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cushions that hemmed the room, and Nayir accepted with relief.
    He dared a glance at Othman. He was the only brother wearing trousers—the others wore robes—but he looked no more formal; in fact, his shirt was wrinkled and one sleeve was rolled up. Normally he did his best to look and act like his brothers. He was an adopted son, and perhaps inclined to prove that he belonged, or at least to prevent anyone from noticing his difference. He was taller than the others, thinner too, and his large gray eyes were certainly a rarity among the brown-eyed Shrawis. But in his sitting-room behavior he was an impeccable Shrawi—cool, reserved, quietly pious.
    Once water had been served, Nayir felt the familiar gloom of etiquette descend. He knew his place here. He was the desert guide, the outsider whose presence imposed the burden of noblesse oblige on the family's sons. Nayir glanced at Othman, his only ally. Othman looked sallow and tired, but he met Nayir's eye with a look that seemed to say,
We have much to discuss.
    Nayir had a million questions for him, but he wouldn't ask them
in front of the others. He wondered especially what would happen with Othman's wedding. He was supposed to be married next month. Had they decided to postpone?
    Politely, Nayir inquired about Othman's father, Abu Tahsin, who had undergone heart surgery a week ago—some said because of his daughter's flight—and was politely informed that Father would be home by next week, Allah willing.
    Abu Tahsin's attack had taken everyone by surprise. In all the years Nayir had known him, he'd seemed as healthy as a man half his age. He worked tirelessly for his charities and in his spare time raced camels, motorcycles, and all-terrain vehicles. His interest in his sons never flagged, and he took them wherever he went. By the time they were men, they knew their world well and were just as easy in the palaces of Riyadh as they were in scuba gear at the bottom of the sea. It was because of Abu Tahsin that the family made twice-yearly excursions to the desert.
    Tahsin turned to Nayir. "Brother, thank you for coming. What you've done for Nouf puts us in your debt. I hope you'll give us the chance to return the favor one day."
    Nayir cleared his throat. "May the day never come."
    "Indeed," Tahsin said. Whenever Nayir sat with the brothers, Tahsin did the talking. He was the oldest, and perhaps used to taking charge of things, but in appearance and manner he came across as an oddly self-effacing man. He never looked Nayir in the eye but kept his gaze down. He spoke clearly but softly, and his face reminded Nayir of prey, that delicate mouth unused to vicious acts, the eyes widely spaced to keep watch for danger. Nayir went back and forth between thinking that Tahsin was humble and thinking that it was all an act, because when Tahsin wanted a certain result, he got it.
    "I regret the outcome of my search," Nayir said. Tahsin clucked his tongue, but Nayir pushed on. "I had hoped to find her."
    "We rest assured of your intentions!" Tahsin exclaimed.
    Nayir weighed his next words carefully. "I had also hoped to satisfy your curiosity about why she left." He glanced at his company and saw that their faces were impenetrable masks. Only Othman showed discomfort, but he didn't meet Nayir's eye.
    "We will never understand why she ran away," said Tahsin, settling his bulk deeper into the cushion's folds. "A girl like my sister, so naive and pristine, so untouched by the world. Do you know, I never saw her cry? Or frown? Or even turn down her lips? She was bliss in a girl's body, as virtuous as her mother,
ism'allah,
my Nouf. It's not real. Not even now, with her body as evidence."
    "Yes," Fahad added, his voice whiskery and shy. Everyone turned to him, surprised that he'd spoken. "We thought she'd been kidnapped. We thought she'd never leave on her own. But then it became obvious when we discovered the camel ... gone. She'd run away."
    "There was never a clue," Tahsin continued.