Desert Barbarian

She smiled. 'I suppose I can hardly refuse. Jeremy would never forgive me.'

'Neither would I,' Peter assured her.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN Jess returned from her day out in the marshes she was hot and grimy, her feet plastered with black mud, her shirt sticking to her back after the heat of the day. She paused, to say hallo, before going to the bathroom to take a quick bath. Jeremy giggled at the sight of her. 'You're dirty, Mummy!'

'Filthy,' she agreed cheerfully. Under her arm she car­ried a bulging portfolio. 'But I've done a lot of work today. I saw a tiger down by the water hole, a splendid brute with enormous muscles, in fine condition. He stayed there for half an hour very obligingly and I was able to make several good sketches of him.'

'Jess, we've had an invitation,' Marie informed her.

Jeremy chimed in excitedly. 'Yes, we're going to have potatoes for supper tonight.'

Jess laughed. 'Potatoes?' Her brows rose. 'That sounds very unlikely, darling.'

'We are, aren't we?' he claimed indignantly, giving Marie a look of appeal.

'Yes,' she agreed. She looked at Jess and smiled. 'A young man called today and invited us all to supper. He offered us potatoes and sausages—Jeremy couldn't be­lieve his ears. I'm afraid I could hardly turn him down once Jeremy had heard that.'

Jess laughed again. 'Who was this conjuror?'

'An English archaeologist,' Marie told her. 'Peter Davidson. He was rather nice.'

'I see,' said Jess with amusement. 'Well, in that case, I suppose you'd better go to your orgy, the pair of you.'

'Oh, you must come too,' Marie urged.

Jess shook her head. 'I'm too tired. I'll send my apolo­gies—I want to go to bed early.'

'Mummy, when can I come and see your house on stilts?' begged Jeremy. 'I want to watch tigers and eleph­ants.'

'Why not tomorrow?' she replied easily. 'You and Marie can both come. But you'll have to be very quiet while I'm working, Jeremy, you know that.'

'Promise!' he breathed ecstatically.

Jess laughed and went on to have her bath while Rahaib drove Marie and Jeremy along the dusty roads to the bungalows near the temple clearing where the Eng­lish archaeological party were living.

They were passing through wilder country than they had ever seen before. The houses out here were smaller, thatched with dried grass, their mud walls baked hard by the sun. Thin cattle with great bells around their necks roamed the fields. The jungle was never far away, gloomy with shade, hung with creepers which festooned the struggling trees like Christmas chains. Jungle fowl with red combs and orange necks flew up squawking as they drove past, then settled again to scratch in the leafy dust. Strange red flowers made patches of brightness in the green of the jungle. Among the leafy branches sat parakeets of many colours, mocking them raucously, their round bright eyes following the car out of sight.

'It's rather creepy in there, isn't it?' Jeremy whispered, his small fingers clutching at Marie's hand.

'I'm afraid it is,' she agreed gently. 'But we would be quite safe with Rahaib to protect us.'

Rahaib turned his huge head to grin at Jeremy, his teeth white except for several sheathed in glittering gold. His fierce moustaches bristled proudly. 'I have shot many tigers,' he told Jeremy. 'No need to be afraid while I am there.'

Jeremy looked at him thoughtfully. 'You're very strong, aren't you, Rahaib?'

Rahaib laughed. 'Very strong,' he agreed.

They came to a clearing in the jungle where the ornately carved cupolas of temples reared like mirages against the encroaching green gloom. Nearby stood a wire fence surrounding several roughly constructed bun­galows. On the verandah of one stood Peter Davidson, a glass in his hand as he waved to them.

Rahaib followed them on to the verandah and stood impassively while Peter greeted them, then, when they were led into the house, sat down on the steps of the verandah and stared out into the swiftly falling dusk.

'My friends wanted to get in on the act,' Peter said cheerfully, pouring Jeremy a glass of lemonade and a glass of lime laced slightly with gin for Marie, 'but I told them to clear off. This is my party, I said. Find your own visitors.' He glanced at the darkening windows. 'I expect they're watching us sulkily right now.'

'Oh, what a shame,' said Marie, almost laughing. 'How many of you are there?'

'Four of us,' he told her. 'Our leader is Grant Wil­liams, a choleric Welshman of advancing years. Then there's Duffy, who's Irish and addicted to poker, Saints-bury, who's of rather monkish habits, never drinking or having any fun—and me.' He grinned at her. 'I'm the pick of the bunch, believe me. I didn't want you to meet the others yet in case they frightened you off. En masse they can be pretty horrifying.'