Guardian of the Horizon (4 page)

TWO

"What shall we do about David?" Ramses asked. The leaves outside the windows of his room dripped with water. Pale sunlight had replaced the misty rain of early morning. It was the first time we had had an opportunity to speak in private since the arrival of our strange visitor. Over the past two days I had become increasingly uneasy about him, and Ramses was the only member of the family who appeared to share my reservations. Nefret's warm heart had been won by the hope of helping her old friend and his child, and Emerson had yearned for years to return to the Holy Mountain. Now Emerson would get his wish. The expedition was a settled matter. It had never been in doubt, really. No matter how slim the chance of success, the attempt must be made. How could we, as Britons, do less? Noblesse oblige, and the debt we owed Tarek admitted of no other choice. That debt was visible to us daily: Nefret herself. Had it not been for Tarek's braving the long, perilous journey from the Holy Mountain, we would never have found her, and her own fate would have been dreadful. The women of the Holy Mountain, like those of ancient Egypt and Meroe, married and began bearing children when in their early teens. One of the men who had sought her hand was Tarek's brother, a thoroughly despicable individual who might well have succeeded in taking Tarek's throne and his life, and Nefret, hadwe not been present to defend our friend. She would have lived out her life as the unwilling but helpless wife of a cruel despot, instead of brightening ours. All the same, there were a good many complications that needed to be addressed, and Ramses was obviously the only other one who was capable of thinking sensibly about them. "David is only one of the many complications that need to be addressed," I said, and looked round for some flat surface on which I might seat myself. Rose had tidied the room that morning, but it was already in the state of utter confusion that prevails when Ramses is its occupant. Apparently he had rummaged through the bureau drawers and the wardrobe in order to find garments he considered comfortable. These consisted of a collar-less shirt that had seen better days and a pair of stained trousers I could have sworn I had directed Rose to throw away, since the stains would not come out. (I did not know what chemical substance had caused them and preferred not to ask.) The garments that had not passed muster hung over various articles of furniture. The bed, the chairs, and the desk were covered with books and papers. Two kittens were chasing each other up and down the draperies. "Oh--sorry," said Ramses, observing my intent. He scooped up the papers from a chair and dumped them on the heaped desk, from which they immediately fell to the floor. "Sit down, Mother. Well?" "You share my reservations, I know. Let us address them in order." I took a piece of folded paper from my pocket, and Ramses's grave face relaxed into a smile. "One of your famous lists?" "Certainly." I unfolded the paper and cleared my throat. "Do you remember Merasen--from our first visit to the Holy Mountain, I mean?" The question obviously did not take Ramses by surprise. "No. But he was only a child, the son of a lesser wife of the king, and we didn't meet all the members of the royal family. Thanks to the jolly old custom of polygamy, it was extensive." "True. The factors your father mentioned the other evening make it probable, if not absolutely certain, that he does come fromthe Holy Mountain. The next question is--how did he find his way across the desert without a map?" "He answered that. You remember the oasis that is seven days' journey from the Holy Mountain--the only water along that arid trek? Tarek keeps a garrison there, to watch out for strangers. Once Merasen and his companions had got that far, they had only to head east, toward the rising sun. They were bound to strike the Nile sooner or later. It would have been hard to miss it." "And he counted on us to guide him back," I mused. "A rather dangerous assumption, that one. Tarek knew we had a copy of the map, but we might have lost or destroyed it." "It would have been worth taking the chance, if Tarek was desperate enough." Ramses began pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. "The confounded boy's story makes sense, as far as it goes. Anyhow, we haven't any choice but to respond. The question is how to go about it in the safest possible way. The fewer people who know of our plans, the better. That includes David." "You would prefer he did not accompany us?" Ramses leaned against the desk and ran his fingers through his hair. It was one of the few signs of perturbation he permitted himself. One infatuated young female had gushed about the "Byronic look" of those tousled black curls; in my opinion, they were simply untidy. I reached up and brushed them back from his forehead. Ramses shook his head impatiently, as if dislodging a fly, and went on. "I would