Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (28 page)

safe with us." Abbreviated though her account had been, it had taken longer than he had realized. He held the door for her, wondering how they were going to account for her presence. She wouldn't leave unless he dragged her away kicking and screaming. It would be even more difficult to explain the presence of a strange man. His uncle was deeply asleep and Nefret was arranging a blanket that covered him to the chin. She must have changed the sheets; a pile of crumpled linen lay by the bed. "You should have waited for me to help you," he said. "Any halfway competent nurse can shove a two-hundred-pound man around, even when he's a deadweight. The sheets were soaked. The fever has broken, and he'll sleep through till morning now." "I'll stay with him," Margaret said. "You must be tired." "I'm used to this, but I'll accept the offer. Go wash your face and hands and take off those filthy clothes. I'll get you one of my dressing gowns. The minute he stirs, wake me. We're next door." As soon as they were in their room Nefret kicked off her shoes and began unfastening buckles and buttons. "Are we going to bed?" Ramses asked, without much hope. "Not yet, we've a lot to discuss. Hand me my dressing gown, will you please? The crew will be up at dawn. How are we going to account for them being here?" "She was here earlier, looking for us." "Yes." Nefret tied the sash of her dressing gown. "So she came back later ... and he with her ... and they both had a bit too much to drink." She chuckled. "They had better be Mr. and Mrs., hadn't they." "But she's known in Luxor," Ramses protested. Nefret waved a dismissive hand. "Men have no imagination. He's her estranged husband, who followed her here hoping for a reconciliation. Which duly took place. That's why they were celebrating tonight." "Your imagination is as outrageous as Mother's," Ramses said. "There are so many holes in that plot, it resembles a sieve. What if he's ill again tomorrow?" "He will be ill again." She curled up on the bed. "You've got him right where you wanted him. Before the next attack he'll be weak but coherent." Ramses tossed his coat over a chair and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Taking advantage of a sick man? Well, why not? It's in the best traditions of the Game." "Ramses, you have to. This is a very unpleasant development. You don't understand the implications." "I don't understand what you're getting at, no." He finished undressing and put on a galabeeyah, knowing he might be rousted out of bed early in the morning by a hysterical woman. Nefret sat up, tucking her feet under her. "If he'd had an attack before, he'd have recognized the symptoms. With most types of malaria there are inevitable relapses; we've not learned how to cure it, only control it, and one never knows when the next attack will come on. A farsighted man, as I believe him to be, would be damned good and sure he had quinine with him at all times." "So?" "So, if this is the first attack, he was infected approximately ten days ago, through a mosquito bite. There are malarial areas in the Delta and the Canal Zone, but public health methods have reduced the incidence of the disease. There is only one other area near here," Nefret concluded, "where malaria is endemic." "The oases?" "That's right." "Kharga," Ramses muttered. "It's been more than ten days since Asad was freed." "So he's been back since, on other business. As you pointed out, it's only a few hours away by train." She leaned forward, her smooth brow furrowing. "Remember it was he who asked you if you suspected him of setting Asad on your trail. The idea had never occurred to you, or to me, before he brought it up. Guilt?" "I can't believe it." "I don't like the idea any better than you do, but we'd be fools to ignore the possibility. He knew you took Wardani's place last winter; he knew Wardani's lieutenants had been sent to the oases, and he's certainly clever enough to realize that an emotional fellow like Asad could be egged on to seek revenge. You said it yourself--he's after something big, something for which he needs time and privacy. What better way of keeping us in Cairo, out of his way, than to set a dedicated assassin on your trail? Unfortunately for him, we didn't react as he had hoped. Everything that's happened since has been designed to get us to leave Luxor." "Including the attack on Mother?" Ramses demanded incredulously. "His henchmen-I love that word-may have misunderstood his instructions." "Now look here, Nefret-" "It was just a thought," Nefret murmured. "No, darling, there is another alternative. He was telling the truth when he spoke of a rival. Someone else is after his big discovery." "So it would appear." He blew out the lamp before he went to her. "Sayid was bribed to tell her where she might find Sethos. It's the only possible explanation; Sayid is the last man on earth Sethos would have trusted with that information. They must have tried to trap him before and failed. They hoped her presence would slow him down enough for them to move in." "Sayid must know who 'they' are, then." "Not with everyone trotting about in disguise," Ramses said disgustedly. "He's not the keenest of observers. Oh, we'll have a chat with him, but I expect he'll claim it was just a jolly little joke on the Sitt." "We're in too deep to pull out now, aren't we?" she asked in a small voice. He took her in his arms. "I'm afraid so. Get some sleep, it's late. We'll worry about our next move tomorrow." The proximity of his wife had the usual effect, but the damnable sense of duty his mother had pounded into him made him say, "Perhaps I ought to stay with him tonight. If he's feeling fit enough by morning, he'll try to get away." "No, he won't. I took his clothes." 13

