Tomb of the Golden Bird (22 page)

abduct me to keep me safe!" "No," Sethos said. "I did it...I did it because . . ." For once his glib tongue failed him. Looking from him to Margaret, I said, "He had planned to stage a daring rescue, Margaret." Margaret's face was a study. "Rescue? From that decrepit old man and his octogenarian wife?" "Oh, I'd have arranged it more dramatically," Sethos said, perking up. The signs were encouraging; she hadn't thrown anything at him or called him names. Neither of them seemed to know what to say next. "Get your things together, Margaret," I said. She picked up her evening bag, shot a scornful look at the embroidered robes, and strode out of the room without looking at Sethos. Matters were progressing nicely on that front. I only wished I could deal as easily with the others. From Manuscript H Safely surrounded by bright lights and mobs of people, Ramses collapsed onto the steps of the hotel and fought for breath. At last he managed to get out a few words. "Are you all right?" David nodded. "You?" "Yes. I wonder . . . why they didn't. . . fire at us." "I don't know." David wiped his sweating face with his sleeve. "D'you want something to drink?" "No time." Ramses got to his feet. "We've got to inform the police." "I thought you were anxious to get back to Nefret." "I am, but they'll get—" "Away," David finished. "It can't be helped. By the time we get to the zabtiyeh and convince the man on duty we have a legitimate complaint, and round up enough men, they'll have cleared out."

His reasoning was irrefutable. The police wouldn't be in any hurry to act; they might insist on getting authority from Aziz, who would have to be dragged out of bed. It wouldn't take the gang long to gather their scanty belongings and decamp. "What's the time?" Ramses asked. "Half after midnight. Let's go." Not many people crossed the river at that hour, but there were a number of boatman about, hoping to entice tourists into a moonlight sail or pick up a late-leaving resident of the west bank. They headed toward Ramses and David, quarrelling over who had the right to this fare; but the first to reach them, pushing frailer bodies aside, was Daoud's son Sabir. He caught David in a crushing grip. "Here you are, you are safe, alhamdullilah!" David freed himself, laughing, and Sabir fell on Ramses. Ramses was made aware of bruises he hadn't noticed till then. Though Sabir was not as tall as his father, he had Daoud's large frame, and arms toughened by operating oars and sails. "Yes, God be praised," he said, once he had detached himself from Sabir's fond embrace. "Were you looking for us?" "Yes, yes, they sent me to wait. Come quickly. Nur Misur weeps and the Father of Curses swears, and the Sitt Hakim is putting bullets in her gun, and—" "I hate to think what else," Ramses said. "We must hurry, then." Sabir's was one of the few vessels that boasted an outboard motor. They got across in record time, and found Selim waiting with horses. He had seen them approaching, and his shouts had brought others of the men. They had to endure more loving embraces and cries of praise to Allah—with which Ramses was inclined to agree. Call it God, call it luck, call it Fate, he was perfectly willing to thank something. "How did you know to expect us?" he asked Selim, as Risha nuzzled his shoulder. "We did not know. We hoped," Selim said simply. "When the family found you had not gone to Gurneh, they sent Sabir and me to ask the boatmen whether anyone had taken you across. We have been waiting." Selim, who loved drama, wanted to arrange a procession and waswith some difficulty persuaded to have the procession follow instead of preceding them. Torches flaring, voices raised in song and praise, the whole lot ran along behind. David rode with Selim, at a canter, but Ramses let Risha out. Now that he was almost there, he could hardly wait to see her. The house was lit from one end to the other. She came running to meet him, holding out her arms. He brought Risha to a halt and met her halfway. "Now tell us," Selim urged. "Tell us all your adventure." No one could possibly think of going to bed. The return of the lost had revived all spirits, even those of Daoud. We had stopped at his house on the way back from Gurneh, to tell him we knew all about it and that we did not blame him. Kadija was not so forgiving. "So that is why you have been pretending to be sick. Daoud, you great fool. . ." When she heard about the boys having gone missing she left off berating Daoud and said she would come with him to the house. Hoping against hope that the wanderers had returned, we left them to follow (with, I expected, a pot of Kadija's famous green ointment). Having discovered that our hopes had not been fulfilled, I at once took steps, sending Daoud and Selim to gather our people and begin inquiries. It was Sabir who located the boatman who had taken the boys across. (He had added that the Brother of Demons had not paid for his passage, and that money was owed.) "What are we waiting for?" Emerson demanded, after Sabir reported this. "They are somewhere in Luxor. I will—" "Search the entire town, house by house?" I interrupted. "The boatman lost sight of them after they climbed the embankment." My rational arguments had no effect on Emerson, who was storming up and down the veranda knocking over tables and annoying the cat. It was Nefret, perhaps the only one who could have done so, who dissuaded him. "We don't want to lose you too, Father. Give them a little more time." She wouldn't have been so calm if one of her premonitions had gripped her. I would never forget the frantic girl who had begged for our belief and help when Ramses was in the hands of his worst enemy. She was the first to sense their coming. She ran out the door, and a few moments later we heard the shouts and saw the blazing torches. It is impossible to describe our feelings, but the sensitive Reader will have no difficulty in imagining them. From Manuscript H David was suffering the reaction Ramses had feared. The loving embraces and exclamations of relief had been like scratching a bleeding