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A bald Nepalese man in his mid-forties picked his way through a crowd of milling trekkers and trotted toward them, panting, “Fargos, yes?”
“Yes,” Sam replied.
“I am Basanta Thule,” the man replied in decent English. “I am your guide, yes?”
“You’re a friend of Pradhan’s?” Remi said.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I do not know who that is. I was asked by Mr. Sushant Dharel to meet you. You were expecting someone else? Here, I have identification . . .” Thule began reaching into the side pocket of his jacket.
“No, that’s fine,” Sam replied with a smile. “Good to meet you.”
“And you, and you. Here, I will take those.”
Thule grabbed their backpacks and gestured with his head toward the terminal building. “My vehicle is this way. Follow, if you will.” He trotted off.
Sam said to Remi, “Very tricky, Mizz Bond.”
“Am I growing paranoid in my advancing age?”
“No,” Sam replied with a smile. “Just more beautiful. Come on, let’s catch up or we’re going to lose our guide.”
After a cursory stop at the customs desk to satisfy what Sam and Remi guessed was Mustang’s firm if tacit belief in its semi-autonomous status, Sam and Remi stepped outside and found Thule at the curb beside a white Toyota Land Cruiser. Judging by the dozens of nearly identical vehicles lining the street, each of which seemed to bear a unique trekking company logo, Toyota was the four-wheeler of choice for the region. Thule smiled at them, shoved the remainder of Sam’s backpack in the Toyota’s cargo area, and slammed shut the hatch.
“I have arranged accommodations for the night,” Thule announced.
“We’re not leaving for Lo Monthang immediately?” Remi asked.
“No, no. Very bad luck to start a journey at this time of day. Better to start tomorrow morning. You will eat and rest and enjoy Jomsom, and then we will depart first thing in the morning. Come, come . . .”
“We’d prefer to leave now,” Sam said, not moving.
Thule paused. He pursed his lips, thinking for a moment, then said, “It is your choice, of course, but the landslide will not be cleared until morning.”
“What landslide?” replied Remi.
“Yes, between here and Kagbeni. We would not get more than a few kilometers up the valley. And then there will be the traffic jam, of course. Many trekkers in Mustang now. Better to wait until morning, yes?” Thule opened one of the Toyota’s rear passenger doors and flourished his arm toward the backseat.
Sam and Remi looked at each other, shrugged, then stepped into the SUV.
After ten minutes of the Toyota winding through the narrow streets, Thule brought it to a stop before a building a few miles southeast of the airs
trip. The brown-on-yellow sign read “Moonlight Guest House. Tub Baths—Attached Bathrooms—Common Bathrooms.”
With a smile and a raised eyebrow, Remi said, “It appears bathrooms are the big draw in Jomsom.”
“And monochromatic architecture,” Sam added.
From the front seat Thule said, “Indeed. Jomsom offers the best accommodations in the area.”
He got out, hurried around to Remi’s door, and opened it. He offered his hand to her. She graciously took it and climbed out, followed by Sam.
Thule said, “I will collect your luggage. You go inside. Madame Roja will assist you.”
Five minutes later they were in the Moonlight Guest House’s Royal Executive Suite, complete with a queen bed and a sitting area filled with an assortment of wickeresque lawn furniture. As Madame Roja had promised, their bathroom was in fact attached to their suite.
“I will return for you at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, yes?” Thule said from the doorway.
“Why so late?” Sam asked.
