Children of the Storm (28 page)

“We’ll say good night too,” Ramses said. “Since we probably won’t be back until late. Don’t let him strain his eyes over that papyrus, Aunt Evelyn, it’s difficult enough to read in a good light.”

“I won’t,” his aunt said, smiling.

THEY LET THE HORSES WALK, enjoying the cool night air and the quiet. The dark arch of the sky blazed with stars. “I told you they’d be glad to be rid of us,” David said.

“I know why Father was,” Ramses muttered. “Does she do that deliberately? Stir him up, I mean.”

“Partly.” Nefret chuckled. “Haven’t you ever noticed how she looks at him when he’s in a rage—eyes shining, trying not to smile? It’s a game they’ve played for years; both of them know the rules and thoroughly enjoy the moves.”

“I suppose so.” Ramses knew how the game was played and how it would end, and although he approved in theory, he was still a trifle embarrassed to think of his parents . . . “At any rate, she was her usual efficient self this afternoon. Laid it all out and got everybody to agree.”

A flood of light spilled over the cliffs and spread across the landscape. Stones and sand, trees and houses sprang into existence as if an invisible painter’s giant brush had washed them onto the darkness. The moon had risen.

It was impossible to think of it in any other way—impossible to visualize that luminous orb as a ball of cold rock two hundred thousand miles away, or to believe that the surface on which they stood was imperceptibly but steadily turning. No wonder the ancients had viewed the lunar orb as a divinity.

By the time they reached the entrance to the valley of Deir el Medina the temple ruins glimmered with pale shadows. David let out a long breath of satisfaction. “In another half hour the light will be perfect. I won’t even need a torch.”

They left the horses near the shelter and picked their way over the fallen stones. Both men were loaded down, David with his drawing materials and Ramses with blankets and baskets of food and drink—a real picnic, as Nefret had declared. Either she had got over her nervousness about the place or she was determined to overcome it. Ramses had tentatively suggested they spend the night; she hadn’t said yes or no, but the blankets were a hopeful sign. His spirits rose. They hadn’t slept out under the stars for a long time—not since the children were born.

After casting back and forth for a while, with the other three trailing him and offering their opinions, David settled on a spot from which the view satisfied him. It was on the opposite side of the temple from which they had approached, just inside the enclosure wall and a little to one side. There wasn’t a completely smooth surface anywhere, but they cleared away the larger and sharper of the bits of stone that littered the ground and spread the blankets. Nefret scattered the cushions she had brought from the shelter and subsided luxuriously onto them, motioning Lia to join her.

“You and I will loll,” she declared. “And be waited upon. Ramses, will you open this?”

He took the tall slim bottle. “Wine?”

“Yes, why not? We can get a little drunk. All of us except David. He has to paint.”

David had managed to set the easel up, bracing its legs with stones. “David too,” he said with a laugh. “It might be just the inspiration I need.”

“I presume you mean to employ a certain amount of artistic license,” Ramses said, holding the bottle between his knees and removing the cork. “As temples go, this one is fairly dull.”

“I’ll add a broken obelisk or two, and perhaps a headless colossus.” David began drawing with quick, sure strokes of his charcoal. He dashed off several sketches and then joined them.

The wine was pale as moonlight, cool and dry as the night air. They finished one bottle and David glanced at the dark ruins. “Inspiration, a fickle goddess, continues to elude me,” he said. “Is there more wine?”

Ramses laughed and opened the second bottle. He hadn’t felt so relaxed and happy for weeks. It wasn’t only the wine, it was everything—the peace and silence, the stark beauty of the setting, the company of his best friends—including his wife—and the fact that his adored children and beloved parents were a long way away. Nefret was singing softly to herself. He caught a few words and recognized one of the sentimental ballads she favored. In her sweet voice, with moonlight glowing in her hair, the words didn’t sound as banal as they should have. He had forgotten their ostensible purpose for being there, and David, stretched out on the blanket with his head on Lia’s lap, had obviously lost interest in art, though the moon rode high and the facade of the temple was well lighted. Ramses wondered lazily which of them would be the first to propose that they separate. He reached for Nefret’s hand, and then dropped it and jumped to his feet.

“What is it?” Nefret demanded.

“Someone’s coming. Listen.”

“Hathor?” David sat up.

“If it is, she’s making the devil of a racket,” Ramses replied.

