“I guess you’d call it a horseless carriage,” Kit told him. “The motor powers it.”
“And a very disagreeable machine it is,” remarked Lady Fayth, holding her nose as the petrol fumes reached them. “Most unnatural.”
“You have no idea,” said Kit.
They watched a while longer, but all remained quiet. “Do you think they have gone?” asked Giles.
“Maybe,” allowed Kit. “There is only one way to find out.” He stood. “Let’s go down.”
“Have you ever used a pistol?” asked Lady Fayth, brushing dust from her clothes and hands.
“No,” admitted Kit, with a shake of his head.
“Then I shall take the pistol,” she decided. “You and Giles will do better with the cutlasses-if it should come to that.”
“Fine,” agreed Kit. “Cutlasses it is.”
Giles opened the bundle and handed out the weapons. Kit gripped the hilt of the sword; fully as long as his arm, the slightly curved, tapering blade was somewhat heavier than he expected, but well balanced and reasonably sharp. After a few practice swipes, he felt suitably armed and dangerous. “Ready?” The others nodded. “Right. Stay alert and keep quiet. Here we go.”
They started down the broken staircase, picking their way among the rocks one step at a time, as silently as possible. Upon reaching the wadi floor, they stopped and crouched, waiting to see if they had been heard or observed. All was calm and silent. “So far, so good,” Kit whispered. “This way.”
They moved quickly to the temple, darting into the entrance so as not to be seen in the open. The interior, illumined only by the light coming in from the doorway, revealed a simple square hollowed from the living rock. A stone ledge three feet off the floor ran around the perimeter of the room, which, save for the sand drifted into the corners, was empty. Turning back toward the doorway, they looked both ways down the two connecting branches of the wadi. To the right, a lean-to hut of rough timber had been constructed against the canyon wall and, beside it, a large tent; to the left, there was nothing but a series of door-size niches carved into the rock: three of them, each a few yards from the next.
“Which way?” asked Kit. “Right or left?”
“The fellow we saw earlier went that way,” suggested Giles, indicating the tent on the right. “We might try the other way first.”
“Sounds good to me,” agreed Kit. “Stay close.”
Leaving the temple entrance, the three flitted along the wall towards the first niche. “Wait here,” said Kit. “And keep a sharp lookout.” He crept to the doorway and paused, listened, then ducked inside. An overpowering smell of fumes in the close confines of the small chamber made him gasp. He could just about make out the black boxy shape of a generator, but nothing else.
“Not in there,” Kit reported when he stepped out again. “Let’s try the next one.”
As before, he positioned his watchers either side of the doorway and then ducked into the rock-cut chamber; this one was slightly larger than the first and, from what Kit could make out, seemed to be filled with crates and casks and boxes. “It’s a storage room,” he reported, then motioned the others to follow him to the third doorway. A swift inspection revealed that the last chamber was filled with oil drums. “Another storage room,” Kit said. “That’s it for this side.” He turned with some reluctance toward the tent. “I guess we look there next.”
“There may be something down there.” Lady Fayth pointed farther along the wadi.
Kit looked where she indicated and saw another opening thirty or so yards away and all but hidden in a fold in the smooth canyon wall. Smaller than the others, and narrower, Kit had mistaken it for a shadow. Lady Fayth was already starting for the place. Kit overtook her and hurried to the low doorway. “Fourth time lucky,” he said and, stepping in, almost broke his neck when he lost his footing and plunged down a steep flight of stairs. The cutlass spun from his grasp and clattered down the stone steps with him.
The sound of his fall echoed up from the hollow chamber below. “What happened?” asked Lady Fayth in a strained whisper.
“Careful!” replied Kit, his voice echoing in the empty chamber. “There are some steps.”
“Are you injured, sir?” asked Giles. “Shall I come down?”
“No, I’m all right. Just stay put,” answered Kit. “There’s another room down here.”
