And then we had bit of luck. About bloody time. A harassed-looking woman, heavily pregnant, with a screaming child and two other infants clinging to her skirts, emerged from the edge of the crowd. She was desperately trying to hush the toddler whose cries were bouncing off the buildings. She looked hot and embarrassed, turning her head from side to side, looking for something or someone. It didn’t matter. She was struggling with the kicking kid and falling over the other two under her feet. I waved as if I knew her, and before she had a chance to ask who the hell I thought I was, I’d taken the kids’ hands and smiled again. Relieved of part of her burden, she nodded towards an alleyway and heaved the infant higher on her hip. We set off, slowly and openly. And very noisily. I smiled down at the kids, which probably frightened them both to death. Both were naked, as was the custom for small children at the time, and extraordinarily sticky. Their little faces were smeared with honey and snot, bless them. The infant was bellowing like an enraged bull by this time. God knows what was the matter with him. People kept turning to look at us. I crossed my fingers.
The hot sun baked the stones around us. Leon followed silently behind us, protecting our rear, but I still felt horribly exposed as we slowly walked away from the ceremony and whatever was going on behind us.
Finally, she reached a shady doorway, dragged aside a dusty curtain, and snatched her kids back. She could have them with my goodwill – one of them was nearly glued to me – and disappeared inside without a backwards glance.
I rubbed both hands down my tunic. Nope. That did no good at all, but we were out. We’d had a narrow escape and when Leon said, ‘Back to the pod, I think,’ I didn’t argue.
The streets were deserted. This was good, in that it enabled us to make good speed, and bad, because we were virtually the only people around and therefore, horribly conspicuous.
We slunk from one shadowed doorway to the next. Leon led the way. I followed on behind and watched our backs.
How the hell did they keep finding us? Think about that later. Always deal with the now. Escape first. Questions later.
The pod was visible. Suppose they’d found it. But no – think a minute. If they’d found the pod then they wouldn’t have to waste time chasing us and risking the attention of the Medjay. They could just sit in the shade and wait for us to turn up, as we were bound to do eventually. Surely, the fact they were chasing us through the streets meant they hadn’t found the pod. Unless, of course, they were doing both. Herding us back through the streets to be caught just as we thought we’d made it. I thrust that thought away. Get back safely and then deal with whatever problem presented itself.
Chance would be a fine thing.
Chapter Four
We could just make out the pod still snuggled in its little grove of palm trees. The donkey was facing the other way, but otherwise, everything was exactly as before. We only had to trace a path through the latticework of fields, navigate several irrigation ditches, and we were home, but not necessarily dry. Egypt at this time of year is extremely soggy.
‘We’ll circle around,’ said Leon. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
I thought he was being over-cautious and said so. ‘Besides, the Medjay will be giving them something else to think about.’
‘We can’t afford to take any chances,’ he said. ‘We’re the fugitives here. To remain free, we have to be lucky every time. To capture us, they only have to be lucky once.’
Well, since he put it like that …
We zig-zagged our way towards the pod, skirting the big rocks that acted as boundary markers and hopping over the smaller irrigation channels. The bigger ones had rough wooden planks laid across them at irregular intervals.
We nearly made it. I was just coming to believe the Time Police were all still at the temple when, suddenly, they were right in front of us, rising up out of the empty landscape, only about a hundred yards away. Whether deliberately or not, they were between us and the pod. But just two of them. A rear guard, maybe.
‘Run,’ said Leon, and just for once, I did exactly as I was told.
I took off around an enormous fig tree so ancient that it had pupped any number of times and now formed a small plantation all on its own. I pushed through whippy sticks and tripped over roots, emerging near a small wooden structure, purpose unknown.
The important thing was to keep something between them and us. And to deprive them of a clear shot. And to get a long way off as well. And to keep them away from the pod. There’s an art to running for your life, you know. You don’t just take off and hope for the best.
I hurtled out from behind the shed, and finding a nice, clear patch of dryish land ahead of me, tucked in my elbows, tried to ignore the pain in my chest, and went for it. Only to find myself confronted by The Great Drain. One of the main irrigation channels that led directly from the Nile to a series of the big reservoirs scattered around. They carried a lot of water, they were wide, and they were deep.
I turned and ran along the bank, desperately searching for some cover. We weren’t far from the river itself and maybe there would be a boat … anything … I could hear Leon pounding along behind me.
A stand of dead, unharvested corn to my right offered some possibilities, but as I turned towards it, the same two black-clad figures stepped out from between the dry brown stalks, weapons raised. Still between me and the pod.
I skidded to a halt and desperately searched for a way out, but there was nowhere to go. That didn’t stop me. I wasn’t going to give up. They were going to have to come and get me. Veering off away from the canal, I headed directly towards the river. Maybe we could lose ourselves in the papyrus beds.