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She could also see a long line of camels tethered together, and columns of smoke from several fires as people scurried about, shaking sand from carpets, cooking pots, and clothing.
    As he raced his horse toward the caravan, a shout went up from the man in charge, now in the lead and heading toward a half-erected gold and white tent. The other guards took it up and the air was filled with short, high, loud cries, as if they were laughing deliberately. At once, other guards came to the perimeter of the camp, scimitars drawn, and answered back. Pandy could see a few women join the crowd, staring at the approaching strangers over thin veils covering their noses and mouths. As the group reached the tent and began to dismount, a large man approached the horse rider. He was wearing the same garments as the other guards but more richly embellished. There was gold trim on his sleeves and gold fabric woven through his turban, and instead of a ruby, it was held together with a giant emerald. Pandy watched all five guards give a formal salute and greeting to this man as he began to question them about the new arrivals.
    Suddenly, a shout went up from somewhere in the growing crowd.
    â€œPandora!”
    Pandy was so startled that she didn’t know where to look. Two guards instinctively drew their blades.
    â€œLet me through. Pandora! I know her! I know them!”
    Pandy finally spotted a head of black hair close to the edge of the crowd and moving fast, but she couldn’t see the face. The woman was waving her arms and would have fallen upon Pandy’s feet, since Pandy was still on her camel, if several guards had not stopped her and were about to roughly throw her back.
    â€œPandora, it is Mahfouza!”
    Pandy’s mind went blank. Did she know this woman? How?
    â€œWang Chun Lo! I taught you to dance!”
    Instantly, Pandy remembered everything: Wang Chun Lo’s Caravan of Wonders, a gathering of strange and wonderful living oddities that had stopped for the evening just outside of the abandoned temple in Egypt when Pandy was hunting for Vanity. All members of the troupe had put on their show especially for Pandy and her friends, and that performance had included one of the most stunning things Pandy had ever seen: Mahfouza and three other Arabian girls, all of incomparable beauty, dancing as if each one had her own personal muse on her shoulder. Their movements, the music they made with tinkly bells on the ends of their fingers had overwhelmed Pandy. But then, at the very end of the performance, they had invited (dragged, in Alcie’s case) Pandy and the others onto the floor and had taught them each to “belly” dance—or had tried to at least. Pandy did remember spinning and falling down a lot.
    â€œMahfouza?”
    â€œYes! Yes!” the girl cried, then she pushed her way past the guards. “She knows me! Let me through, you donkeys!”
    Pandy was off her camel in a heartbeat, and she flew into Mahfouza’s arms. Although she really didn’t know this girl at all, to Pandy she was a touchstone, something even slightly familiar in an unknown world.
    â€œWhy are you here? Where are the other dancers? Is Wang Chun …?” Pandy asked when they finally let each other go.
    â€œNo, no. We will talk of me later,” Mahfouza answered quickly. “The guards have told their captain that one of you is sick?”
    â€œIole,” Pandy said.
    â€œAnd only three of you came off the desert, but I see the youth. Where is … oh, her name? I have forgotten her name!”
    â€œAlcie.”
    â€œAlcie! Of course. Where is Alcie?” Mahfouza asked.
    Pandy took a deep breath and felt the tears well up.
    â€œAlcie is dead,” Pandy choked out.
    Mahfouza’s shoulders dropped and her face went slack as she stared at Pandy.
    â€œStay here a moment,” she said, then she marched toward the captain of the guard. Pandy saw Mahfouza gesturing toward her