The Ape Who Guards the Balance (20 page)

I attempted to find little tasks for Abdullah that would keep him from overexertion, but eventually he saw through my schemes and went at it harder than ever, his aristocratic nose pinched with indignation. I kept a close eye on him, therefore, and so was the first to see him fall.

He sat up when I ran to him and tried to tell me there was nothing wrong, but he could not summon up enough breath to speak. Nefret was at his side almost as soon as I. From her shirt pocket she took an envelope and reached into it.

“Hold his mouth open,” she ordered, in the tone she would have used to a servant. Naturally I obeyed at once. In went her fingers and out they came; she clamped her small brown hands around Abdullah’s bearded jaws and brought her face so close to his that their noses were almost touching.

Abdullah stared as if mesmerized into her intent blue orbs. Gradually his breathing slowed and deepened, and Nefret released her grasp and sat back on her heels. Abdullah blinked. Then he looked at me.

I gave him a reassuring nod. “It is well, Abdullah. Nefret, go and tell the Professor we are stopping work.”

So she did, and as soon as Emerson learned what had happened he came out of the tomb and lectured Abdullah, which made him sulk, and sent Selim to ask Cyrus for the loan of his carriage, which made Abdullah swear.

“We are finished for the day,” Emerson said, in the voice that brooked no argument. “Go home and rest, you stubborn old villain.”

“Why not?” Abdullah said tragically. “I am old and of no use to anyone. It is a sad way to end, sitting in the sun like a toothless infant . . .”

Daoud took him by the arm. We watched them walk slowly away, Abdullah irritably swatting at Daoud.

“What the devil am I going to do with him?” Emerson demanded. “He will drop dead in his tracks one day and it will be my fault.”

“Perhaps he would prefer it that way,” Nefret said. “Wouldn’t you?”

Emerson’s worried face softened, and he put an affectionate arm around her. “You are very wise for such a young creature, my dear. What was it you gave him?”

“I knew he would lose or throw away those nitroglycerine tablets I gave him, so I brought a fresh supply. I always carry them with me.”

The boys had returned to the house by the time we got there, and when Nefret said she wanted to ride to Gurneh and make sure Abdullah was all right, they went with her.

            
(x)
    
From Manuscript H

The house, one of the largest in Gurneh, was midway up the hill, near the tomb of Ramose. Abdullah shared it with his nephew Daoud and Daoud’s wife Kadija, a tall, gray-haired woman with dark brown skin and muscles almost as impressive as Daoud’s. Nefret claimed she was a very entertaining conversationalist, with a delightful sense of humor, but Ramses had to take her word for it since Kadija never unveiled in his presence or spoke more than a murmured greeting.

They had to pretend they had dropped in for a social call while exercising the horses. Kadija served them with cups of dark sweet tea and then retired to a corner. After Nefret had watched Abdullah for a while without seeming to, she joined Kadija and a murmured undercurrent of conversation began, broken at intervals by Nefret’s musical chuckles.

They took their leave without the unpleasant subject of Abdullah’s health ever being mentioned. Once outside, David said anxiously, “He looks better, but he is bound to have more of these attacks. What will happen if you aren’t there with your medicine?”

“I gave Kadija a supply and told her what to watch out for. She’ll make certain he takes it.”

“She has the strength to do it,” Ramses said. “But has she the will?”

“Of course. She is a very intelligent woman. She told me the most amusing story, about . . .” Nefret laughed. “Well, perhaps it is not suitable for delicate masculine ears.”

It was still early, so at David’s suggestion they took a stroll through the village—“revisiting the scenes of my youth,” as he put it with uncharacteristic irony. The house where he had spent so many miserable years as the apprentice of a forger of antiquities had passed into the hands of Abd el Hamed’s cousin, who was carrying on the same trade. In theory the workshop turned out copies which were sold as such, but everyone knew that business was only a cover for the production of fakes.

“He’s not as good as my late and unlamented master,” David said. “I’ve seen some of his fakes in the antiquities shops, and they are so poor only the most gullible tourist would buy them. I’ll wager half the great museums of the world have Abd el Hamed’s reproductions.”