The voices grew louder. They were coming closer, following the enclosure wall toward the entrance. He couldn’t quite make out the words; the crunch of stone under feet or hooves drowned them out. Whoever they were, this was no surreptitious approach by would-be thieves or cautious villagers hoping for a glimpse of the goddess. It could only be a party of tourists, looking for some unusual experience, egged on by one of the enterprising dragomen who had invented the Hathor story. Irritation overcame his initial surprise. He headed for the doorway, meaning to meet the party and run them off. As he left the enclosure he saw them coming toward him—two people on donkeyback, one in galabeeyah and turban, the other . . .

“Good God,” he exclaimed, and ran forward to catch hold of the animal’s bridle. “Maryam, what are you doing here?”

She was wearing the absurd flowered hat his mother had given her. She pushed it back from her face. “Have you seen him?” she gasped. “Is he here?”

“You mean Justin, I presume,” said Nefret’s cool voice from behind him. “What made you suppose he would come here?”

“He wanted to see the goddess. He’s talked of nothing else all day. Thank goodness you’re here! Please help us look for him.”

“We’ve been here for several hours,” David said. “We’ve seen no one.”

“He could be hiding somewhere.” Her voice rose. “He could have fallen, hit his head, he has no more sense than a child.”

Ramses had to admit it was possible. The enclosure wall was climbable in several places, and the tumbled stones provided plenty of cover. He could imagine Justin crouching behind some of them, hugging himself in childish delight as he spied on them and waited for the epiphany of the goddess.

“Oh, very well,” he said grudgingly. So much for his moonlight idyll. “Nefret, why don’t you call him?”

He turned toward his wife, and bit off an oath when he saw that she was holding a bow. An arrow was nocked and ready. “For God’s sake, Nefret! How did you—”

“Never mind,” she cut in. “Are you two the only searchers? Where is the devoted François? Who is this man?”

The Egyptian was a stranger to Ramses too. He bowed over the donkey’s neck and—of course—replied not to Nefret but to her husband. “I am a crewman on the Isis, lord. The others are searching the ruins on the other side of the wall.”

“Justin would be inside the enclosure,” Nefret said. “If he wanted a proper view.”

Maryam shouted, so piercingly and unexpectedly that they all jumped. “Justin! Justin, where are you? Answer me!”

She dismounted, stumbled, and caught hold of Ramses’s arm. In the distance Ramses heard others calling the boy, François’s gruff, accented voice among them.

“Get the torches, David,” Ramses said. “You and Lia go round to the left. We’ll have to look behind every bloody boulder, the little devil is playing hide-and-go-seek. Nefret, will you please put that goddamned bow down?”

“Language,” said Nefret sweetly.

David started toward the place where they had left their supplies. Before he reached it a quavering cry from Maryam drew all eyes to the temple. “Look! There, between the pylons—a woman—shining—glowing—”

Ramses tried to free himself from her convulsive grip but she hung on, her fingers clenched. The figure stood in the gateway, pale as a shaped column of alabaster—but it was no statue, it moved, raised flowing sleeves. He thought he saw a glitter of gold. Something whistled past him; he flung himself around, breaking Maryam’s grip, and snatched the bow from Nefret.

Lia let out a gasp of incongruous laughter. “You killed her.”

A crumpled shape lay on the ground where the figure had stood. When they reached it, they found an empty white robe, with Nefret’s arrow caught in its folds. It took several more minutes to find Justin, stretched across a broken column base like an ancient sacrifice. His hands were folded on his breast and his upturned face wore an ecstatic smile.

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CHAPTER SEVEN I presume you searched the entire area thoroughly,” I said, neatly decapitating my boiled egg. “But perhaps I ought to have a look round myself.”

Emerson lowered the piece of toast he had held poised in midair ever since Ramses began his account of the Affair at the Temple of Hathor, as I may term it. Slowly he turned his piercing blue gaze from his son to me.

“Amelia,” he said.

“More coffee for the Professor, Gargery, if you will be so good.”

“I don’t want any damned . . .” He did, however, so he neglected to finish the sentence. Gargery, who had been a fascinated listener, immediately obliged, and Emerson said, in the same ominously mild voice, “Thank you, Gargery. Ramses, why did you wait until breakfast to tell us about this?”

