Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (25 page)

kind. She only did what he told her. It wasn't her fault." She wore the single garment characteristic of the poorest women of Upper Egypt, a square of dark brown woolen fabric wrapped round the body like the stola of the Greeks. It exposed her stringy arms and wrinkled throat. Her withered hands fumbled with the folds of the garment, trying to draw it over her head and face, but she was so frightened she could not manage it. My vision had become accustomed to the dim light; when she raised her head I saw her eyes were white with cataracts. She was blind. "Who are you?" she quavered. "What do you want with me?" Pity replaced the wrath that had darkened Emerson's countenance. He spoke to the woman in Arabic, softening his gruff voice as much as was possible. "We mean you no harm, Mother. I am the Father of Curses, and this is my wife, the Sitt Hakim. Only tell us who brought the child here and what he meant to do with her." It took a while-and a number of caresses from Sennia-to win the poor thing's confidence. She said she knew nothing of the business except that her son had told her she must keep Sennia hidden for a few hours. He would return after darkness had fallen to take her away. He had not explained why; she had not asked. I believed her. The woman's role was to hear and obey, and she was too frightened and too frail to lie. "We are going to take the child with us," Emerson said. "We are her family. Will he harm you, Mother, when he finds she is gone?" "No, no. He is a good son. He takes care of me. He would not have hurt the child. I think ..." She hesitated. "I think someone gave him money. We have very little." She had a little more when we left. Emerson is extremely softhearted. I only hoped she had been telling the truth when she claimed her son would not blame her for the loss of his prisoner. There was no way she could have prevented it, but some men will vent their anger on the nearest object, especially if it is weaker than they are. Emerson took Sennia up in front of him and she settled in the curve of his arm with a sigh. "Can we go home now? I want to see Gargery and Horus and I am very thirsty; she offered me water, but you told me not to drink water unless it was boiled." I unhooked my canteen and handed it to Emerson. "You are a good girl, to remember that when you were so frightened." "I wasn't frightened. Not very. I knew you would come." Over her head Emerson's eyes met mine. I knew he was remembering another child who had said something of the sort to us many years before. Honesty compels me to remark that in Ramses's case the innumerable mishaps from which we had rescued him were usually his own fault, but this was not true of Sennia; we had failed her and it was only due to the mercy of God and the courage of Gargery that matters had turned out as well as they had. Sennia handed the canteen back to me. "Can we go home now, please?" When we reached the house we found a large crowd assembled-all our skilled men, all the female servants, and half a dozen of the gaffirs. Ali the doorman was not at the door; he was with the others, brandishing a heavy stick and shouting at the top of his lungs. His demands and those of the others were directed at Selim; they wanted action and they wanted it now, and poor Selim's attempts to be heard over the bedlam were in vain. He was the first to see us. The change in his expression made the others turn, and then we were the center of the shouting mob. It took quite some time to quiet them. Kadija carried Sennia off to see Gargery and Fatima ran to the kitchen to cook Sennia's favorite dishes. The rest of them began an animated discussion. Should they celebrate the child's return with a huge fantasia first, or wait until after they had punished her abductors? "Sir?" William edged up to us. I hadn't noticed him; he was so confounded self-effacing. "What can I do, sir?" "Nothing," Emerson said, cruelly but correctly. Seeing the young man's face fall, I added, "Thank you, William, but as you see, the matter is under control." "Yes, ma'am. I-I am very glad the child is safe." Emerson had already turned away; I patted William's arm and followed my husband and Selim into the study. "What have you done with him?" was Emerson's first question. "He is locked in the garden shed, with Hassan on guard. They would have torn him limb from limb, Father of Curses, if I had allowed it. What happened? Where was she? Did you find the other man?" We gave him a brief account of what had transpired. "Ah," said Selim, brightening. "So we will go there and wait for him to come back tonight!" "That is a step we must take," Emerson agreed. "Though there is a chance someone will warn him. It couldn't be helped, Selim, we had to get the child home at once. Fortunately we have another source of information." I persuaded Emerson to wait a bit before beginning the interrogation of our prisoner, since I wanted to be present, and there were other