Children of the Storm (53 page)

“Good Gad,” I cried in chagrin. “I never suspected her.”

“No wonder she avoided me,” Sethos said grimly. “I knew the—I knew her well. That explains Martinelli. They were bitter enemies. That isn’t good news. She was one of Bertha’s most ruthless assistants.”

“Justin is equally ruthless,” Nefret said. “He—she—isn’t quite normal.”

She went on to describe her last conversation with Emerson, and his insistence that she leave him. “I would never have made it if he hadn’t been there,” she said simply. “It was impossible not to live up to his faith in my abilities and my nerve. But I did come close to breaking down when I saw the Amelia pass by earlier today.”

“It must have been horrible,” I said sympathetically. “Where were you?”

“On one of the islands in midstream. I was trying to swim to shore when I was struck by a floating log. I managed to hang on to it until it came aground, but my shoulder was hit—”

Ramses took his arm away. “Why didn’t you tell me when I grabbed hold of you? Did I hurt you?”

She touched his cheek. “I didn’t even feel it. I never dared hope I would see you so soon, even after I finally managed to attract the attention of a fisherman from the village. Once I had identified myself, they couldn’t do enough for me. Late in the afternoon they got word that the Amelia was heading back this way, and the whole village piled into their boats, they were so anxious to be the first to give you the news. Now tell me what happened after I left the clinic. Is everyone—are they—”

“Oh, my dear,” I said. “I ought to have reassured you immediately. The children are safe—they are all safe—and the house is well guarded.”

“So,” said Daoud, who had been listening with interest but with increasing signs of impatience, “now we must think how to rescue the Father of Curses.”

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN After Ramses had gone ashore, accompanied by Reis Hassan, I persuaded Nefret to rest for a while. She declared she was too keyed-up to sleep, but as soon as her head touched the pillow her weary eyes closed. I stood looking down at her, watching the lines of pain and worry smoothed by the benevolent hand of Hypnos, and thanking Heaven for her preservation. She had made light of her own suffering and struggle, but I knew what she must have gone through. I dared not think of what Emerson was still enduring.

The rest of us sat talking in low voices, so as not to waken her. Daoud had, with the acumen that sometimes marked him, hit the nail square on the head. We might be able to find the Isis before she waylaid the steamer, but while Emerson was a prisoner we were powerless to prevent an attack.

“I’d give up the whole goldurned treasure rather than see him come to harm,” Cyrus declared.

“That is very noble of you, Cyrus, considering that the treasure isn’t yours to dispose of,” I retorted, and immediately repented my rudeness when I saw his hurt expression. “Forgive me, Cyrus. I did not express myself well. What I meant to say was that M. Lacau may not share your sentiments.”

“That’s okay, Amelia, I understand.”

“We cannot allow them to take the steamer,” I went on. “And we cannot attack the Isis openly until Emerson has been freed.”

“Attack?” Bertie echoed. “What with, a few rifles, when they are probably armed to the teeth? I don’t like the odds, Mrs. Amelia. Cyrus is right, let ’em take the confounded treasure. They won’t get away with it. We’ll track them down.”

“It is not the treasure I am thinking of, but the lives of the men on the steamer.”

Bertie’s brow furrowed. “Oh, Lord. They wouldn’t really kill all those people, would they?”

“I am convinced of it. I remember Matilda well; she was a worthy disciple of her mistress. In my opinion, the young woman is even more dangerous. She has exhibited evidence of severe mental disturbance.”

“Then there’s my dear little daughter,” said Sethos. He reached for a cigarette. His hand was steady. “What a pretty trio they make.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. Cyrus looked away, and Bertie bit his lip. I had observed his increasing interest in Maryam. It is painful for a young fellow to think that a young lady’s interest in him may have an ulterior motive. In fact, I considered the girl less culpable than the others, but to say so would not have comforted her father. Guilty she unquestionably was, and what we were to do with her if we succeeded in capturing her I could not imagine.

And at that moment she was the least of my concerns. “We will have to get onboard the Isis,” I said. “Unseen and undetected.”

“That is right,” said Daoud, nodding approvingly.

The others reserved their commendations. “What a good plan,” said Sethos. “How do you propose we go about it?”

“I have a few ideas . . .”

