Just for the record, we're nearing the end of this story - by my estimate there's only about three (possibly four) chapters left. So hang in there!

Chapter Twelve: The Desert

Nothing stirred but the grains of sand around her fingertips. The sun was rising. Thomas was asleep on the ground, having exhausted himself with terror, hunger and the effort of keeping her quiet. She sat cross-legged on the sand, feeling her body function as usual: beating heart, blinking eyes, expanding and contracting lungs. For reasons she couldn't understand, it was betraying her. All she wanted now was to let death envelop her, so why then did her body insist on prolonging her existence? It did not even allow her the temporary relief of sleep, for despite her fatigue, she could not seem to give herself over to restful darkness.

With indifferent eyes she gazed across the dunes, the empty desert reflecting her own soul: empty and blank, yet with the presence of desert animals darting at the corners of her awareness. Not that she was conscious of this mirror; instead her mind was blankly replaying the events of the past few days. None of it seemed real, especially not whilst she dwelt in this strange netherworld of shifting sand and distant sun. Surely it had been a dream – an odd nightmare born of nerves and grief and worry. Yes…a dream. That was all.

Thomas stirred beside her and hoisted himself up onto his elbows, blinking.

"Djaq?" he asked. "Are you…properly awake?"

She nodded mutely, her eyes still on the horizon. Hazy memories of the past few days flitted through her head: Thomas hoarsely demanding directions from her through the chaos-ridden streets, Thomas dragging her by the hand out into the expanse of the desert, Thomas gently forcing her jaw open so that he could tip water down her throat.

She didn't want him to touch her, but she didn't have the strength to bat him away. So she succumbed to his administrations, letting him complete the work her body had traitorously assumed in keeping her alive. In all that time, he hadn't tried to engage her in any conversation or to waste time with pointless condolences. He'd simply watched her closely, perhaps to make sure she didn't do herself any harm.

But today as he woke, she could see purpose in his movements. She nodded shortly to his question, and watched out the corner of her eye as he gathered together their belongings, stuffing everything into the small knapsack her father had prepared for him. Once finished in his task, he brushed the sand off his pants and looked at her intently.

"Djaq," he told her firmly. "We can't stay here. You have to tell me where we can go to be safe."

She contemplated not answering him, being perfectly content to allow the sands to gradually shift over her until they covered her completely, burying her pain along with her body. But Thomas's restlessness was disturbing her when all she desired now was stillness. He wouldn't go away, that much was certain. He couldn't abandon her without severely jeopardizing his own safety. He would probably drag her, or lift her over his shoulder if it came to it. She blinked slowly, and looked at him properly for the first time since the fire.

"Bassam," she croaked, her voice unused to talking. Slowly the image of the elderly man formed in her mind, his face warm and kindly, his arms spread in a welcoming embrace.

"What?"

"Bassam," she repeated, a little more clearly. "A friend of my…family. We will be safe there. If his home still stands."

Thomas nodded, then hesitantly held out his hand to her. For a few moments she simply looked at it: the pale English hand that had been covered in streaky layers of sweet-smelling dye. Then she took it, and let him pull her to her feet.

They crept back into the city in the early hours of the morning, treading carefully and keeping to the back-alleyways, both keeping their eyes and ears open for any news. It soon became clear that a small army of Saracen soldiers garrisoned in the city had mustered as soon as the Crusaders' presence became obvious, and launched an attack that took the English by as much surprise as they had taken the civilians the night before. Now Safiyah's people roamed the streets like scavenging dogs, searching for any invaders that had managed to escape the curved blades of the scimitars.

It was a cause for celebration; that the city had been won back successfully only a few hours after it had been lost, but Safiyah felt nothing as they passed smouldering ruins and wailing women, witnessing armoured guards stationed at the closed gates of the city and the white-clad, red-crossed figures of Christian soldiers strung up by the neck at what seemed like every corner. She felt Thomas edge closer to her and take a shuddering breath at the sight of children throwing stones at the limp body of one such knight, swaying morbidly from a length of rope tied to the branch of a tree Safiyah had often played under as a child.

She turned her attention away, ignoring the disturbing sensation of heated glee at the sight, and focused on following the route to Bassam's house – one that was no longer as familiar as it had been a few days ago considering many of the landmarks were now blackened piles of rubble. She began to breath more erratically as they neared the aviary, realizing that there was every chance that Bassam was no one, and her careful steps began to hasten into a wild run.