Emerson was determined to go on working until the last possible moment-leaving all the domestic and travel arrangements to me. That suited me admirably, since he would only have been in the way, so I sent him off to Giza after breakfast, with every intention of joining him once I had completed my tasks. We had announced our intentions at breakfast, arousing some mild surprise and a great deal of pleasure, especially from Sennia. There had been no question of her attending school that day. Not only was she entitled to a rest after her frightening experiences, but I didn't want to let her out of my sight-or at least, out of the house. After her cries of delight had subsided and she had been persuaded to resume her chair, I said, "We have a great deal to do if we are to be ready to leave tomorrow evening. You must help Basima pack your clothes and the other things you want to take." "My presents." Her juvenile brow wrinkled. "I don't have all my Christmas presents. Can we go to the Khan el Khalili, Aunt Amelia?" "No!" I moderated my sharp tone. "There won't be time. You can finish your shopping in Luxor." "Supposing I bring back a few bones from Giza," Emerson offered. "You can wrap them up for Aunt Nefret." "I would rather pick my own bones," said Sennia. "Can't I go with you?" "No! Er . . . there will not be time. Fatima will need your help too." "Amazing," Emerson said to me, after she had gone dancing off to visit Gargery and begin her packing. "I had expected she would be timid about returning to Giza." "It is a testimonial to her strong character and, I would like to believe, to her trust in us. A trust," I added firmly, "that will not again be misplaced. We must make certain she is guarded at all times without arousing new apprehensions in her. This was really a very good idea of mine, Emerson. With all the excitement she won't have time to brood about her experiences." As soon as Emerson had taken his leave, I wrote out several telegrams and sent one of the men to the telegraph office, instructing him to stop at the railroad station afterward and purchase our tickets. A consultation with Fatima came next; I felt a slight touch of uneasiness when I found her in the kitchen gathering the ingredients for her famous plum pudding. For such a self-effacing, soft-spoken little woman she could be extremely stubborn about what she considered to be her duties and privileges, and preparing Christmas dinner was one of them. Cyrus's chef might not take kindly to having another cook underfoot. By midday matters were well in hand at the house, so I took a picnic basket and set out for Giza, after warning everyone in the house to make certain Sennia had someone with her at all times. I placed my greatest trust in Kadija; she was as strong as a man and as dependable as one could wish. I found Emerson with William Amherst finishing the survey of the site and persuaded them to stop for a bite of lunch. "The Professor has told you of our plans?" I inquired of the young man. "Yes, ma'am. Do you mean me to go with you? I wouldn't want to be in the way ..." In fact, William had been the furthest person from my thoughts, but his wide, moist eyes held a look of appeal I could not resist. To leave such a friendless individual alone over the holiday seemed cruel in the extreme. He would be of no use here, since Emerson would not allow anyone to shift a single basket of sand without his supervision. He was well acquainted with the Vandergelts and Cyrus had always spoken well of him ... I weighed these factors with my customary quickness, and I believe there was scarcely a moment's pause before I replied. "Naturally I had counted on your joining us, William. Cyrus will be glad to have you." "You are too good," the young man exclaimed. Emerson had been muttering over his cucumber sandwich. It usually takes him awhile to get his mind off the work he has been doing. The exchange caught his attention. He looked up, scowling. "In her own characteristic fashion. Curse it, Peabody, did you come alone?" "Certainly. I have my parasol." Emerson did not pursue the subject. He had found another that gave him an excuse to complain. "You ought not have left Sennia." "Emerson, there are eight people in the house, not counting the cat. I do think you ought to stop work for the day, though. We have a number of minor matters to clear up." "Yes, and one of them is here at Giza," Emerson said. "I want to have a closer look at the scene of yesterday's crime." "What, the murder scene?" "I was thinking of the crime of abducting our ward. But you are