Stormdragons

Chapter 14

Spud came out of the Sheik's tent smelling of tobacco and looking distinctly green. The Sheik's arm was draped around his shoulders.

'So, it is agreed. Mehmed The Scholar will go with you as your leader and your guard. Six out of every ten dinars that you earn, he will send to me. To be paid every week. In return I will provide you with a cart and a donkey, some provisions and the things you need for your show.'

Spud nodded, too ill to speak.

'Good,' said the Sheik.

He pulled Spud towards him until they were so close that his hooked nose brushed the side of Spud' head.

'But remember, Fat-boy, cheat me out of so much as a penny and I will have you torn apart by wild horses. Is that understood?'

'Absolutely, O Ruthless One with Lungs of Steel,' said Spud with a nervous smile.

The Sheik withdrew his arm and slapped Spud unnecessarily hard on the back.

'Right, now I am bored. Guard, saddle my horse and call for my sons! I am going out into the desert to hunt something and kill it to death.'

As the Sheik turned away, Spud breathed a big sigh of relief. He re-joined Clare and Mac.

'You look terrible,' said Clare.

'I feel terrible,' Spud replied.

He sat down on the ground and put his head between his hands.

In time an old man appeared leading a donkey and a cart lined with straw. Bowing to the three strangers, he lifted the bicycles into the cart, placing them carefully among the objects that were already there. He gestured to the saddlebags on the donkey and the jars in the cart.

'There are provisions for four days but no money,' he said.

Clare thanked him.

The old man nodded.

'I wish I could come with you and learn how to ride the Iron Ponies, but I am old and have responsibilities.'

'A pity,' said Clare kindly. 'We would have enjoyed your company.'

The old man looked pleased at the compliment and smiled a toothless smile.

'Mehmed, The Singing Orphan, will be with you soon,' he said. 'Then you can be on your way and may good fortune go with you.'

When the old man had gone, Clare inspected the cart and the donkey. They both seemed well used but still in good condition. She rubbed the donkey's nose and spoke to it gently.

'What I don't understand is how come everyone around here speaks English,' said Mac. 'What sort of country is it anyway?'

'We're in North Africa, mate. Egypt or Tunisia,' said Spud, regaining some of his composure. 'Somewhere that was once ruled by the British.'

Clare thought again about Uncle Toby and the book illustration. Was now the time to tell the boys what she really thought? That they weren't in North Africa at all but trapped in a completely different world, The World of The Arabian Nights. Knowing it would only add to their confusion, Clare kept her thoughts to herself. But, if her suspicions were correct, that meant there was someone else in the world she knew. Uncle Toby was here, a crew member on Sinbad's ship.

A polite cough interrupted her thoughts. Looking up she saw a slim young man astride a fine grey horse. He wore dark flowing robes and the traditional Arab headdress, a cloth held in place by a square of black braid. Clare was struck by the intelligent, curious look in his brown eyes. And by the fact that he was clean shaven whereas nearly every other adult man she'd seen had grown a beard.