"Djaq!" she heard Thomas call behind her, but she disregarded him as panic flared up in her and she hurtled around the next corner in desperation. She was close now, so close…but was it to sanctuary or to utter desolation? Surely Allah would spare Bassam – sweet, simple Bassam – whose comforting arms she now craved like a lost child. Yet Allah had no qualms about destroying all those she held dear, so why should Bassam be any different? Her love had been no protection at all, and death it seemed had no sense of fairness when it came to choosing its victims.

She skidded to a halt at the last corner, suddenly too terrified to look. Behind her she heard Thomas run up and slow down again to stand, panting, at her side. She turned to him.

"Tell me – a large building, with large windows and a fountain in the courtyard. Is it still standing?"

He obediently stepped out onto the road and turned his eyes in the direction she gestured. For a few heart-stopping moments she waited as he panted, completely out of breath, his eyes fixed on something that was hidden from her. Then he turned back and nodded.

"Yes. It stands."

With a sob of relief she rushed forward to join him, and drank in the sight of Bassam's house; a bastion of safety and peace that still awaited her.

"Come," she said. "Let us go inside."

Bassam was in the front entrance when she opened the door and stepped inside, carefully cleaning out a bird tray like nothing had ever, or could ever, change. He glanced up, his wrinkled face clearing in relief as his eyes swept over her.

"Safiyah!" he choked, and hurried forward with his arms open, just as she'd imagined. But calling up the last reserve of her self-control, she held him at arm's length as he tried to hold her.

"Djaq," she whispered intently, and then turned to usher Thomas inside. "Bassam – this is Khalid. Perhaps you remember him…you helped bring him to my…" (her voice suddenly quavered) "my father's surgery."

Bassam looked over Thomas, lurking nervously in the doorway. With mixed feelings, Safiyah noted utter incomprehension on Bassam's face and realised the name had confused him. Never mind, she'd explain later. Right now, they needed other necessities.

"Can we-"

"Of course you can. I had gone to your house with the rest of the servants, but everything was…I thought you were dead."

His eyes filled with tears, once again he moved to embrace her, and once more she held him back – her resolve was swiftly crumbling, but she couldn't break now, not yet.

Bassam hurried them into the house, calling for food, for water, for clean beds, for medicines and bandages. Servants emerged out of corridors, looking tired and upset, but obediently fetching what was required of them. Safiyah guided Thomas to the guest rooms, telling him that he was to stay there till she fetched him, to not speak at length to any of the servants, to eat and drink and rest. He made a quiet noise of fear as she made to leave, and she knew that his mind was still fixed the sight of his fellow soldiers they had passed on the way here.

"You are safe here," she told him, impatient to be gone, feeling her pain well up beyond her ability to control. Nearly fleeing from the room, long-held tears blurring her vision, she went in search of Bassam and finally gave herself over to her despair, throwing herself into his arms and not caring that the entire household could hear her wails as he quietly told her that her parents' remains had been recovered and laid to rest beside her brother.

Days passed, and although the pain did not cease, a plan for the future was forming in Safiyah's mind. Mere existence and endurance was giving way to ideas and responsibilities. Thomas was one such responsibility, and an eerie calm was holding sway over as her options finally became clear.

She had explained the entire situation to Bassam in the quiet aviary, telling him of Thomas's true identity and false alias, of the need for her present disguise as Djaq, and her decision to get Thomas to Acre and a ship bound for England.

He listened patiently, (though his face gradually dissolved into an expression of pure horror) and when she was done he gaped speechlessly for a few moments.

"No…Safiyah…you cannot do such a thing-"

"I can and I will. I have worked for eight months to keep that boy alive. And then he repaid his debt…even though I did not want him to."

That was not the only reason, for if she was honest with herself, she knew she could barely stand the sight of Thomas. Even the very thought of him made bitterness and anger well up inside her like the fires that had destroyed half her city. She wanted him gone, along with every other Englishman that walked the earth. But what else could she do with him? Hide him in Bassam's house forever, surrounded by enemies? Leave him to take his chances in getting to Acre alone? No. Both options were unthinkable. Thomas was unfinished business, a task that she alone could perform if she was to honour her father and complete what she had started all those months ago when he had first been brought to her on a canvas bier, bleeding from a gaping wound in his side.

"What about Lord Khalid?" Bassam cried. "What will he make of all this? He thinks you died with the rest of your family. As soon as he finds out you're alive, he'll want to take you away from all this. Don't you see, Saffy – you have a future here."

She shook her head. She knew Bassam would bring this up. But Khalid was one half of a choice that she had not yet made – a choice she couldn't make unless she took Thomas to Acre. So she lied.

"Bassam – I must do this thing. Thomas is my responsibility. As soon as I am back, I shall go to Khalid."