prefer that no one go except Father and me. You needn't protest, Mother, I am well aware you would never consent to be left behind. Neither would Nefret. But David, so far, knows nothing about this. He'd come, of course, without an instant's hesitation, but he's very much in love and newly engaged; and if Lia knew what he was walking into, she'd be beside herself. God knows our normal excavation seasons are wild enough, but at least we don't go looking for trouble. Well . . . usually we don't." "You needn't go over the arguments," I said with a sigh. "I have considered them myself--plus the fact that David could not contribute anything to the expedition except his stout heart and strong hands. Does he know about the Lost Oasis?" "Not from me. Uncle Walter and Aunt Evelyn know." "That was unavoidable," I said defensively. "Your uncle Walter is a philologist; once he heard Nefret speak in the language of the Holy Mountain he recognized its relationship to ancient Egyptian, and Evelyn's suspicions were aroused by some of Nefret's--er-- unusual habits. It seemed safest to tell them the whole story and ask them to take an oath of secrecy, which to the best of my knowledge they have never broken. How do you propose to prevent David from coming out with us, as he has always done?" "Did you know that Constable, the publisher, approached him in London about doing a series of paintings for a popular book about Egypt?" "Really? He never mentioned it." "He didn't mention it to me until just before he left for Yorkshire. He was afraid I'd urge him to accept, and abandon my own plans rather than leave Father without half his staff." "Emerson would not have taken that well," I agreed. "Hmmm. I believe you have found the answer to this particular dilemma. It would be a wonderful opportunity for David, a chance to build a reputation of his own, without being dependent on us. But it would mean keeping our real purpose a secret." "We'll have to do that in any case." The kittens were rolling around on the floor in mock battle; one of them let out a squeak of protest and Ramses went to separate them. Holding the victim away from its rougher sibling, he went on, "When we returned in '98, we agreed that the very existence of the place must remain unknown, but although our fiction passed muster with the general public, there were a few people who wondered whether we were telling the whole truth. People who remembered Willy Forth's theory about a lost oasis in the Western Desert; people like your journalist friend O'Connell, who had learned from the officers at the military camp at Sanam Abu Dom about Forth's nephew Reggie setting off in search of him. We should be all right if we can keep such people from making the connection between that last journey and our intention of heading again for the Sudan. The greatest danger is Merasen himself." He paused for breath, having spoken with unusual quickness and passion. Glancing at my list, I said approvingly, "I commend you, Ramses, on stating the facts almost as logically as I might have done." "Thank you, Mother. You had, of course, already considered all those points." I gave him a sharp look, but his face was quite grave--not even a little quiver at the corners of his mouth. "I had, yes. Those and others. I fear your father has not: he is inclined to ignore difficulties once he has set his mind on something. I will have a little chat with him. Will you speak to Nefret?" Ramses went to the window, where he stood looking out. "Your opinion would carry more weight with her." "D'you think so?" "Yes," said Ramses, without turning. "She's out there now, with Merasen. Practicing archery." They were on the lawn, with half the household watching. When I went onto the terrace the maids scattered in various directions, trying to look as if they had had business in that part of the house, but Gargery stood his ground. "A proper sport for a young lady," he announced. "If I may say so, madam, it shows off a pretty figure to best advantage." I did not reprimand him for this familiarity, since a look of almost paternal pride warmed his plain features. She did look very pretty in her neat divided skirt and shirtwaist, her hair clubbed back and bound with ribbons. She loosed the arrow, which flew straight to the target, though not to its center. Merasen said something to her in a low voice; she laughed and looked up at the terrace, where Gargery was clapping his hands enthusiastically. "Good afternoon, Aunt Amelia. Thank you, Gargery, but Merasen says I need more practice." "I'd like to see him do better," Gargery declared, scowling at the critic. Nefret offered the bow to Merasen. He folded his arms and shook his head. "It is a woman's bow." "Stop for a bit, Nefret," I said. "You look very warm, and I would like to talk to you." She handed the weapon to Merasen and came up the steps to the terrace, wiping her wet forehead with her sleeve. I got rid of Gargery by asking him to get Nefret something to drink, and went straight