Finally the two men settled their argument. One of them stepped to a corner of the room and came back with a cotton cloth. He flipped this over Stan. A moment later Stan heard their wooden sandals clicking over the hard floor as they left the shed.
Pushing the cloth back from his face, Stan listened. He heard a profusion of sounds, a woman’s laugh, men talking and a night bird calling. None of the sounds were near the place where he lay. Stan felt sure most of these natives feared the dead and would stay away from this morgue. What he did not know was how soon grave diggers would come to dispose of him.
He was about to sit up when he saw someone approaching. Stan got ready for a fight. A lone figure wrapped in a white robe crossed the floor and passed through the moonlight. Above the robe rose a turban of white cloth. Bending down, the visitor pulled back the shroud and laid something on Stan’s breast. Stan looked up into the face of Niva.
With a noiseless movement, he caught her wrist.
“Don’t scream,” he said softly.
The girl tried to wrench her hand free. She did not scream or make any sound, but she fought fiercely. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees beside Stan. He could feel her body tremble.
“You are not dead?” she whispered.
“No, I am not dead,” Stan answered. “Won’t you help me to get out of here? I need a guide.”
She looked into his face for a long moment. Her voice was very low when she spoke.
“I am glad you are not dead. I watched from outside the garden. The shadow men never fail. They have great pride in their way of killing. I was sure you were dead. I bought a prayer at the temple and brought it here. I thought you would need it. You had no one to buy a prayer for you.” She paused.