Light from the doorway above flowed down into the chamber, illuminating a small vestibule and revealing a doorway to a narrow connecting tunnel. Kit started forward; his foot struck the cutlass and sent it rattling across the floor. A voice rasped out of the darkness from the unseen room beyond. “This is horrific! You must release me at once.”
Kit recognized the voice immediately. “Sir Henry-it’s me.”
“Kit?”
“We’ve come to help you.” He retrieved the cutlass and moved to the doorway. He had just put his foot on the low step when there came a shout from outside, followed by the sharp report of a pistol.
“Oh, great!” Kit muttered, already racing for the steps. “Hold on,” he called behind him. “I’ll be back.”
Kit leapt up the stairs and scrambled out into the wadi, where Giles was grappling with two attackers: Burley Men. Kit managed to be surprised by what was merely inevitable-that the Burley Men would always appear at the worst possible moment. Although dressed in light-coloured Arab garb-kaftans and kaffiyehs instead of their former black coats, tall boots, and wide-brimmed hats-there was no mistake; Kit had seen them before. Giles seemed to be holding his own, so Kit turned his attention to the third attacker, who was struggling to hold on to a very angry and animated Lady Fayth. Drawing a deep breath, Kit launched himself at the fellow’s back. Gripping the cutlass with both hands, he raised it and brought the knob of the hilt down on the man’s head. The rogue gave out a yelp and released Lady Fayth. Shaking herself from his grasp, she spun around, raking at his face with her fingernails while Kit, with a well-aimed kick, lashed out at his knees. The Burley Man’s legs folded under him, and he went down in a hail of blows from Lady Fayth’s fists.
Kit rushed to Giles’s aid. He closed on the nearest of the two clinging to the coachman’s arms. “Stop!” he shouted. “Let him go!”
The brute half turned to meet this new threat, and Kit thrust the point of the cutlass at his unprotected chest, stopping just short of piercing the skin. The attacker growled and made an ill-judged swipe at the blade. Kit held firm. “I said stop!” he shouted, driving the man back onto his heels with the point of the rusty blade.
“Tav!” cried the Burley Man. “Over here!”
Kit gave another jab with the point of the blade, and the man fell over backward. In the same instant, Giles swung his free hand into the face of the thug still clinging to his arm, connecting with a satisfying crunch of bone on gristle. “Agh!” shrieked the man, staggering back, both hands clutching his nose as blood gushed down the front of his kaftan.
Lady Fayth screamed, and Kit turned to see her attacker on the ground, clutching her ankle as she swiped at him with the butt of the pistol. He raced back to her side, reaching her just as the Burley Man succeeded in toppling her. Kit caught her as she fell, taking her weight. Momentarily unbalanced, Kit felt his own foot clasped and yanked from under him. He sat down hard, losing his grip on the cutlass as he crashed onto his rump. Lady Fayth fell on top of him, and as they lay in a tangled heap, Kit felt his weapon wrenched from his grasp. He made a wild grab, snagged the hilt, and hung on. “Giles!” he cried. “Help!”
With his free hand, Kit punched at his attacker and succeeded in landing a solid blow in the man’s gut. He felt the blade loosen and, with a mighty heave, pulled the cutlass from the Burley Man’s grasp. The rogue roared and smashed him in the eye with an elbow.
Kit, his eyes watering, clutched the cutlass hilt and rolled away. He pushed himself up and tried to rise-only to be met with a boot in the ribs. Unable to breathe now, he tried to squirm away. He heard Lady Fayth scream again, and he swung blindly at his attacker with the cutlass, making a wide sweep of his arm, driving his assailant back. But before he could swing the blade again, the resounding crack of a rifle shot exploded in the canyon, and a chunk of rock above his head shattered, sending splinters and dust over him. Instinctively, Kit ducked; and even as he turned in the direction of the shot, a second, gut-clenching sound rumbled through the wadi: the feral growl of a very large and angry cat.