She rose and found her way to the outdoor shower where she stayed under the cold water for longer than usual because she didn’t know when she would be able to do it again. The tattoo on her shoulder had healed nicely, the colours particularly vivid now that the inflammation had receded. She dressed in a pair of white trousers and a sleeveless t-shirt, hauled her rucksack onto her shoulder and quietly left the tents. Veins of light were just beginning to streak the royal blue sky and the temperature, for now at least, was cold. Bashir said that he knew a place where she could park the Land Cruiser safely. It was a recessed space between two tents and, he said, a dollar a day would see the locals keep an eye on it. Beatrix had no reason to doubt their probity and she was further reassured when she was hailed by an elderly crone who was sitting in the dust before the open awning of her tent. In truth, having the vehicle here and in one piece was useful, but not essential.