He made a few more protestations after that, telling her that it was too dangerous for a woman, that if she went to Khalid he would probably help her in smuggling Thomas to Acre, even drawing on her parents' wishes concerning her future…but Bassam had known her since she was a child, and was well aware that if she meant to do something, she would do it. So he helped her plan instead.

Within a few hours, she felt confident that this time things would go according to plan. As she'd suspected, her avaricious uncle wasn't about to let a little thing like the death of his sister and the destruction of half the city get in the way of his necessary journey to Acre. He had been outside the city when Djaq had died, and was as yet was unaware that his nephew was dead and buried in the small cemetery on the outskirts of the city. It was simple enough to tell him that Djaq desired to join him on the trip to Acre while his niece was deep in mourning within the house. The gates of the city would open for a well-known merchant and the necessary caravan of goods, servants, bodyguards and horses that went with it – a caravan that would also include his nephew's friend Khalid who was going to his mother's house in Acre.

Therefore Safiyah would take the journey to Acre with Thomas, guiding and protecting him from the other Saracens, and leave him in the busy port city with enough money to book passage home. Then once that was done, once she'd completed her obligation to him, she would make her decision.

She told Thomas of her intentions, and all he could do was grasp her hands in silent gratitude, and together they packed their belongings. She went through her father's bag, her fingers brushing against the small knife, the carefully wrapped packets of dried food, and the lens of glass that had caused such confusion in Thomas till she explained its purpose to him. She tied a length of leather cord around the neck of her father's acid bottle – the only thing she had managed to salvage from her home – and hung it around her neck. Then they waited together till the morning, grasping what sleep they could before the riskiest journey of their lives.

Bassam had given her a pigeon as her uncle's motley assortment of travelling companions came to a halt outside the aviary. It was housed in a familiar woven-basket with a strap with which to sling it over her shoulder, and Bassam quietly instructed her to release it with a message once she had completed her purpose in Acre. It would be his signal to let Khalid know she was still alive. She took the gift without words, and then shook his hand solemnly, knowing that her brother had always shied away from hugs.

"I will see you soon," she told him, whilst at the same time wondering if she would ever see him again. Bassam didn't know it, but she was hovering on a precipice between two choices, only one of which included him. And yet this quiet, peaceful place was a third option that she had considered claiming as her own. A part of her wanted to stay in the dream-like world that Bassam inhabited, the world of cool tiled floors and trickling water fountains. Here nothing of consequence ever happened. Here nothing changed – not even a Crusader attack had disrupted the household routine as time quietly ebbed away. Here she could shut herself away from life, letting it drift along outside the windows without her, living only in the flight of pigeons.

But no – that would not be proper tribute to her family. The daughter of Syed would not choose the shadow of a life. She would choose either life or death in their entirety, according to what would be revealed to her in the desert. There she would find her answer – and what it was she was meant to be.

The three of them crept up the stairs, taking turns to dart ahead and check for any wandering guards. Djaq didn't like the gloomy atmosphere, nor the idea that there could be guards stationed in any one of the deep alcoves that lined the dark hallway. And now, as she glanced at Marian's map, a new worry was forming in her mind.

"What if we come across a locked door?" she whispered to Allan as Will took his turn to move ahead and scout out the next corridor.

"No worries," he told her confidently. "I can pick any lock in this place."

From ahead, Will beckoned them forward. "I think the coast is clear," he whispered. "What does the map say?"

Djaq consulted Marian's route, tracing the thin line with her finger for the benefit of the boys leaning over her shoulders. "This way," she said. "Behind that door are the guest quarters. Here, Marian has written 'many guards', so we must be careful. But Khalid's room is not far away."

She hoped they had not noticed the quaver in her voice.

They let her take the lead as she headed down the right-hand corridor, till they came to the heavy oak-wood door marked on the map. Allan reached out to turn the handle and – as she'd feared – found that it was locked. She looked up at him expectantly.

"Yeah, yeah…Will – go guard the passage. I'll take care of this."

Will obediently trotted back to the intersection in the hallway while Allan knelt down, put the bundle of robes on the floor and peered intently at the lock. A little too intently. She was beginning to get suspicious.

"You can open this door, can't you?" she asked.

"Mmm-hmm."

"What are you going to do? Pick the lock with a hair pin?"

His face suddenly brightened with inspiration, and he held up his hand to her as if expecting her to do something.

"What?" she asked.

"Well, give it to me."

"Give you what?"

"The hairpin."

She stared at him incredulously.

"I haven't got a hairpin!"

"Why not? You're a…"

His eyes suddenly flicked up to her cropped head of hair.

"Right. Well, why should I have one?"

