Hamish X Goes to Providence Rhode Island (16 page)

Hamish X reached up, grabbed the handle of the winch, and began to lower the bucket in the well.

“Where are we?”

Hamish X whirled around to confront the speaker and found Maggie and Thomas standing in the sand. Thomas had a cut over his right eye, sending a slow trickle of blood down the side of his face.

“What are you doing here?” Hamish X demanded. He let go of the handle and the bucket dropped with a hollow splash.

“You can't get rid of us so easily.” Maggie laughed.

“We stowed away in the cargo bay,” Thomas explained, smiling. “You didn't even bother to check.”

“You should be more careful,” Maggie teased. “And maybe you should learn how to land one of these things.” She stabbed a thumb at the smoking ruin that had been the helicopter. “That was a little bumpy.”

Hamish X was furious. “I told you to go home. Find your parents! This is no place for you. I have to do this on my own.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Thomas waved Hamish X off with a dismissive wave of the hand.

“Talk to the elbow,” Maggie quipped, extending the bend of her left arm at Hamish X, “'cause the hand is too bored to listen.”

“I'm serious,” Hamish X said. “You shouldn't have come.”

“Is that water?” Thomas asked, licking his lips. “I'm parched.”

Thomas moved to grab the handle of the winch but stopped and stood staring past Hamish X into the darkness. Hamish X followed his gaze and saw a human shape outlined in the dim moonlight beyond the well.

“Stay where you are,” a deep voice ordered. Hamish X tensed to spring at the figure but heard the click of a rifle safety being released behind him. Suddenly the oasis was full of robed figures, their faces hidden behind scarves that wound around their throats, covering their faces save for their eyes, then continued on to become a headdress. The figures seemed to coalesce
⁶¹
out of the sand and darkness into actual human beings. In their hands they held heavy
automatic rifles. The rifles looked lethal,
⁶²
and all of them were trained on the three children.

“We mean no harm!” Hamish X said clearly, raising his hands so that the strangers could see he held no weapon. Taking his lead, Maggie and Thomas did the same. One of the robed men came forward, walking across the sand until he stood directly in front of the children.

“Good evening,” he said in English. “Would you mind telling me who you are and what you are doing at the oasis of Khar-el-Salaam? Please be quick about it as I do not know how long I can restrain my brethren from shooting you.” His English was perfect, although accented. His eyes were pale blue, but the skin of his hands and face was dark from exposure to the desert sun. “Speak or you will be food for the vultures!”

Hamish X and his companions had no doubt that the stranger meant what he said.

Chapter 17

“We are merely passing through and so we stopped at the oasis for water,” Hamish X explained. “Or at least that was my plan before you so rudely shot my helicopter out of the sky.” In his mind he was calculating the chances of fighting his way free. He believed he could make it, but he doubted Maggie and Thomas would be so lucky. He decided to bide his time. “Surely the laws of courtesy haven't changed in the desert: the oasis is here for anyone to use.”

The man's eyes narrowed. “You know the customs of the desert? There is a saying among my people: ‘Beware the stranger who speaks the words of a friend.' It hardly seems possible that one so young as you could have been here before. I ask you again: who are you?”

“None of your beeswax, chump,” Thomas said loudly. “Now back off or you'll be sorry.”

The strangers laughed out loud at Thomas's bravado. The leader raised a hand for silence. “Ha! The tiniest hawk often has the sharpest claws. Ah, I hate to disagree with you, young fellow, but it is my
beeswax,
as you call it. I am responsible for the safety of everyone in my tribe. This oasis lies within our territory. You arrive in an ODA helicopter and that is most suspicious. The Grey Agents are our sworn enemies. If you arrive in one of their vehicles, chances are you will be allies of theirs. As the saying goes, ‘He who rides the camel of my enemy is not my friend.' Therefore, I cannot allow you
to leave here until you tell me what you are doing and where you are going. Indeed, I cannot allow you to continue to breathe the desert air, for you may pollute it with your falsehoods.”
⁶³

Maggie was about to say something that Hamish X was almost certain would be an insult to the masked man, so he jumped in before she could let loose. “We mean no harm. Our purpose here is peaceful. If you must know, we stole the helicopter from the ODA.”

