Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (30 page)

thought of a story to tell Cyrus. "Always glad to see you. How is Bertie getting on?" "Real well." The twinkle intensified. "Even better since our little visitor dropped by." "Good Lord." Ramses dropped into a chair. "Jumana?" Nefret arrived in time to hear the last word. "What's she done now?" "Paid a call on Katherine, proper as you please. Presented her with a pretty bouquet. Got the flowers out of my garden, I think," Cyrus added with a grin. "That's quite a girl. She said you had promised to teach her everything she needs to know to become an Egyptologist." "What else did she say?" Ramses asked apprehensively. "Quite a lot. She was trying to impress us with how much she already knew about the subject." "I do apologize, Cyrus," Nefret said. "What for? No reason why she shouldn't pay her respects, even if she did have an ax to grind. It's a refreshing change to find someone who wants books instead of baksheesh. And I'll tell you something else. Bertie perked up like you wouldn't believe." Cyrus chuckled. "He didn't make much headway with the young lady; once he'd admitted he wasn't an Egyptologist she ignored him as if he were a block of wood. As soon as she left he went off to his room with a stack of books." Nefret looked at her husband. There was no meaningful exchange of glances this time; his face had gone courteously blank and she knew he had stopped listening to Cyrus. There was enough on his mind, heaven knew, but Nefret had a feeling he wasn't taking this latest development seriously enough. Katherine would certainly disapprove of Bertie's attachment to an Egyptian girl, however innocent the relationship. I'll make damned good and sure it is innocent, Nefret thought-for Jumana's sake if not for Bertie's. She brought her attention back to Cyrus, who had launched into an animated discussion of his future plans. Bertie wasn't the only one who had "perked up" since they arrived in Luxor. "I thought maybe you two would like to go around with me looking for possible sites." Ramses looked as if he had been poleaxed. "Today?" "I'm anxious to get started. But if you folks have something else to do-" "I'm afraid we are busy today," Nefret said. "What about tomorrow-or the day after?" "Why, sure." Cyrus rose and picked up his hat. "You'll have to excuse me. I got so carried away I forgot you might have other plans." "Not at all," Nefret said. "We'd love to go with you. Soon." "There's no hurry," Cyrus said amiably. "Lots of other things I can do. I might have a word with Yusuf, ask if he has any suggestions." "Excellent idea," Ramses said. As soon as Cyrus had gone he turned on Nefret. "Tomorrow? He won't be recovered by then, will he?" "Probably not. We'll just have to put Cyrus off again. You didn't tell him about his ailing sister." "I couldn't think of any explanation that made sense," Ramses admitted. "My brain seems to have gone dead." "Small wonder. Why don't you get a few hours' sleep?" He went to her and took her hands in his. "You didn't get much sleep last night either." "I don't have the kind of day ahead that you do." She freed her hands and put them on his shoulders. "Go and lie down. I'll wake you in time for lunch." He hadn't supposed he would sleep but he did, waking of his own accord after a dream so outrageously horrific that he smiled drowsily as he remembered it. The boat capsizing and Margaret calling him names as she sank, while he trod water and made no move to rescue her; Cyrus riding up and down the west bank, bellowing, "That's not my sister Emmeline!"; Sethos telling Nefret that he would turn back into a prince if she kissed him; Sethos again, perched on the tumbled ruins of his house, watching with a smile while Mubashir neatly removed Ramses's lungs, liver, and intestines and put them into canopic jars. The carved human heads on the lids of the jars did not have the royal uraeus on their brows, and Ramses had been about to object to this omission when he woke up. When he joined Nefret for luncheon he told her about the first part of the dream, thinking it might amuse her. The last two episodes almost certainly would not. "You know what the Freudians would say about your letting Margaret drown," she said gravely. "They'd be wrong. God knows I wish she hadn't complicated our lives, but I have a great deal of admiration for her. As soon as he's fully recovered I'll hold his arms while she hits him as often as she likes. You don't suppose Cyrus does have a sister named Emmeline?" "I don't think he has a sister by any name." She did smile then. "How did your unconscious come up with Emmeline? Someone I missed?" "The only Emmeline I've met was Mrs. Pankhurst, and I assure you I never got within ten feet of her. Nor wanted to." They made conversation until Nasir had cleared the table and taken himself off. Ramses lit a cigarette. "Is she ready?" Nefret nodded. "What about the dinghy?" "It might be recognized. I'll steal or hire a boat. See you in