“You sound as if you regret his death,” Nefret exclaimed. “After the way he treated you!”

“It’s a pity talent and moral worth don’t go together,” David said. A shiver passed through his tall frame and he turned abruptly away from the house. “Abd el Hamed was a sadistic swine, but he was also a genius. And it was through him that I met you. Come, let’s go. I’ve had enough of nostalgia.”

They had left the horses at the bottom of the slope. As they made their way down the path single file, Ramses fell behind. The rays of the setting sun did remarkable things to Nefret’s hair.

Something dropped onto the path in front of him with a soft plop. Startled out of his dreamy state, he jumped back and then relaxed when he saw it was only a flower—a hibiscus blossom, velvety-petaled and bright orange red. He heard a soft laugh. The door of the house he was passing had opened. A woman stood there, leaning against the frame. He knew her at once for what she was; her face was unveiled and she wore only a vest and a pair of diaphanous trousers. Such clothing was worn in the privacy of the harem, but no respectable woman would have appeared in public without an enveloping robe.

Over one ear she had pinned a matching blossom; the vivid color set off her dark hair. It was difficult to judge her age. She had the body of a young woman but there were threads of silver in her hair and a certain tightness around her full lips.

Ramses stooped and picked up the flower. It seemed rude not to do so, though he suspected the gesture might have another significance. “Thank you, Sitt. May you be well.”

“An offering,” she said, in a low, intimate voice. “Did not the ancients offer flowers to the king?”

“Alas, Sitt, I am no king.”

“But you bear a royal name. It is not for a humble servant like myself to use it; shall I call you ‘my lord?’ ”

Her eyes were not brown or black but an unusual shade between green and hazel. She had framed them with powdered malachite.

Ramses was rather enjoying the banter—it was a different approach, at least—but Nefret and David had stopped to wait for him, and he was reasonably certain that Nefret would not wait long. He saluted the woman and started to turn away.

“You are very like your father.”

She had spoken English. That, and the astonishing statement, roused his curiosity. “Not many people think so,” he said.

She struck a match against the doorframe and lit the cigarette she had taken from somewhere in the folds of the voluminous trousers. Her eyes moved slowly from his face to his feet and then back, even more deliberately. “Your body is not so heavy as his, but it is strong and tall, and you move in the same way, light as a panther. Your eyes and skin are darker; in that you might almost be one of us, young lord! But the shape of your face, and your mouth . . .”

Ramses felt himself blushing—something he had not done for years. But then no woman had ever talked to him this way, or examined him as a buyer would examine a horse.

Or as some men examined women.

Sauce for the gander, as his mother would say. Wry amusement replaced embarrassment, and he cut off the catalog of his charms with a compliment on her English. Her vocabulary was certainly extensive.

“It is the new way for women” was the reply. “We go to school like obedient children, so that one day we will no longer be children but the rulers of men. Have you not heard of it, young lord? Your lady mother knows. Ask her whether women cannot be as dangerous as men when they—”

“Ramses!”

He started. Nefret’s voice held a note that was unpleasantly reminiscent of his mother’s. “I must go,” he said.

Her closed-lipped smile reminded him of one of the statues in the museum—the painted limestone bust called “the White Queen.” This woman’s skin was not alabaster pale, but a soft deep brown, lustrous as satin. “You obey when she summons you? You are more like your father than I thought. My name is Layla, young lord. I will be here, waiting, if you come.”

When he joined the others, he realized he was still holding the flower. Offering it to Nefret would probably not be a wise move. He did not toss it away until after they were out of the woman’s sight.

Nefret waited until they had reached the bottom of the hill. She let him lift her into the saddle and then said coolly, “Wait a moment. Stand still. I want to look at you.”

“Nefret—”

“I suppose you don’t do it deliberately. Or do you?”

“Do what?” He knew why she had mounted before she started on him. Her pose and manner were those of a high-born lady addressing a groom, and it cost him something of an effort to throw his shoulders back and meet her eyes squarely.

Nefret nodded. “Yes. It’s very interesting. The Professor has it too, in a different sort of way. David doesn’t, though you and he look enough alike to be brothers.”

David, already in the saddle, said lightly, “Is that an insult or a compliment, Nefret?”