The man's blue eyes went wide. “Is that so?” He shouted over his shoulder in a language the children didn't understand, and his fellows laughed. The man shook his head. “I'm afraid we find that a little hard to credit. Three children stole an ODA helicopter? How is that possible?”

Hamish X smiled. “As it is said among your people: ‘The tiniest hawk often has the sharpest claws.' Nothing is impossible …”

Maggie blurted, “Especially when one of those three children is Hamish X.” Hamish X laid a hand on her arm, but it was too late.

The robed men fell silent. Their leader reached up and lowered the scarf from his face, revealing a pointy black beard laced with strands of white. He went down on his knees and reverently touched Hamish X's boots. “Ah,” he said, “I thought I recognized those boots. Now I can see how the ODA might come up one helicopter short. Please, forgive us for attacking you. How could we know we were firing on the magnificent Booted Sheik? Welcome, Hamish X, to our oasis. Welcome Companions of Hamish X. I am Sheik Harik Faraad and these gentlemen are members of my tribe.” The others moved in closer now. All of them vied with one another for space closer to Hamish X. “We welcome you in fulfillment of the prophecy!”

“Prophecy?” Hamish X was confused and uncomfortable with this formidable desert leader bowing before him. “What prophecy are you talking about?”

“All in good time, Booted Sheik. All in good time.” Harik turned to Maggie and Thomas. “Who are these that we might honour them with our friendship?”

“Booted Sheik?” Thomas laughed out loud. “That's funny. Maybe you should shake your booty, Booted Sheik!” Thomas slapped Hamish X on the back. His laughter died when all the desert men snarled and glared at him, their teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

“It does not please them when you mock the Booted One,” Harik said softly.

Thomas gulped. Hamish X jumped in.

“I don't mind. They're friends. This is Maggie and her brother, Thomas …,” Hamish X faltered and laughed. “You know, I don't even know your last name.”

“Schwinkel,” Maggie said.

“Schwinkel?” Hamish X asked, incredulous. Maggie shrugged. “Thomas and Maggie Schwinkel. Until recently, we were all prisoners aboard a slaver ship operated by the ODA.”

“A ship?” Harik's brows shot up in surprise. “There are not many ships in the desert, my friend.
⁶⁴
You must sit with us, break bread, and share this tale, and I will tell you of the prophecy.”

Harik called for his men to start a fire and prepare a meal. They set up camp in the lee of the crashed helicopter, using the wrecked vehicle as a shelter from the wind.

Instead of using wood to make a campfire, the men brought heaps of dry crumbly matter that burned steadily but smelled powerfully.

“Camel dung,” Harik explained. “There are not so many trees out here in the desert. Burning camel dung is an old Bedouin tradition.”

“Charming,” said Thomas, waving the fragrant smoke out of his face.

“What's a Bedouin?” Maggie asked.

“We are.” Harik laughed. “We Bedouins
⁶⁵
are the last of the nomadic bands of tribesmen who have crisscrossed the deserts for a thousand years and more. We are one with the desert. And we have many uses for camel dung.” The man smiled mischievously. “Sometimes, we even eat it.” Thomas choked on a brown cake he had been chewing. Harik pounded him on the back. “Dear friend, Thomas. Do not worry. There are only honey, dates, and flour in that cake!” Thomas looked with suspicion at the remainder of the cake in his hand, but in the end he kept on eating. Harik clapped his hands in delight.

“Harik,” Hamish X interrupted. “What is this prophecy you spoke about?”

Harik became serious. “In good time, Booted Sheik. In good time. First, tell us how you came to have such a lovely helicopter.”

