting a touch narrow, she noticed. ‘But of course he thinks he's immortal. In a way, he's right...’

"Blake," she whispered.

She watched his head jerk up, and saw that look he had reserved only for her, mixed of nine parts obsession and one part total exasperation. Oh, they'd always had passion. Passion that had changed to anger after too many years, and too many broken promises. Only Krystal gave him that unquestioning adoration and obedience now. Then again, who knew? Even that blonde idiot might have learned better over the years. It was odd that he was alone in the evening. Krystal wasn't usually like that. Possibly she, too, was making the mistake of trusting him. Or feeling the difference in years more than she used to. Perhaps Blake was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of marrying a woman twenty years his junior.

Alexis blew him a kiss, that by the look of his face, he felt.

It was time to go. With a few more heel clicks, she was back in the tent. Richard was doing a wonderful job of pretending to sleep. It certainly fooled Will Scrope, who snored like a badly maintained oil pump near the entrance. At least Adrian was quiet. She supposed that his daytime sleep was about the only time he was this silent! Well, what did she expect from a man who lived on words?

She smiled at Richard, though his eyes were still firmly closed. "Well," she said softly. "If you can't sleep, my lord King, the least I can do is amuse you." She rematerialized and sat in a yoga position she hadn't even tried in thirty years, near the head of his makeshift bed. Richard’s eyes were open at once. "Let me while away part of this day with a song often sung in my family," she said. "Some of us Keelers went to Toronto, too, and sent back this song."

The king raised one eyebrow skeptically. "Why on earth do you think that would alter my decision to remain awake?"

"Because I, too, have been too tired to sleep. And you won't drink enough because you feel you need to be fit for the next day. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt as the children say these days. It would be charming to exhibit some of my abilities, and create a proper slow Djinn fizz, but I suspect the Baluchis think we're odd enough already. I shan't need to pretend I'm an afrit --"

"Afreet? Is that some new pronunciation of the word? My dear Lady Alexis, you are the last person to be afraid of anyone."

Alexis assumed a schoolmistress expression. "Ahem. Cultural lesson. An afrit is also a spirit of dubious origins. I will do my best imitation if it becomes required, but things seem rather calm just yet. As I was saying, I have a song that may at least help you relax enough to sleep. Pray attend, Your Grace. 'Three old maids from Canada got drunk on sherry wine...’"

Appreciative amusement lit in Richard's eyes, although Alexis suspected that he knew even better songs. Unfortunately, he showed no indication of a willingness to prove it. Probably more to humor her than from any real intention of sleeping, he closed his eyes with an annoyingly patient expression on his face.

Well, never let it be said that a Keeler didn’t know how to take advantage of a situation. "Now sleep, your grace," she whispered, laying her hand on his head and applying all the mental force C.C. had so generously taught to her. "Sleep, mortal one, and rest well till the next day comes. And when you awaken, remember no evil dreams." She almost giggled -- he'd still have the fun ones!

That much she could give him.

The rest, she suspected, was up to Liliana. Catch her not noticing a sleepwalker!

For the rest of the day, she sat and thought. This was indeed a worthy quest, and she was glad to lend her talents to it. But what was her real purpose? And once this quest was done, what should she do?