Remi, grateful the injuries weren’t worse, took the first watch.
As night fell, Amal suggested the girls try to get some sleep, but they were too keyed up to rest. After a while, Jol said, “Mrs. Fargo, you promised to tell us about your treasure hunting.”
Remi looked back, just able to make her out in the dim light. “Tomorrow maybe.”
Jol turned to Amal. “Have you ever found any treasure?”
“Once. When I was a little girl.”
The girls clasped their hands together, chorusing, “Tell us. Tell us.”
“It happened back when I spent the hot summers at my grandmother’s home.”
“Where did she live?” Maryam asked.
“Near Bulla Regia. In the heart of Tunisia.”
“Where’s that?” Nasha asked.
“Tunisia? Way up north at the very top of Africa. It’s much hotter there than here in the mountains. Hot like the desert, but my grandmother’s house was shaded by a large olive grove that’s been there for hundreds of years.”
“Hundreds?” Tambara said.
“Many hundreds,” Amal said. “And in that house was the lid of an old charcoal burner that had a Sator Square palindrome engraved into the metal.”
“What’s a palindrome?” Nasha asked.
“Words or phrases that can be read forward or backward. Madam is a one-word palindrome. The Sator Square is a five-word palindrome—sator, arepo, tenet, opera, rotas. It’s supposed to be magical.”
“Why?”
Tambara put her finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
“It’s a good question,” Amal said. “In this case, I think whoever was using it wanted the people to think it was magic. When the charcoal burner was lit, it would shine the words onto the wall or ceiling of a very dark room, probably to make people think something very mystical was going on. Anyway, when my grandmother was a girl, her grandmother used to tell her bedtime stories of the lost treasure of the last Vandal King. His treasure was hidden somewhere in our olive grove.” The girls leaned forward as she lowered her voice. “The day my grandmother found that Sator Square, ten people had passed it by, not one of them seeing it right there in front of them.”
“Why didn’t they see it?” Maryam asked.
“Because the treasure,” she said, looking at each of them in turn, “is protected by a curse. If the wrong person takes it, they or someone they love will die a horrible death.”
“Why didn’t your grandmother die?”
“Because the ancient oracles were charged with watching over the missing treasure,” she said, lowering her voice, “until one who is of royal blood could return it to its rightful place.”
The girls’ eyes widened as she imparted this bit of news, Nasha asking, “Are you an oracle, too?”
Amal smiled. “I’m not sure they were ever real to begin with. My mother told me that our overly creative storytelling comes from our oracle blood.”
Nasha crossed her arms. “So you do believe in oracles?”
Amal laughed softly. “Intuition, yes. The rest of that stuff? Not so much.”
“Did you ever find anything?” she asked.
“No. And though I was hoping I’d discover the lost treasure from the last Vandal King, the only thing I ever found were bits of potsherds. Nothing so wonderful as the piece my grandmother unearthed, but it was enough to feed my love of archeology.”
“I want to be an archeologist,” Maryam said. “Maybe I can find treasure.”
“Me, too,” Tambara said, Jol in agreement.
Zara shook her head. “I want to teach.”
The four girls turned toward Nasha, who gave a slight shrug, saying, “I don’t know what I want to do yet.”
Tambara’s smile held a hint of awe. “You’re good at sneaking around. You could be a spy.”
“She can’t be anything,” Zara said, “unless she goes to school.”
“I am going to school,” Nasha said, turning a determined gaze toward Remi. “Aren’t I?”
“Everyone is going to school,” Remi said, wondering if they’d have a school to return to. “Time to get some rest. We have a long walk ahead of us in the morning.”
The girls settled down, then slept. Remi sat down next to Amal, whispering, “You did a nice job distracting them.”
“They’re so brave. And that one,” she said, looking at Nasha. “Amazing. I hope you’re able to find out where she’s from and get her into the school.”
“I hope so, too,” Remi said with a calmness she didn’t feel. Watching the growing water running across the front of their shelter, what she really hoped was that the ledge they’d used to get here would still be there come morning.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Hope is a good thing and good things never die.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Rain pounded on the roof of the school’s office, then poured across the overfilled gutters like a waterfall, flooding the ground in front of the door. Sam looked out the window at the soldiers standing beneath the porch, refusing to come into the building even though Sam offered it.
He turned back inside where Okoro, Pete, and Lazlo sat, studying the topographical map of Gashaka Gumti and the surrounding area. Pete gave a tired sigh. “I don’t see any other direction they would’ve taken.”
“I agree,” Okoro said. “Northeasterly along that creek. Which worries me.”
“Why?” Wendy asked.
“The river.” He traced his finger from the path he and Sam had taken, up toward the mountains. “If they followed as we believe, along this stream, they’ll come out here. Their only choice is through this valley where we saw the Fulani herdsmen. That or up into the mountains.”
Pete studied the map a moment. “Couldn’t they go around?”
“They could,” Okoro said. “But they’d have to cross the river. In this weather, that wouldn’t be advisable. Flooding.”
“Remi,” Sam said, “would know that.”
Wendy leaned into Pete. “But if they were being chased, she’d take the risk.”
“She would,” Sam said. Which made the search for them even harder. Remi would do whatever it took to keep those girls safe, even if it defied logic. “Either way, she’d know we’d be sending out a search party. She’s going to head to where they can be seen.” He walked back to the window, looking out at the front of the school in the growing dark, where, beyond the gate, he could just make out the abandoned SUV that sat in the middle of the muddy road. “Has Rube gotten back to us with who that vehicle belongs to?”