to the point, before he could come running back. She looked surprised when I mentioned David's offer from the publisher. "He didn't tell me either. How nice! It would be just the thing for him. I'm afraid I hadn't given the matter much thought, Aunt Amelia, but you are absolutely right; the fewer people who know our plans, the better. Can we keep them secret, do you think?" "I am about to consult Emerson on that subject. Once we have worked out the details we will have a little council of war." I took it upon myself to beard Emerson in his lair--the library. When I told him what Ramses and I had agreed upon, he gave me an outraged stare. "I will need David, curse it. Copying the reliefs in the temples and tombs of the Holy Mountain is of paramount importance." "Emerson, will you try to get it through your head that this is not an archaeological expedition, but a rescue mission? We will be lucky to get there at all, much less get away again. How can you think of risking David's life?" "We are risking the lives of Ramses and Nefret," Emerson pointed out. He sounded a trifle subdued, though, and his brow was furrowed. "Only because they were made aware of the situation by Merasen before we could prevent him. David is not aware of it. Given a free choice, he would much rather remain in England this winter with Lia. You must convince him he will not be needed." "How?" Emerson demanded. "He knows how useful he is to me." "I doubt that, since you have never paid him a compliment." Emerson looked blank, and I went on in mounting exasperation. "As soon as we announce the date of our departure, all our friends, including Walter and Evelyn, are going to ask where we mean to work this winter and why we are leaving so much earlier than usual. What do you propose to tell them?" "I do not propose to tell anyone anything," said Emerson haughtily. "I never discuss my plans in advance." "Not even with Walter?" "Hmph." Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin, leaving a smear of ink on that admirably modeled member. "I suppose you have a few ideas? You always do." "Naturally. Everyone knows that you are in a temper with Maspero; it would be quite in character for you to declare you won't excavate in Egypt this year. Our movements will be observed and commented upon, and we must have a sensible reason for traveling to the Sudan. For instance, a survey of the Meroitic sites, with a view to future excavation." "That might work," Emerson admitted. "With the dam at Aswan about to be raised, a number of the sites will be underwater all or part of the time." He put down his pen and smiled at me. "As always, Peabody, you are the voice of conscience and common sense. I confess that I hadn't given that aspect of the case much thought." "You had better," I retorted. The compliment and the smile had softened me, but I felt it advisable to hammer the point home while Emerson was in a chastened mood. "Covering our tracks won't be easy, but it must be done. Otherwise we will have a pack of journalists, archaeologists, and treasure hunters on our trail, not to mention Walter and Evelyn." Emerson's fingers twitched. He had only agreed with me so that I would go away and let him get back to work. "Confound it, Peabody, your suggestion about excavating in the Sudan makes perfectly good sense, and I am willing to accept it. There is no reason why anyone should doubt the story. Why are you anticipating difficulties that don't exist?" "Better safe than sorry, Emerson." "I might have known you would answer with an aphorism," Emerson grumbled. "Oh, the devil, do as you like. I leave it to you to cover our tracks, as you put it." I had thought he would. "I have made one of my little lists," I explained, removing the paper from my pocket. Emerson grinned reluctantly. "I thought you would." "The first thing is to get Merasen away from here as soon aspossible. That we have had such a visitor is known to the servants, but even Gargery, with all his poking and prying, has only the vaguest notion of where he came from or why. Gargery has not enough experience to realize how unusual he is, in appearance, language, and manner, but I assure you, it would not take David long to begin wondering about him." "That's sensible, I suppose," Emerson admitted. "What do you propose to do with him?" "Send him on ahead of us to Egypt and to Wadi Haifa." "On his own?" "He got here all the way from the Sudan, on his own." Emerson frowned, and I said impatiently, "We will supply him with ample funds and specific directions. The longer he remains, the greater the danger that someone will become curious about his antecedents. What if Kevin O'Connell should drop in without warning, as he is inclined to do? What if Evelyn and Walter should decide to pay us a visit? One word from Merasen in the language of the Holy Mountain, and Walter's linguistic antennae would be quivering." "Hmph. I must admit," Emerson admitted, "that you have made a point. Very well, I will take the boy to London