Read Online The Age of Ra by James Lovegrove - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Lovegrove
Tags: Science-Fiction
Ads: Link
jauntiness and haughtiness combined, a perfect blend of opposites. The men scurried when she spoke. They feared her but, more than that, they were besotted with her.
David could see why. It was the same reason he liked watching her so much. Zafirah had long sleek black hair, a figure made for the tight khaki shirts and chinos she liked to wear, and squarish features which offset one another nicely, the straight nose complementing the full lips, the full lips complementing the firm chin, and so on. Above all she had those eyes, the green starring the brown of their irises, jade on topaz. She didn't surround them thickly with kohl, as all the fashionable women in England did. She left them bare, unframed, open, and their paleness contrasted hauntingly with the dark tawniness of her complexion.
No, he didn't feel like her captive. Not in the conventional sense.
But in another sense he did.
She caught him one afternoon studying the strongboxes which the Liberators had stolen from the Bedouin. It was five days since the raid on the camp, and the strongboxes hadn't yet been broached. They were stacked in the back of one of the cars, padlocks still in place.
''Curious?''
David jumped. He wasn't a nervy sort but she could move stealthily, could Zafirah.
''You lost men to get hold of these,'' he said. ''Whatever's in them is clearly worth a great deal. I hope it is, at any rate.''
She pointed to the markings. ''Do you not read hieroglyph? Or did you stare out of the window all the time you were supposed to be learning it at school?''
''Mine's pretty rusty. I see the ideograms for 'god' and 'servant' joined together, meaning 'priest', so I'm assuming there's something ba -blessed inside. But as for the rest of it... Those are the names of the gods, aren't they? And the sign of a necklace can stand for any number of things - strength, happiness, gold. I can't put it all together in a way that makes sense.''
''It's a puzzle for you, then. A challenge. You strike me as a man who likes challenges.''
You're a challenge and I like you, David thought.
Then, to his shock, he realised he had actually said it out loud.
Zafirah blinked slowly, a deprivation of treasures.
''I don't think that's...'' she began.
''Appropriate? Relevant? Proper? You're right, you're so right, absolutely. I didn't say it. It never happened.''
Stupid, stupid, stupid...
David hated how easily embarrassed he could sometimes be. He knew he didn't lack courage, but in certain awkward situations he would always retreat in a hurry, taking refuge behind a barricade of diffidence or dry humour. Better to do that than press on with an attack that might leave him exposed, vulnerable.
''Well,'' said Zafirah. ''Yes, then. Good.''
To her relief, and David's, one of her men shouted for her attention.
''I must go,'' she said, turning away. ''Something about the weather.''
She paused, then turned back.
''You ran into that Bedouin camp, under heavy fire, to save people,'' she said. ''People who'd been going to sell you to the Nephthysians.''
''Yes. And?''
''Nothing. But as we're talking about challenges - why?''
''Seemed like the right thing to do. Seemed worth it.''
She gazed at him. ''Most challenges are,'' she said finally, and walked away.
''Something about the weather'' turned out to be a sandstorm blowing in from the east. But rather than batten down the hatches and stay put, the Liberators leapt into their cars and hared off in convoy.
The sky dimmed in an eerie twilight, the air browning as though burnt. David peeked through the rear flap of the ZT's awning to see a wall of dust approaching, like hills on the move. It filled the horizon, rising higher as it swept closer. It was coming fast, faster than the cars could go, and it gave off a monstrous moan, which David could hear even above the off-roader's roar.
The sandstorm engulfed the tail end of the convoy. One after another, vehicles were swallowed into its billowing mass, disappearing from
David could see why. It was the same reason he liked watching her so much. Zafirah had long sleek black hair, a figure made for the tight khaki shirts and chinos she liked to wear, and squarish features which offset one another nicely, the straight nose complementing the full lips, the full lips complementing the firm chin, and so on. Above all she had those eyes, the green starring the brown of their irises, jade on topaz. She didn't surround them thickly with kohl, as all the fashionable women in England did. She left them bare, unframed, open, and their paleness contrasted hauntingly with the dark tawniness of her complexion.
No, he didn't feel like her captive. Not in the conventional sense.
But in another sense he did.
She caught him one afternoon studying the strongboxes which the Liberators had stolen from the Bedouin. It was five days since the raid on the camp, and the strongboxes hadn't yet been broached. They were stacked in the back of one of the cars, padlocks still in place.
''Curious?''
David jumped. He wasn't a nervy sort but she could move stealthily, could Zafirah.
''You lost men to get hold of these,'' he said. ''Whatever's in them is clearly worth a great deal. I hope it is, at any rate.''
She pointed to the markings. ''Do you not read hieroglyph? Or did you stare out of the window all the time you were supposed to be learning it at school?''
''Mine's pretty rusty. I see the ideograms for 'god' and 'servant' joined together, meaning 'priest', so I'm assuming there's something ba -blessed inside. But as for the rest of it... Those are the names of the gods, aren't they? And the sign of a necklace can stand for any number of things - strength, happiness, gold. I can't put it all together in a way that makes sense.''
''It's a puzzle for you, then. A challenge. You strike me as a man who likes challenges.''
You're a challenge and I like you, David thought.
Then, to his shock, he realised he had actually said it out loud.
Zafirah blinked slowly, a deprivation of treasures.
''I don't think that's...'' she began.
''Appropriate? Relevant? Proper? You're right, you're so right, absolutely. I didn't say it. It never happened.''
Stupid, stupid, stupid...
David hated how easily embarrassed he could sometimes be. He knew he didn't lack courage, but in certain awkward situations he would always retreat in a hurry, taking refuge behind a barricade of diffidence or dry humour. Better to do that than press on with an attack that might leave him exposed, vulnerable.
''Well,'' said Zafirah. ''Yes, then. Good.''
To her relief, and David's, one of her men shouted for her attention.
''I must go,'' she said, turning away. ''Something about the weather.''
She paused, then turned back.
''You ran into that Bedouin camp, under heavy fire, to save people,'' she said. ''People who'd been going to sell you to the Nephthysians.''
''Yes. And?''
''Nothing. But as we're talking about challenges - why?''
''Seemed like the right thing to do. Seemed worth it.''
She gazed at him. ''Most challenges are,'' she said finally, and walked away.
''Something about the weather'' turned out to be a sandstorm blowing in from the east. But rather than batten down the hatches and stay put, the Liberators leapt into their cars and hared off in convoy.
The sky dimmed in an eerie twilight, the air browning as though burnt. David peeked through the rear flap of the ZT's awning to see a wall of dust approaching, like hills on the move. It filled the horizon, rising higher as it swept closer. It was coming fast, faster than the cars could go, and it gave off a monstrous moan, which David could hear even above the off-roader's roar.
The sandstorm engulfed the tail end of the convoy. One after another, vehicles were swallowed into its billowing mass, disappearing from
Similar Books
