The Quest: A Novel

at Mercado, who nodded without enthusiasm.
    They began the climb, picking their way up the ridge between the large rocks. Now and then they had to squeeze sideways betweenclose rock formations, which assured them that Gallas on horseback could not follow—though Gallas on foot could.
    About halfway up the ridge, they stopped for a rest and sat in the shade of a large rock formation.
    Gann, noticed Purcell, seemed okay, though he wasn’t a young man. But he had been hardened by a few wars and he’d probably pushed himself harder than this the night before, trying to rally the prince’s army.
    Purcell looked at Mercado. He, too, had experienced hardships, but those hardships had taken their toll.
    Vivian was wiping Mercado’s face again, but Purcell noticed that Mercado was barely sweating, which was not a good sign.
    Vivian herself seemed in decent shape, but her arms and face were burning red from the sun. Purcell took off his bush jacket, leaving him in a sweat-soaked T-shirt. He pitched the bush jacket toward her and said, “Drape that over your head.”
    She hesitated, then picked up the khaki jacket and threw it back to him.
    Colonel Gann had climbed onto a tall rock and was scouting the terrain through his field glasses. He said, “The Gallas are coming together… perhaps two or three hundred of them… heading down into the valley. They’ll harass the remnants of the Royal Army… and if they think the army is very weakened, they’ll go in for the kill.”
    No one had anything to say about that, but everyone felt relieved that the Gallas had shifted their attention to the retreating army.
    Purcell was hoping he’d see some signs of the Provisional Revolutionary government army in pursuit of the Royalists. That would save them a long hike. He asked Gann, “Do you see any signs of the army?”
    Gann kept scanning as he replied, “No. They’re letting the Gallas do the work. Lazy beggars.” He added, “Bunch of damned Marxists.”
    Vivian said to Gann, “If we reach the Provisional Army, we can pass you off as a journalist.”
    Purcell added, “But you need to take off your royal insignia, and get rid of that gun and lose the riding crop.”
    Gann replied, “I appreciate the offer. But my presence will endanger you.” He added, “They’ll know who I am, even without the royal insignia on my uniform, and then they can shoot me as a spy instead of as a Royalist.” He informed them, “I’d rather be shot as a soldier.”
    Purcell didn’t see what difference it made, but Colonel Gann did, and he made a good point—about him endangering them all. Also, their safe-conduct pass from the Provisional government in Addis had only three names on it, and one of those names wasn’t Colonel Sir Edmund Gann.
    Purcell looked at Mercado, who hadn’t said anything on the subject. “What do you think, Henry?”
    Mercado replied, “We should cross that bridge when we come to it. We’re still in a bad situation.”
    Gann agreed, and said, “I’ll try to get you as close as I can to the army lines, then I’ll scoot off.”
    Vivian asked him, “To where?”
    He informed them, “Most of the Amharic peasants around here are loyal to the emperor, and I’ll look for a friendly village.”
    No one replied, but Purcell didn’t think much of Colonel Gann’s plan. In fact, Purcell thought, Colonel Gann probably didn’t think much of it either. Most likely he would die of thirst, hunger, or disease in the hills or in the jungle. But the Gallas would not get him. Not as long as Colonel Gann had his service revolver and one bullet left. Purcell said to Gann and to Mercado and Vivian, “I think we should stay together. Maybe we can find this Prince Theodore, or some other ras.”
    Gann said, “Nonsense. You have press credentials and a safe-conduct pass. Your best bet is the Provisional government forces, and they are close by.”
    Again, no one replied, but then Purcell said, “Let’s play it by ear. Ready?”
    Everyone stood and they continued up the ridge. Within half an hour, they reached the summit, which gave them a clear view of the surrounding terrain.
    The sun was almost overhead now, and there wasn’t much shade,but Mercado lay down in a sliver of shadow at the base of a tall rock. Vivian knelt beside him and put her damp, sweaty handkerchief over his face.
    Gann was scanning the terrain with his field glasses, and he said, “I can see soldiers dug in on the ridgelines.” He passed the