“I’m not sure.” She turned back to Ramses, who had taken advantage of her momentary distraction to mount Risha. He knew she wasn’t going to let him off so easily, though.

“Who is she?”

“She said her name is Layla. That’s all I know.”

“Layla!” David exclaimed. “I thought she looked familiar. I haven’t seen her for five years or more.”

“You knew her, David?” Nefret asked in surprise.

“Not—not to say know. Not in that way.”

“I don’t suppose you could have afforded her,” Nefret conceded.

David let out a sputter of laughter. “Really, Nefret, you ought not say such things.”

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?”

“Oh, quite.” They had left the village behind and were riding side by side at an easy walk. David went on, “Don’t you remember her? She was the third wife of Abd el Hamed, my former employer. Hers was rather a remarkable career. They say she started out in the House of the Doves in Luxor—”

“The house of what?” Nefret exclaimed.

“One must assume the name is either euphemistic or ironic,” Ramses murmured. “I wouldn’t care to say which. Would you prefer to drop the subject? Mother would certainly disapprove of our discussing it.”

“Go on,” Nefret said grimly.

“You understand, I am only repeating what I overheard when I was living in Gurneh,” David insisted. “The place is the best—uh—place in Luxor, which isn’t saying a great deal. The girls are reasonably well paid, and some of them marry after they—um—after a certain time. Layla was one of these. With her help, her husband began dealing in antiquities and stolen goods, and acquired a small fortune. Then he died—rather suddenly, it was said—which left Layla a wealthy widow. Later she married that old swine Abd el Hamed, I never understood why. She refused to live in his house, so perhaps you never met her.”

“She had met Father,” Ramses said thoughtfully. “She commented on the resemblance between us.”

Nefret gave him an enigmatic look, but before she could comment, David said in a shocked voice, “Everyone in Egypt knows the Father of Curses, Ramses. He would never have had anything to do with a—with a woman like that.”

“No,” Nefret said. “No decent man would.” She must have seen them exchange glances, for she went on in a voice shaking with indignation. “Oh, yes, I know some eminently respectable ‘gentlemen’ go to prostitutes. At least they call themselves gentlemen! Their
gentlemen’s
laws forbid women to earn a decent living at a respectable profession, and when the poor creatures are forced into a life of disease and poverty and degradation the pious hypocrites visit them and then punish the
women
for immorality!”

Her eyes swam with tears. David reached out and patted her hand. “I know, Nefret. I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”

“You can’t reform the world overnight, Nefret. Don’t break your heart about things you can’t help.” Ramses knew his voice sounded hard and uncaring, but it tore him apart to see her cry when he couldn’t comfort her as he ached to do. If he ever dared hold her close he would give himself away.

Anyhow, he thought, dragging a girl out of her saddle and dumping her onto his would probably be more painful than romantic.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and gave him a watery but defiant smile. “I
can
help. And I will one day, just wait and see.”

Seeing her chin jut out and her mouth set tightly, Ramses understood what his mother meant when she talked about forebodings and premonitions. He was in complete sympathy with Nefret’s sentiments, but she had a dangerous habit of rushing in where angels feared to tread, and this particular cause could lead her into real trouble. Somehow, God only knew how, he would have to keep her away from the House of the Doves—and Layla. Two of Layla’s husbands had died suddenly and violently. If he’d ever seen a woman who did not need help and sympathy, it was that one.

:

W
e were dining with Cyrus and Katherine one evening that same week when a casual remark of the latter reminded me of a promise I had not kept. Katherine had asked when we expected the younger Emersons and Lia, and Cyrus had offered to put them up at the Castle. He was a sociable individual and enjoyed company, but though his residence was far more commodious and elegant than our humble abode, I declined the invitation with proper expressions of appreciation.

“They are due to arrive in Alexandria on Monday next, but I don’t know how long they will remain in Cairo before coming on.”

“Not long, I expect,” Katherine said. “They will be anxious to be with you. We hope to see a great deal of them. I believe you mentioned that little Miss Emerson is determined to go to university next autumn. If she wants to keep up her studies this winter, remember that I am a former governess and teacher.”