duties I needed to carry out first. They did not take long. Gargery had been put to bed by Selim and smeared with green ointment by Kadija. He was a sight to behold, but his cheerful if distorted smile and air of self-satisfaction told me that he considered his bruises a small price to pay for his new role as hero-which, I feared, he intended to milk to the full. Sennia had been to see him; she was now in the bath, attended like a small Sultaness by Kadija and Basima and several other women-and Horus, who lay stretched out on a cushion watching. The cat and I studied one another with mutual distaste. Now was when we missed Nefret. Veterinary medicine is not one of my specialities, but I knew that an animal in pain may attack even a friend. However, I have never been known to shirk my duty. I advanced upon Horus with a firm stride. "Peabody, don't," Emerson exclaimed in alarm. "Not without gloves-not without several people holding him down-not without a stout stick . . ." His voice trailed off into silence. Horus had rolled over, and we saw that his entire underbelly was bright green. "Oh," I said. "Kadija, how did you-" Kadija glanced at me over her shoulder. "He has no broken bones, Sitt Hakim, and I think nothing inside is hurt. He has eaten a great deal of chicken and clawed halfway through the door of Sennia's room." "But how did you-" "I talked to him." In what language? I wondered. I decided not to ask. Horus sneered at me. The storage shed had no windows. The interior was as hot as an oven. The prisoner's sweating face shone like glass. He was a young man, dark-skinned and heavily bearded. The men had not handled him gently. His head was bare and his robe was torn. If there had been any fight left in him, the sight of Emerson's stalwart form filling the narrow doorway would have ended it. He had been sitting on the floor; he wriggled back as far as he could go and raised his hands in appeal. "It is said that the Father of Curses does not torture prisoners," he croaked. "Only when they refuse to answer my questions," Emerson said. "That has never happened. I hope you will not be the first. What is your name?" The first few questions were answered without hesitation. His name was Mohammed, his profession camel driver, he lived in Giza village, where he had met Saleh Ibrahim, who had hired him for a little job. "The child was in no danger, Father of Curses, I swear. Saleh said she must be taken alive and unhurt or he would not be paid. He said-" "Paid," Emerson repeated. "By whom?" "I do not know, Father of Curses. I have done wrong, but do not send me to prison; beat me, and let me go. It was Saleh who planned it. He took her to his house. That is all I know. I swear I will never again-" "Oh, be quiet," Emerson said in disgust. He turned to me and spoke in English. "I know his kind. He is a petty criminal, who will turn his hand to any job that does not require great courage or intelligence. What surprises me is that he had the intestinal fortitude to take on this job. He knew who the victim was; he knows who we are; he knew her relationship to us." "He may have been promised a large sum of money." "It would have to be a very large sum," said Emerson, with unconscious-and justifiable-egotism. "No. There is something he has not told us. Look at the miserable creature." Sweat was pouring down the man's face, which had turned a peculiar shade of muddy gray. His hand had gone to his throat, and I saw that he was fingering an amulet of some sort. "That won't help you," said Emerson. "Do you think God listens to the prayers of sinners and liars and tormentors of little children? You know who hired Saleh. If you do not speak . . ." He paused for effect. Mohammed's teeth began to chatter. "If you do not tell us the truth, the Sitt Hakim will fetch her parasol." The fellow's eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped over in a faint. "Now you've done it, Emerson," I remarked. "I hope so," said Emerson. "Hassan, give him some water." I had Daoud to thank for the legends that surrounded my parasol. He was a fine raconteur, and the tales he had told about us had spread throughout the length of Egypt. I had never been sure how much he believed in the magical powers of the parasol, but he had certainly managed to convince a number of other people. We revived Mohammed and found him pitiably willing to confess, but he was in such a state of terror, Emerson had to shake him a few times before he could speak intelligibly. Only one thing could have persuaded him to brave the wrath of the Father of Curses and the terrible parasol of the Sitt Hakim. It was not money. It was the knowledge that the act had been ordered by a man he feared even more-and the hope of becoming one of his trusted men. I think I knew what he was going to say even before Emerson shook it out of him. "The Master. It was the Master! Who dares refuse his commands?" My fertile pen falters when I attempt to describe the impact of Mohammed's statement. He would not