in the right; we had better see what, if anything, is left of Saleh." He gave me a challenging smile. Needless to say I remained unperturbed. It was William who turned pale. "Left of..." "The jackals and wild dogs will have been at him," Emerson said cheerfully. "I am surprised you haven't already attended to that," I said, watching William's countenance take on a greenish hue. What the devil was wrong with the man? He ought not be so squeamish after so many years in Egypt. "I was waiting for you, my dear. Not for all the world would I deprive you of the pleasure of examining a dismembered corpse. Come along, Amherst, you won't want to miss this." I honestly do not believe Emerson was motivated by malice. He is of the school that believes the best way to conquer a weakness is to face it head-on. An examination of the spot where Sennia had been seized gave us no new information. Returning to the hotel, we collected our horses and hired one for William, overruling his feeble excuses. However, only a person of excessively delicate sensibilities would have been overcome by what we found. Predators had been at the body of the dog. The remains were somewhat scattered about, but enough remained to identify it. Of the body of its owner there was no trace, except for a copious quantity of dried blood, already blurred by blowing sand. "Someone must have collected whatever the jackals left, and buried it," said Emerson. "Touching consideration. I suppose even a swine like Saleh might have a friend. Let us see if we can locate him." With William trailing reluctantly after us, we made our way down the ridge into the village. Since we had to assume we had been seen, Emerson announced our approach in the loudest possible voice and in terms designed to reassure the hearers. "We mean no harm to the innocent. You know us, you know that when our word is given it is not broken. We will pay well for information. Baksheesh!" The seemingly empty houses disgorged a trickle of people, fewer than twenty in all, ranging in age from naked toddlers to a toothless, bent old man, who proclaimed himself the sheikh of this wretched place. "We have your word, O Father of Curses?" he mumbled. "We are innocent. We have done no wrong." Emerson reached into his pocket. Coins jingled. The audience edged closer. We got very little in the way of useful information, though Emerson dispensed baksheesh with a lavish hand. All in the village knew that Saleh was a bad man, but always before he had done his evil deeds elsewhere. They had known nothing of his latest venture into crime until he came to the village carrying a child whose struggles and complaints made it clear that she had not come willingly. They had been too afraid of him to interfere. He had not been seen with a stranger, in the village or elsewhere. In short, they were ignorant and innocent, and they were relieved he was dead. But they had buried his remains because that was their religious duty. "And because they didn't want his ghost coming back to haunt them," said Emerson to me in English. "Do you want to dig him up, Peabody? Most probably he's buried deep." "I see no point in doing that, Emerson. I wonder what he did with the first payment he had been given." "It wasn't on his body." Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. "Hmph. Let's have a look." Emerson and Amherst-who had regained his nerve now that there were no dismembered corpses to be inspected-found the little bundle tucked into a crevice in the crumbling wall of the hut. While they searched I did what I could for the old woman. She was in pitiable condition. Opium destroys the appetite of the user, and it was evident that she had not even had the will or the energy to drink water. She sucked greedily at the canteen I held to her lips and then sank back with a sigh. "My son is dead, Sitt Hakim. Soon I will die too. I have no wish to live." "There are others who will care for you," Emerson said. "We will make sure they do." "Ah?" She raised her head. "Then I will live. The Father of Curses has said it!" "How does it feel to be a demigod, with the power of life and death?" I inquired, as we left the nasty place. "Splendid," said Emerson with a grin. He had removed the rag that had been wrapped round the money, and I recognized the notes issued by the National Bank of Egypt. "Fifty Egyptian pounds," said Emerson, counting. "He paid well, the swine. This should keep the old lady in lentils and opium for a while." He gave the money to the mayor, whose rheumy eyes popped when he saw the amount, and whose wrinkled face fell when he heard Emerson's instructions. I did not doubt they would be followed to the letter, since Emerson announced his intention of sending round from time to time to make certain. He added in an offhand tone that if one of them remembered something of interest, he would pay well for information. "Do you think someone is concealing something?" I inquired as we mounted and started back to Giza. "I rather doubt it, but should that be the case he wouldn't speak up in front of the others. We will have to wait and see." Fatima had tea ready when we reached the house, where we found Daoud making serious inroads