a bit." The first part of the plan went off without a hitch. By the time he got back to the Amelia in the small sailing boat he had hired, after the usual intensive bargaining, the crewmen had settled down for their afternoon rest and the only traffic on the river was a few commercial steamers and barges. With Nefret's assistance he got the black-robed woman out the window and into the boat. Neither of them spoke much during the voyage. He was busy with the tiller and the sails and she didn't seem inclined toward conversation. As they neared the east bank she raised her bowed head. The veil hid all of her face except for her eyes. They were sunken and shadowed, but when she spoke it was in her usual brisk voice. "You'll let me know?" "Yes. In person, sometime tomorrow, if we can manage it. Remember what I said about sticking close to the hotel. It would make my life much more difficult if you were abducted." "Or killed." "That's the only positive aspect to the situation. If they do come after you they will want you alive." "Do you call that positive?" "It's much harder to carry off a healthy, hearty woman than to slit her throat." He didn't give her time to comment on that. "I'm going to put you ashore as close to the hotel as I can. You'll have something of a scramble climbing the bank, but after what you did last night I expect you can manage it." She managed, with a certain amount of slipping and swearing. Ramses waited until she had reached the top of the embankment before he followed, in time to see her dart across the road and start up the long curving arm of the staircase that led to the door of the Winter Palace. She'd be all right now-if she remembered to divest herself of her Egyptian dress before she tried to go in. The wind had died down, and it took him twice as long to get back across, using the oars a good part of the way. He returned his hired vessel, removed beard, turban, and aba behind a tree, and headed for the Amelia, scratching absently at his jaw. He'd been trying to develop an adhesive that didn't itch, without success thus far. The sun was sinking westward and cool gray shadows stretched across his path. As soon as darkness had fallen he could finish the rest of the program. He was rather looking forward to it. Action of any kind was easier than waiting, and he didn't really anticipate any trouble. Nefret's part was the hardest. She wouldn't whine or cry, but she would be sick with apprehension until he came back. It had gone well so far. He wondered, with a complacency he was soon to regret, why he had let himself get worked up. This situation was no more complicated than the messes his parents got into all the time. It must be an unknown tomb Sethos and his rival were after. There were plenty of them in Thebes. In the past half-century alone, over fifty had been discovered, more than two dozen in the Valley of the Kings itself, three-or more?-by the indefatigable Abd er Rassul family. To be sure, the majority had been unfinished or thoroughly plundered, and the rare exceptions to the latter condition had been those of officials, not royalty. But there were a number of pharaohs still missing: Horemhab, several of the Ramses, Tutankhamen .. . Golden visions swam about in his mind. Ashraf was sitting at the foot of the gangplank, smoking and staring placidly into space. He sprang to his feet when he saw Ramses. "Nur Misur is looking for you, Brother of Demons." The golden visions were replaced by what his mother would have called a hideous foreboding. "What has happened, Ashraf?" "Nothing, nothing. But she said-" Ramses hurried up the gangplank, leaving Ashraf talking to himself. Nefret must have heard their voices. She came running to meet him, eyes wide, face strained. He caught her in his arms. "Darling, what's wrong? Did he-" She pushed him away. "He didn't do anything. The next paroxysm has started, I've got to get back to him. But, oh, Ramses-you won't believe this-it's too awful-" "What? For God's sake, Nefret!" There was a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. A telegram. He snatched it from her. "Arriving Luxor Wednesday A.M. with Sennia, Selim, and others. Staying with Cyrus, no need for you to do anything." She had even paid for another extra word. "Love, Mother." Ramses drew the curtain aside and looked out the window. The night sky was brilliant with stars, and moonlight streaked the rippling dark water. He had stripped to shirt and drawers and removed his shoes. "It's time I was going. Are you sure you can handle him?" The ghost of a smile touched Nefret's lips. "Look at him." The first stage of the attack had passed, and fever reddened the sick man's face. Though his eyes were open, he did not seem to be aware of his surroundings, and he hadn't spoken, except for incoherent murmurs. Nefret extinguished the lamp before she joined him at the window. Ramses felt as if he ought to say something, but he couldn't think what. Don't worry? But she would. I love you? That sounded as if