Ramses did not return until close to midnight. He had had to wait at the telegraph office for replies to his urgent telegrams. (He did not explain how he had persuaded the clerk to remain on duty past his usual hour, and I did not ask.) Lacau was still in Luxor, but he had finished loading the treasure and was expected to depart in the morning.

That was not all he and Reis Hassan had accomplished. Ramses had had a few ideas of his own. Runners—donkey riders, to be more precise—had been dispatched south from Qena and northward from Luxor. Scouts would be in position by morning, and the same signal system would be used. Any private dahabeeyah would be reported.

“You seem to have thought of everything,” Sethos said grudgingly. “Except how we can get to Emerson without being seen. The Amelia is somewhat conspicuous.”

My warning shake of the head stopped Ramses on the verge of a hot retort. He swallowed and looked at Nefret. She had awoken instantly when he entered and was curled up on the divan, watching him as he paced to and fro. “I have thought of that too, sir. We’re taking a small boat in tow. She’s a miserable-looking craft, so the crew of the Isis won’t be surprised when we appear with our sail trailing. While the rest of you entertain the observers by screaming poignant appeals for rescue—which you are not likely to get—I’ll swim to the Isis.”

“And I with you,” said Sethos.

“How far can you swim underwater?” Ramses inquired gently.

“Far enough.”

“No. I,” said Ramses in the same quiet voice, “am running this show. Anyone who won’t accept that can damn well stay here. The boat will hold four. It will be the job of the others to distract the crew while David and I get to the dahabeeyah. After that . . . well, it will depend on what transpires, and that is likely to be unpleasant.”

Naturally they all wanted to go. Daoud rumbled hopefully. Ramses smiled and shook his head.

“Impossible to disguise you, Daoud—or you, Cyrus. Selim isn’t fit enough. The rest of us will wear the usual rags. Myself, David, Bertie—and you, Sethos, if you promise to follow my orders.”

I sat very quietly in the corner, my hands folded in my lap. Ramses said, without looking in my direction, “No, Mother. Not a chance. Did you hear what I said?”

“Certainly, my dear. I heard every word.”

“THERE SHE IS, RIDING AT anchor near the West Bank.” Ramses raised one arm and gave the signal to Reis Hassan.

The sun was still low over the eastern cliffs and the lovely flush of sunrise had not completely faded. We were south of Qena, approaching the stretch where, according to Reis Hassan’s deductions, the Isis was most likely to be lurking. There were only a few villages in that area and traffic on the river was minimal.

“Has she seen us?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. Thank God for Reis Hassan,” he added, as the Amelia came to a grinding halt and began to reverse. “He can make the Amelia jump through hoops. Time to go.”

Our anchor went over the side and the small boat was drawn up. It was a pitiful craft, the sails patched on patches, and we were an equally hapless-looking crew. Ramses and David wore a minimum of clothing, in preparation for swimming. The rest of us were attired in ragged galabeeyahs.

When I appeared on deck in my hastily assembled disguise Ramses was rude enough to shout at me. Naturally I forgave him, since I knew he was under something of a strain.

“Don’t talk to her as if she were a woman, Ramses,” Nefret said.

“She is a woman! She’s my mother! I won’t let her—”

I raised my voice just a trifle. “You said, back in Luxor, that you would not return without Nefret. I will not go back without your father.”

“You can’t stop her,” Nefret said. She stroked his bare arm, as one gentles a restive stallion. “You haven’t the right.”

“You’re on her side,” Ramses groaned.

“Of course. If it were you, I’d be in that boat myself.”

“A compromise,” I said helpfully. “I won’t take my parasol.”

On Ramses’s countenance amusement struggled with anxiety and anger, and I knew I had won. “All right, Mother. But please—not the eye patch.”

“It helps to hide my face,” I explained. “I neglected to bring a beard.”

The others had wisely refrained from joining in the discussion. Cyrus gave me a hearty embrace and helped me into the boat. “We’ll be waiting for your signal,” he said. “Good luck.”

David cast off and raised the sail. Sethos caught hold of me and pulled me down on the seat beside him.

“You are an infernal nuisance, Amelia, do you know that?”

“I believe I can be of some use,” I replied modestly.

I was the recipient of an extremely ambiguous glance from my son, who was at the tiller. “Get out the oars,” he said.