have dared to lie. He was telling the truth-as he believed. Even Emerson was momentarily struck dumb. Recovering, I said, "The Master is dead." Mohammed looked like a cornered rat, terror and cunning mingled on his sweating face. "So they said of him once before. But he was not dead, Sitt, or else he came back from Gehenna, where the very afreets cower before him, and he punished those who had been disloyal. I have not seen him, but Saleh has. He gave Saleh money. He will give him more tonight, when he knows his orders have been carried out." "Tonight," Emerson repeated, in a voice like the rumble of thunder. "Obviously someone has used his name, Emerson," I exclaimed. "Obviously." Visibly troubled, Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. "Since none of his hirelings knew what he really looked like, it would not be difficult to convince them that he had returned. He has as many personalities as hairs on his head." We had spoken in English, but Mohammed understood enough to give him new hope. "You believe me, Father of Curses! I can tell you no more. Let me go and I swear I will never again-" "Shall we turn him over to Mr. Russell?" I asked. "No, what purpose would that serve? Russell couldn't get any more out of him than we have. I want him here, at my disposal. I cannot think how he could be of further use to us, but one never knows." Mohammed's howls of woe followed us as we went back to the house. I had instructed Hassan to get him food and water and make him as comfortable as circumstances allowed. He was a contemptible creature, but one must live up to one's standards. We planned our expedition with care, confiding only in Selim. Though I did not suppose we would require his help, it would have been cruel to refuse his demand that he be allowed to accompany us. He was aching to get in a few blows on his own account. It was late afternoon before we got off. Mohammed had been vague about the precise time of the meeting between the impostor and his hireling, probably because he did not know himself. "After nightfall" might be any hour between dusk and dawn, so we needed to be in position before sunset. We had a little less than a mile to walk from the place where we left the horses, and there we assumed Arab dress. Emerson enjoyed this part of the business, since in my guise of a Moslem female I was obliged to follow him at a proper distance. We approached the village from the south, where ridges of rock offered concealment. The sun was low in the west by then. He and Selim settled down to wait. I went on. Emerson had not given in to this part of the scheme without argument, but in my opinion it was imperative that we have someone actually inside the house, and I was the only one who could approach it without arousing suspicion. Many of the poorer local women went unveiled, and so did I, but the head scarf shadowed my face, which I had darkened with one of the concoctions Ramses kept for that purpose. I met no one as I shuffled toward the house. Even the dog had disappeared. During our earlier visit the inhabitants had hidden in their houses; now they appeared to have made a hasty exodus. They might be uneducated and ignorant but they were not stupid. "When the Father of Curses appears, trouble follows," as Daoud was wont to say. They must have known the trouble was not over-that the Father of Curses would hold someone accountable for Sennia's abduction-that he would return, breathing fire and summoning all the demons of Egypt to his aid. I did not believe any of the others had been directly involved, but it is not only the guilty who flee when no man pursueth. I doubted they would have taken the old woman with them. She would have been an encumbrance, and would serve as a scapegoat. Sure enough, she was there, huddled in the corner by the brazier, looking as if she had not moved since we last saw her. She raised her head when I entered and closed the door after me. "Do not be afraid," I said softly. "It is the Sitt Hakim." She nodded. "I knew you would come back. The others knew too. They have run away." "Your son has not returned?" "No." In the same lifeless voice she went on, "He will not return. The story of your coming here has spread now, and if he hears of it he will go far away and never come back, and I will be alone, with no one to care for me. Is the child safe?" "Yes. Safe and happy." "She is a good child, kind and gentle. He swore he would not harm her. She would not eat the honey cakes ..." Her voice trailed off into mumbles and she began rocking back and forth, her arms folded across her breast as if she were nursing an infant. She had spent some of her windfall on opium. I recognized the smell. Well, who could blame her for wanting to escape from a life of blindness, poverty, and loneliness? I looked round the room, trying to decide what to do. The sky outside was darkening, and soon the interior would be pitch-black. The only place to sit was the floor, which was crawling with insect life; my ankles were