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one alert and scowling. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the animals.
    â€œTheir weapons are drawn, but not raised,” Homer said, his voice still even.
    Pandy noticed the scimitars flashing in the sunlight, almost as bright as the single giant rubies studding each man’s turban.
    Two men stopped their mounts only a meter away from Homer and Pandy, the other two circled behind.
    â€œYeah, right,” thought Pandy, “as if we could escape.”
    â€œYour names?” said the man on horseback to Homer.
    â€œI am Homer of Crisa. This is Pandora of Athens. We have a friend with us who is very sick.”
    â€œThey are but children,” said another man to the horse rider. “They are harmless, certainly.”
    â€œThey are old enough to cause trouble,” replied the man on the horse, clearly the one in charge. “They might be spies. They might be a decoy. Who knows what tricks the Physician might use?”
    â€œBut,” said one of the men behind Pandy, “we would never have found them if not for losing our way in the storm. As guards, we would not have been sent to scout. We should not have seen them.”
    â€œThey might have been on their way to us. To free the Physician,” said the man in charge. “You say someone is sick?”
    â€œVery sick,” answered Homer, pointing to Iole. “She’s there.”
    â€œShe might be dying!” Pandy cried.
    One of the men on camels dismounted and knelt over Iole.
    â€œThey do not lie,” he said, looking up.
    â€œHow convenient,” said the horse rider. “When we have the Physician with us.”
    â€œThis child’s illness is not a ruse,” said the man, feeling Iole’s forehead. “Her fever is great. She does not have much longer.”
    â€œHow would you want your child treated in a foreign land?” another man asked quietly of the one in charge.
    â€œIs not the generosity and hospitality of Persia known everywhere, even if we are, at present, stuck in this terrible Arabian desert?” questioned a third. “As representatives of that gracious country, are we to let these children die in such a place?”
    The man spun his horse around in a circle, thinking a long moment.
    â€œPlease!” Pandy cried out at last, not caring what would happen to her, as long as they could help Iole.
    The man in charge, looking from Iole’s prone form to Homer, then to Pandy, finally sheathed his scimitar.
    â€œBring them,” he said, turning his horse.
    The man standing over Iole quickly remounted, then called to Homer.
    â€œHand her to me.”
    Homer gently lifted Iole into the man’s arms, and he cradled her, unconscious, in front of himself. Pandy saw the magic rope, still around Iole’s waist, now dragging in the sand.
    â€œRope,” she mouthed, hoping the severed section was still enchanted, and more importantly, that it would do as she asked. “Circle Iole’s waist only.”
    In less than the blink of an eye, the rope shrunk itself to the point where Pandy thought it was going to slice Iole in two. Pandy nearly shrieked as Iole moaned. Then the rope expanded to just the right size and actually took on a decorative sheen, as if it were part of Iole’s clothing.
    â€œPlease, I don’t know what’s going on,” Pandy thought to the rope. “But please don’t kill Iole.”
    Pandy and Homer, quickly checking their belongings, mounted the two remaining camels and, surrounded by the rest of the guards, galloped up the dune as Dido ran easily alongside. Reaching the crest, Pandy peered down into a deep valley that she would have sworn had not been there before the storm. Now, instead of a view of the endless desert, she saw a camp of many differently sized tents in various stages of assembly, some undergoing repair from the effects of the storm. Each was constructed of multicolored stripes of brightly dyed canvas.