“We agreed—all of us—that there was no need to wake you,” Nefret said, emphasizing the phrase in a manner that made me suspect agreement had not been reached without a certain amount of disagreement. “There was nothing you—or Mother—could have done. We did search as thoroughly as was possible. It wasn’t easy, with so many people milling about and only torches for light, and—and . . . I’m sorry, Father.”

“Sorry,” Emerson repeated. He rose, magisterial as Jove, even without the beard. “Is anyone coming with me to the dig, Amelia, or have you made other plans for them? Not for all the world would I venture to interfere with your arrangements; I ask only out of curiosity.”

“Don’t you want to discuss the affair, Emerson?”

“No, Amelia, I do not.” Fixing me with a horrible scowl, he added, “I am motoring to the site. If anyone cares to join me, he or she must come at once.”

With long measured strides he left the room.

“Oh dear, he is angry,” Lia murmured.

“He’ll have got over it by midday,” I replied. At least I hoped he would; the fact that he had addressed me by my given name three times in a row indicated a degree of exasperation beyond his usual norm. “However, it might put him in a better humor if some of you went with him this morning. You will not have to risk your lives in the motorcar; it seems to have slipped his mind that he and Selim had one of the wheels off last night and did not replace it. Not you, Evelyn, or you, Walter.”

“Do you want me to go with the Professor, Aunt Amelia?” David asked.

“If you don’t mind, my dear. Just for a few hours.”

“Not at all.” He looked at Ramses, who nodded agreement. “We meant to have another look round in daylight anyhow.”

“I am going too,” Walter declared, squaring his jaw and settling his eyeglasses firmly on the bridge of his nose. I knew the signs; he was suffering from an attack of detective fever. I didn’t suppose he would discover anything useful, but he would enjoy himself puttering around and finding clues the others had already discovered. I got rid of Gargery by asking him to accompany Evelyn and Sennia to the Castle, and that left me alone except for Nefret.

“I’d like to talk to you, Mother,” she said.

“We are, as always, in rapport, my dear. I was about to request a chat with you.”

We found a secluded spot in the garden between our two houses, where no one could overhear. I was proud of that garden; though Egypt’s climate is salubrious, allowing for the cultivation of both tropical and temperate blooms, it had required a great deal of effort to keep the plants irrigated and fed. Once a barren stretch of ground, it was now shaded by young lebakh and tamarisk trees. Rose and hibiscus bushes flaunted their colorful blossoms, and beds of nasturtium and other homely flowers were nostalgic reminders of old England.

“Now,” I said, pinching off a dead rose with my nails. “Tell me everything. Ramses’s narrative was somewhat terse.”

“Of necessity,” said Nefret, with a faint smile. “He knew Father wouldn’t let him get more than a few sentences out.”

“From the beginning,” I urged. “Recall, if you please, every sight and sound and your reactions to them. One never knows what seemingly meaningless detail may be seen to be relevant.”

Her narrative was complete and detailed, though I felt certain she omitted a few things—such as the effect of moonlight and solitude on four young persons. I doubted that any of them had been in a proper state to respond with alacrity to the astonishing events of the evening. Of course I did not say this, or reproach her for not inviting me to be present.

“Curse it,” I remarked. “Just when I had everything under control, including Emerson! This new development is unexpected and unwelcome.”

“To say the least,” Nefret replied wryly. “But is it really unexpected, Mother?”

“You expected something of the sort? My dear, I wish you would confide more freely in me. I am a firm believer in premonitions. They are the workings of the unconscious mind, which fits together clues—”

“Yes, Mother, I agree. In this case, though, it was my conscious mind at work. Ramses’s escape from the woman in Cairo must have disappointed her, considering the effort she made to get her hands on him. Isn’t it logical that she would try again?”

“If that was another attempt at abduction it was very poorly organized,” I said critically. “She’d have needed a dozen sturdy henchmen to deal with all four of you. Not to mention that hysterical boy and his entourage.”

Nefret’s lips parted in a reluctant smile. “It was ludicrous, really—pure melodrama, without a competent stage director. Everyone was rushing around, getting in one another’s way, tripping over things and shouting. François and his lot—there were three of them, crewmen from the dahabeeyah—tumbled over the wall and joined in the confusion.” Her smile faded. “I was too worried about Justin to enjoy the farce, however. When I saw him stretched out across that slab, white-faced and rigid, his eyes wide open, staring up at the moon, I thought he was dead.”