The prevailing wind swelled the sail but the current was strong. With Bertie and Sethos rowing, we made good progress, and finally Ramses said, “They’ve seen us. David, start playing wounded duck, but get well upstream of her before you drop the sail. Bertie, if anyone makes a hostile move or points a rifle at you, make sure you shoot first.”

We had two rifles, wrapped in oiled cloth, and extra ammunition. We would have had three if anyone had listened to me, but Ramses would not let me have one. Now he went on, “Mother, for God’s sake, stop staring, you don’t make a very convincing male Egyptian—even with an eye patch.”

I raised one arm so that my full sleeve covered my face, but I peered out from over it. We flapped on past, close enough to see the faces of the crewmen, who had gathered to jeer at our erratic progress. Several of them were armed, among them Dr. Khattab, who appeared to be in charge. I ducked my head and heard him call, obviously in answer to a question. “It is only a fishing boat, madame. About to capsize, if I am any judge.”

Then we were past. “Here we go,” Ramses said, and fell overboard with a startled cry and an impressive splash. The boat rocked, the sail collapsed, and David slid into the water. The rest of us were making as much noise as possible. Sethos cupped his hands round his mouth. “Throw us a rope,” he shrieked. “Help, we will all drown. For the mercy of God!”

There was no mercy on those hard faces. Laughing, one of them pointed at a pair of arms and a distorted face that rose above the water between us and the dahabeeyah. The arms waved pathetically and disappeared. Bertie was paddling wildly in circles. The audience found this even more amusing. They began offering advice, all of it rude, some of it quite vulgar. My arms over my head, I swayed and whimpered. My breath came hard and my heart was pounding.

Sethos’s cries cut off abruptly. Peering round the hem of my sleeve, I saw two other people at the rail. Justin was wearing male clothing, but everything else about her—the way she stood, the gesture with which she pushed back her windblown curls—was so obviously female that I wondered how I could have been deluded. She had her arm round Maryam, who gripped the rail with both hands and stared fixedly at us.

Justin’s pretty face wore a frown. “Bring them on board or sink them,” she called, in idiomatic and accented Arabic. The accent was that of a Cairene.

One of the men raised a rifle; clearly he found the second alternative more interesting. Maryam whispered something to her sister. After a moment Justin nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Gunfire might attract attention.” She went on in Arabic, “Do not fire. Throw them a rope.”

Bertie caught it on the second try. The men on the dahabeeyah made no effort to help; one of them had fastened the other end of the rope to the rail, leaving it to us to pull ourselves in—if we could. “Now what?” Bertie whispered. “Won’t she recognize you?”

“Me and the lady with the eye patch,” said my brother-in-law in an equally subdued voice. “Pull us in. When we are within ten feet, grab the rifle and start shooting.”

Bertie’s lips tightened. It went against the grain for him to fire first, but he knew there really was no sensible alternative. We had to disable as many of them as we could before we boarded. At least the lad wouldn’t have it on his conscience that he had fired at a woman. Justin and Maryam had left the deck.

Squatting in the bottom of the boat, Sethos unwrapped the rifles. I reached for the little pistol I had concealed under my rags. The next ten minutes would tell the tale: victory or defeat, life or death.

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

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Ramses came up on the far side of the dahabeeyah and hung on, gasping for breath. He looked wildly around for David, and could have shouted with relief when David’s head popped up a few feet away. He reached out a hand and pulled his wheezing friend to his side. David had lost his turban. His black head, sleek as a seal’s, streamed water. Ramses removed his own dripping turban and pushed his hair back from his face.

There was no need for discussion, they had worked it out beforehand, trying to cover all possible contingencies. Ramses gripped the rail and pulled himself up till he could see the deck. There were three windows on this side, all open or ajar. None was the window to his father’s cell; according to the plan Nefret had drawn, it was on the opposite side of the dahabeeyah. The deck was deserted; the show had drawn the crewmen to the other side. He could hear their yells, and the agitated shrieks of his cohorts. Then he heard a voice he recognized, issuing orders that made him hurl himself up and over the rail. David was close behind him. Fighting the instinct that demanded he go to his mother’s help, whatever the odds, he climbed in the nearest window. They hadn’t started shooting. It was small comfort, but he had to stick to the plan. Their best and only hope was to take a hostage of their own.