"You told me you could pick any lock in this place. I had assumed you already had one."

They glared at each other for a moment, but Djaq was appalled to feel the corners of her mouth twitching. She should be furious – so why then was she fighting the urge to laugh?

At that moment Will returned. "What's taking so long?"

"We don't have a hairpin," Allan told him.

"We can't get through this door," Djaq clarified, noting Will's baffled face.

He gestured them aside and peered at the door closely, running his hands over the surface of the wood and then turning his attention to its edge. A tiny smile crossed his face as he drew the small axe from its holster and gave the pins inside the hinges a few small taps. Once loosened, it was only a small matter of sliding them out of the hinges and quietly pulling the door away from its frame. He beamed under Djaq's admiring glance (whilst simultaneously ignoring Allan's scowl) as they slipped through the gap between door and wall.

Consulting the map one last time, Djaq took a deep breath at the sight of a row of doorways stretching down the corridor. According to Marian's instructions, Khalid's room was around the next corner, in the room beyond the fifth door down.

His axe still in hand, Will took the lead again. Djaq was close behind, her heart hammering in her chest, whilst Allan lagged behind to watch their backs. Now that she was nearly at her destination, a thousand thoughts were rushing through her mind. How would he react? What exactly was she going to say? Would she be strong enough to follow through on her intentions? By Allah – what if he wasn't even there?

She was so distracted with worry that she nearly gave a shriek of fright when an armoured guard stepped out in front of Will, causing him to ground to a halt, and her to bump into him from behind.

"Oy – what are you two doing here?" the hulking man rasped threatening, the eyes beneath his helmet moving between the two of them as though choosing which one to skewer with his sword first.

Will opened and closed his mouth helplessly, whilst Djaq's delayed reactions left her fumbling for her sword.

"Uh, we're…we're…" Will managed to stutter.

The guard opened his mouth to bellow, but before any words could escape, another voice cut through the tension.

"Hey – why have you two stopped?"

Allan marched up from behind and glared at them impatiently before turning to the guard.

"Did you tell them to stop?" he demanded.

"Er – yes. You lot have got no business up here, and-"

Allan cut him off with a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Oh don't we? I'll have you know that we have important information about the runaway Saracen women that needs to be delivered to Kh…Ka…to the Saracen Lord straight away. We were let in at the gate, it's all been arranged. Guy of Gisbourne himself sent us up here."

"I…are you-"

The guard was interrupted by another volley of words pouring from Allan's mouth.

"Look 'ere, this young fella is the man's own servant! He knows where the woman is, but we don't have much time if we want to catch her!"

Allan pushed Djaq forward, who responded by launching her own torrent of frantic words at the guard – all Arabic gibberish to his ignorant ears.

"Well, I suppose-"

"I hope Lord What's-his-Face isn't in one of his black moods today. He won't be happy to know that you've held up his search. Have you ever seen an angry Saracen? Count yerself lucky if you haven't."

The guard continued to gape, his hand flitting between his waist and his sword hilt uncertainly.

'Ere, you want to make yerself useful? Take these clothes down to the laundry. They're the sheriff's own pyjamas. I'm sure you'd get a few extra coins for a job well done."

He thrust the pile of robes into the guard's arms, forcing him to take his hand away from his sword. The guard wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"They stink."

"So does the sheriff. Go! Hurry!" Allan barked, and the guard – well used to taking orders from those who seemed to know what they were doing, and not questioning the improbable fact that someone like Allan would be wandering the castle with the sheriff's pyjamas – obeyed without another word.

Allan watched him go, and then turned to the others with a cheery smile, gesturing to the clear passage ahead.

"Shall we?"

The trembling started as they approached the doorway, her breath hitching in her throat. Was she ready for this? It wasn't too late to head back, to make for the forest and hide away till the danger had passed.

"Do you want us to come inside with you?"

Will's voice broke through her anxiety, and she took a moment to look at the faces of the men next to her: Will's filled with concern, Allan's with curiosity. She took a deep breath, knowing that it would be wrong to back out now – not after all they'd done to get her this far.

"No. I shall be fine. If he is not there, I will wait for him. You two should leave. I can find my own way out."

Allan shook his head.

"No, we'll wait for you," he said, and she nodded as the two of them drew back into one of the shadowy alcoves lining the walls. Then turning back to the door she gently leaned against it, pressing her ear to the wooden surface.

She could hear the sounds of movement within. Taking one last deep breath, she unfastened the latch, and let herself in.

I'm cruel, aren't I. But I promise that in the next chapter all shall be revealed. Well, almost everything. At the very least, you'll find out what happened to Thomas.