on a plate of sandwiches. Fatima had fed him the latest gossip along with the sandwiches, and he was fairly bursting with outrage at the effrontery of the man who had dared lay hands on the Little Bird. Naturally he was convinced he could have prevented it if he had not been in Luxor. We let him get it out of his system and then Emerson said, "You could not be in two places at once, Daoud. We sent you to Luxor to find out how matters are proceeding there. Make your report. Fatima, more sandwiches, if you please." Daoud held up his hand. "One," he said, raising a finger twice the length and breadth of mine. Without pausing for breath he proceeded to reel off the facts which, he added, Nur Misur had told him to relate. He had just finished the second of them when Sennia burst into the room, embraced us all, and settled herself comfortably on Daoud's large lap. "How are they all?" she demanded. "Is Bertie better? Do they know we are coming?" "Are we?" Daoud asked. "Oh, yes, didn't the Professor tell you? All of us, on the train tomorrow. Tell me how they are, Daoud. Do they miss me?" "Very much," Daoud assured her. "Mr. Bertie is better. Three. He has found a new interest. Her name is Jumana." I did not doubt he had repeated the message word for word. It was not at all what I had had in mind for Bertie, but Emerson's well-shaped lips curved in one of those masculine smiles. "The girl Nefret mentioned? Well, well, there is nothing like a pretty woman to-" "Emerson, please!" With a gesture, I reminded him that there was an innocent child present. "Did you meet the young woman, Daoud?" "Oh, yes. Nur Misur said you would want to know what I thought of her. She is very, very pretty." He took another sandwich. "Is that all?" I demanded. Daoud pondered the question. "She talks in a loud voice and says what she thinks. So it is likely Yusuf will not find a husband for her, though she is very, very-" "Yes, I see. Oh, dear. Emerson, I foresee complications." "So long as it does not turn out to be another pair of confounded young lovers," Emerson grunted. "We used to be infested with them, and a damn-er-deuced nuisance they were." "There is a more important thing," said Daoud, who had no interest in young lovers. He added punctiliously, "It was not Nur Misur who told me of it." "Something about tomb robbing?" Emerson inquired. Daoud cleared his throat. With the instincts of a master storyteller he had saved this bit of news for the last, and his solemn voice made it evident he was quoting. "It is known in Luxor that the Master has returned. His whereabouts no man knows. His true appearance no man knows. He has a thousand faces and ten thousand names." The silence that followed was broken by the crash of shattering china. Mr. Amherst had dropped his cup. FROM MANUSCRIPT H The soft sound brought Ramses instantly awake. The curtains at the window fluttered in the morning breeze. He had just enough time to swing his feet to the floor and make sure he was decently covered before the door opened. Nefret sat up with a start. The candle Margaret held cast ugly shadows over her face, shaping black hollows under her cheekbones and lengthening her nose. "Come at once," she ordered. "He's awake." The window of the room where they had installed their guest faced east. It wasn't quite as early as Ramses had thought; the sky over the eastern cliffs was pale with the approach of dawn. He had expected to find Sethos on his feet and in a combative frame of mind, but the light from Margaret's candle showed a motionless form lying on the bed. The face above the blanket that covered him from feet to chin was unshaven and sunken, with a scowl almost as forbidding as one of Emerson's. "Clever," he said. "I suppose there's no use asking you to give me back my clothes?" "That's open to negotiation," Nefret said. She looked and sounded a good deal brighter than Ramses felt. Stifling a yawn that threatened to crack his jaws, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms. Nefret opened her medical bag. The expression on Sethos's face when he saw the thermometer cheered Ramses quite a lot. "No," he said firmly. "Yes," said Nefret. "Shall I have Ramses hold you down?" His uncle considered the question. Ramses, who was beginning to enjoy himself, watched the struggle between common sense and an unreasonable but understandable desire to hit out at someone. "At least get her out of here before you rob me of what remains of my dignity," Sethos said, glancing obliquely at Margaret. It was the first time he had deigned to acknowledge her presence. "That's reasonable," Nefret conceded. "Margaret, go and get dressed. Use the room next to this one." Sethos submitted to Nefret's examination in tight-lipped silence. "Temperature and pulse normal," she announced. "But you know what's going to happen, don't you?" He responded with another question. "Malaria?" "It looks like it. What time did the last attack begin?" Sethos brushed this aside with a wave of his hand. "You needn't stand over me like a prison guard, Nefret. I haven't the strength to fight you off, much less the pair of you, and I'm not foolhardy enough to risk falling ill before I can find a safe hiding