The Glyph of Truth

On the Banks of the Tark

They set out again before sunrise, leaving the protection of the sandstone canyon to trudge across the rocky desert. Valdez and Bowfinger remained in good spirits, but Harcourt and Dame Ludmilla became ever more dejected after two days of marching through the scorching heat, their skin red and peeling.

Again, they rested in the shadow of some tall rocks over midday, then continued. Here and there, spiny plants cropped up in sheltered places, and Harcourt saw scorpions and once even a small lizard scuttle across the ground.

"I feel it too now," Valdez declared.

Presently, they reached an escarpment and looked out across a wide river valley. Two or three leagues away, the muddy Tark wound its way through the centre of the valley, bordered by vibrant greens.

"At last," Dame Ludmilla sobbed, "I really thought we were all going to die in the desert." In an uncharacteristic show of emotions, she hugged Valdez, Bowfinger and Harcourt in turn.

Using the monocular, Harcourt surveyed the valley, looking out for any signs of habitation, and an easy approach. He did not have to search long to discover fields and irrigation ditches near the river, a group of adobe houses and a few people wearing long white dresses going about their business. He handed the monocular to Bowfinger and pointed in the general direction of the houses.

They turned in a northernly direction and walked along the top of the escarpment until they found an easy descent. With every step down into the valley, the vegetation grew more lush and varied. Soon, they were tramping through a savannah dotted with acacias and palm trees, and populated by goats and antelopes. Colourful birds chirped and chattered, darting from tree to tree in search of food or a mate.

It was evening before they reached a village and were discovered by a small naked child that ran away screaming at their sight. Suspicious adults armed with clubs and flails soon appeared to investigate. The locals had olive skin and blue eyes, for the most part, and both men, women and older children dressed in a similar manner. They wore ankle-length dresses made of a coarse, undyed fabric, leather sandals and wide-brimmed hats. Some of them showed off jewellery made of uncut blue stones strung together with gold and silver wire.

The younger children wore loin cloths, or nothing at all.

They were Benari, inhabitants of the heartlands of Hama, whose ancestors had built the mightiest empire of the ancient world. Some of them spoke the same trade language Harcourt and Bowfinger had learned in St. Robart.

The village chief turned out to be an attractive woman no older than thirty, with delicate interlacing lines tattooed on her chin and temples. She eyed them with suspicion, particularly Dame Ludmilla. However, after some haggling, she agreed to put them up for the night and take them to Hama by boat in the morning, in exchange for their monocular and compass.

"I think they fear you on account of your black dress," Harcourt told Dame Ludmilla, "As far as I remember, they consider black clothing to be an ill omen or something like that."

"Then let's hope they don't murder us all in our sleep," she replied.

The village prepared a grand feast of roasted goat, fish, dates and some gritty gruel nobody could identify. All the villages came to look at the strangers, to touch their hair and feel their clothes, and prod them to make sure they were real. They suffered these indignities with as much grace as they could muster.

Harcourt assumed that few strangers came to visit the village, although many passed by on the river. Surely, they had to be used to the sight of people from the Home Countries by now. Harcourt attempted some basic conversation, but did not get far. His knowledge of the trade language was sufficient for haggling, but not much else.