he never expected to see her again. What was there to say, after all? He kissed her upturned face, a hard, quick kiss, and slid out the window. Reaching up, he took the bundle she handed him. "Don't be tempted to show off," she whispered, and withdrew from the window. Once ashore, he wrung out his dripping undergarments and put them on again. The fabric was uncomfortably clammy but there was a chance he'd want to discard the robe, and he didn't fancy running about in his bare skin. The waterproof wrappings had kept the clothing dry. He put them on-robe, beard, turban, sandals, knife belt-and started walking. Though he kept a wary eye out, he had ample time for what his mother would have called ratiocination during the mile-long hike. Unfortunately he still couldn't think of any way of averting the catastrophe that would soon be upon them. He and Nefret had discussed alternatives that afternoon, once he'd recovered from the shock of the telegram. "Tell them they mustn't come" had been her first suggestion. "Tell Mother not to do something?" "You're right, that would only make her more determined. What do you suppose brought this on?" "Why speculate? It could be anything from wanting to share a jolly Christmas celebration to ... I'm afraid to think." "They can't know about him. Uh-can they?" "Anything's possible where my mother is concerned, but I don't see how that fascinating bit of information can have reached her. We've got to get him off the Amelia before they arrive, Nefret." "Yes." They stared blankly at one another. "How?" Nefret asked. "Where to?" A rustle in the vegetation brought Ramses's attention back to his surroundings. He was almost at the edge of the cultivation; to his right, the broken columns of Seti's temple glowed pale in the moonlight. Time to concentrate on the job ahead. One crisis at a time, he told himself. He was familiar with the village, though he'd never had any reason to linger there; it was one of several small settlements between the southern end of Drah Abu'l Naga and the Seti I temple. He circled the place, fingering the torch in his pouch and wondering whether he would have to use it. The moonlight should be bright enough if he could attract someone's attention. From the ridge he selected as his vantage point, the small huddle of huts looked deserted. Most of the villagers went to bed as soon as it was dark; lamp oil was costly. A pile of rubble indicated the site of Sethos's house. He'd done a thorough job. Not a wall had been left standing. The locals had probably added their bit, rooting in the ruins in search of some object they could use, or, if one was charitably inclined, for a body dead or alive. Ramses picked up a handful of stones and began pitching them in the general direction of the village, spacing them so that the sounds would suggest they had been set rolling by approaching feet. He waited for a bit, listening. He threw one more stone, and was rewarded with the first response, a loud canine yelp. The stone must have struck a sleeping dog. He headed down the slope, impatient to get the business over. Several other dogs had added their comments to the original complaint. A light showed at the window of one of the houses and a voice shouted imprecations in Arabic. All perfectly normal and harmless, just as Sethos had predicted. The aroused sleeper had his head out the window, cursing the dogs. They were now following Ramses, snarling and barking. He stopped a few feet from the house, full in the moonlight. A halt in the curses, followed by a cry of surprise, assured him he had been seen, so he turned and trotted back the way he had come. The dark form seemed to rise up out of the ground directly in his path. He flung himself to one side and flipped over, landing on his feet as a knife drove into the ground on the spot where he had just been. He caught one glimpse of a scarred, distorted face before he broke into a run, hurtling obstacles in his path and resisting the temptation to look back. Footsteps pounded after him, but he didn't doubt he could keep ahead, and if he didn't lose the fellow before he reached the edge of the cultivation, there were a number of handy bolt-holes in the temple ruins, with which he was thoroughly familiar ... Mubashir-it had to be Mubashir-was as familiar with the terrain as he was. He avoided several pitfalls Ramses had hoped he'd fall into, and came doggedly on. Finally, though, the sound of footsteps stopped. Ramses was about to risk a glance back when something slid past his ear and sliced through the shoulder of his borrowed garment before thudding into the ground ahead of him. He ran faster. When he reached the back of the temple he collapsed, panting, onto the ground behind a tumble of fallen blocks and took stock. There was no sign of his pursuer. The Syrian had thrown the knife only when he realized he was going to lose the race. It had been an incredible throw, in moonlight and at a rapidly moving target, and Ramses was glad he hadn't looked over