Hamish X was less than pleased, but he realized he was at the mercy of these strange warriors and had little choice.

And so, under the stars of the Sahara, Hamish X related the whole tale of the
Christmas Is Cancelled
and the success of the children's uprising. As Hamish X spoke, Harik translated his words into Arabic. The tribesmen listened with intense interest to the story, laughing when Hamish X described the flattening of Ironbuttocks's iron buttocks. Maggie took over whenever Hamish X tried to downplay one of his amazing feats of dexterity or courage.

They sat around in the mellow glow of the flickering firelight, sharing the food of the desert nomads. There were dates, dried beef, camel cheese, and pieces of flat-bread smeared with yogourt and butter. They told their whole story up to the point where they landed in the oasis and found the Bedouins waiting for them.

When the story was finished, Harik sat lost in thought for a long time. Finally, he raised his blue eyes from the fire and looked deep into Hamish X's golden ones.

“A tremendous tale, my friends. You are very brave indeed.”

“Thank you, Sheik Harik.” Hamish X pressed his hands together and touched his fingertips to his forehead in the manner he'd seen the Bedouins use. “And thank you for your hospitality. Other than the fact that you shot us out of the sky, we cannot fault your hospitality. Now … we have waited long enough. What is this prophecy you spoke of ?”

Harik looked at Hamish X, his dark features unreadable. After a long moment, he raised his hands to the sky. “The Prophecy of the Booted One! Praise be!” All the Bedouin raised their hands and shouted aloud in their own language. Harik lowered his hands and smiled. “All of our tribe knows the prophecy of the Booted Sheik. It is an ancient tale handed down from generation to generation. According to the tradition of our people, a time will come
when we are sorely oppressed and our livelihood threatened. There will come an enemy too strong for us to battle. Like locusts they will come to devastate our lands and take away all that we need to survive. When our need is most dire, a saviour will come to help us. He will come from the sky and under his boots our enemy will suffer a great defeat. We will be restored to our rightful place. He shall come and he shall wear great boots and he shall trample on the evil ones!” Harik reached up and pulled open his robe, baring his chest. There, over his heart, was a tattoo of a black boot. “We all bear this mark to show our devotion to the prophecy.”

“That's a pretty slim prophecy, if you don't mind me saying,” Hamish X interjected. “I mean, it could mean anyone with boots on. That's a lot of people. And tattoos?” Hamish X shook his head. “Those are quite permanent. You may regret having a boot on your chest one day.”
⁶⁶

Harik's eyes flashed and he shook his head. “No, you are wrong. Everything in the prophecy has come to pass. Our people are oppressed by evil folk! We stand to lose everything! Just when the end seems inevitable and the only future for us is annihilation, you come to us! And you fall from the sky just as the prophecy foretold!” Harik reached out and laid a hand on Hamish X's forearm. “I know what
you are thinking: this is just a foolish superstition. These backward desert folk believe in old tales. I would have agreed only hours ago. You see, I have only just returned from Oxford where I was studying to become a doctor of medicine. I had left my people and thought their ways foolish and out of touch with the modern world. Then came foreign invaders who took the people's lands and drove them away from their traditional migration routes. They took the oases for themselves. I came home to help in the fight, though I thought the cause an impossible one. I didn't truly believe in ancient prophecies until I saw you climb out of that helicopter, but now I believe. More importantly, my people believe. They have hope again. If you would lead us, I know that despite the odds we can prevail. It is fate! It is destiny!”

Hamish X read the desperation in Harik's eyes. He cast his gaze among the other Bedouin sitting still as stones, cross-legged in the sand or on woven mats, their dark eyes shining in the firelight. Once again, he was expected to be the saviour. Once again, he was to fight a battle for people he hardly knew. What about what he wanted and needed? He had to find the Professor and know who and what he was! He looked down at the boots that had yet again brought him so much responsibility and silently cursed them.