wound. Lips tight and brow furrowed, he stared at his folded hands and did not respond to Selim. He was leaving it to Ramses. The pandemonium following their arrival had given Ramses no opportunity to plan what he would say. Fatima kept running in and out with platters of food, Kadija smeared both of them with her famous green ointment, and everyone talked at the top of their lungs. His arm round his wife, savoring safety and her presence, Ramses postponed his explanation by asking about Margaret. Seeing her sitting quietly in a corner was one less weight on his conscience. "It seems," said his mother, "that her disappearance had nothing to do with the—the other business. A certain individual took it upon himself to carry her off, for reasons of his own. She was never in danger. Let that suffice for the time being. We are eager to hear your story." Sethos, sitting some distance away from his wife, stared off into space with a look of innocence that didn't deceive Ramses for a moment. Bastard, he thought. If it hadn't been for you . . . The story could not be put off any longer. He hoped to get through the first part of it as quickly as possible, with as few details as possible. "Not long ago the conspirators got in touch with David, who cleverly pretended to be sympathetic to their cause—" "No, Ramses." David raised his drooping head. "I won't have youmake excuses for me. I willingly cooperated with them. I didn't tell Ramses or anyone else. I betrayed your trust." A stir of surprise ran through the listeners. Ramses said quickly, "They had given him their word they would take no steps against the family and our friends. Margaret's disappearance made him think their word could not be trusted. He went to Luxor tonight to demand an explanation. I followed, and was fool enough to let myself be caught. I'd still be a prisoner if it weren't for David. He risked his life to get me away." As Ramses might have expected, his mother was the first to break the astonished silence. Rising, she went to David and put her arm round his bowed shoulders. "As he has done innumerable times before. I think I understand, David. Do not reproach yourself. You are not the only person present who has committed an error of judgment. To err is human, to forgive—" "For God's sake, Peabody, spare us the poetry," Emerson exclaimed. "Er—David, my boy, what about a whiskey and soda?" His eyes moist, David accepted the glass Emerson pressed into his hand. "Sir," he began. "Never mind," Emerson said hastily. "Now let us hear the details, eh? You look as if you've been in a scrap." "It was a bit dodgy at times," Ramses said. His father could only stand so much sentiment. "David had to pick the lock of the room in which I was confined, and knock out the guard outside the door—all that without making a noise that would awaken the rest of the fellows. We had another encounter at the front door, where there was another man standing guard. He took David for one of his own long enough for David to tackle him and bring him down. Between the two of us we put him out of commission, but we had made a certain amount of racket, and by the time we got out the door, the rest of them were in hot pursuit. I don't think I've ever run so fast in my life. When we reached the Winter Palace we knew we had made it. Sabir was looking for us, and . . . You know the rest." His father leaned forward. "The place is near the Winter Palace? Where exactly?" Ramses explained. "We should have gone directly to the police, I suppose, but—" "No point in that," said Emerson, once more in charge. "The birds would have flown. But we had better do so at once." "That will take hours," his wife said. "It can wait until morning and so can everything else." Like Ramses, she had seen that David was on the verge of collapse from emotional as well as physical strain. She took him firmly by the arm. "Come along, dear boy. A nice warm glass of milk will send you off to sleep directly." There would be "a soupcon of laudanum" in the milk, Ramses thought. Nefret didn't offer him milk, but she refused to let him get in bed until he had washed off Kadija's green ointment. It was undeniably therapeutic, but the stains were hard to get out. The next morning we all felt like survivors of a shipwreck who had endured long hours of despair before finding, against all odds, that all had indeed survived. I had given thanks, kneeling by the bed, while Emerson stood by, muttering. Now it was time to get to work. Taking a paper from my pocket, I said, "I have made one of my little lists." Smiles suffused every face, including that of David, who was still inclined to mope. "Well, Peabody," said Emerson good-humoredly, "what is the first item to be considered?" "Informing Inspector Aziz and requesting him to search the suspected premises." "Be damned to that," said Emerson, giving his boiled egg a hard smack. "I intend to inspect the cursed premises myself. You may come along if you like." Naturally I had intended to do so. A woman's eye, I always say, is keener than that of a man. "After that," I continued, "we must have a council of war." Urged by Fatima, David had made a good start on his breakfast. Now he put down his fork. "I haven't told you what I learned about the conspiracy, Aunt Amelia. You didn't give me time last night." I raised an admonitory finger. "Everything in order, David. 'Quiet calm deliberation will untangle every knot.' At least I hope it will." Ramses and Nefret sat side by side, holding hands under the table. "I am coming to Luxor too," Nefret announced, in a tone that brooked no argument. She didn't mean to let him out of her sight. Margaret was wearing one of my day dresses, a nice little frock of eau de Nil, whose lace trim and skillful cut became her well. After she had removed her horrible dress I told Fatima to cut it up for dusters. "May I go to the hotel?" she asked meekly. "No," I said. "We will pack your things and bring them back with us. I want you to attend our council of war. You," I went on, fixing Sethos with a stern look, "will come with us. And come back with us." "Yes, Amelia," Sethos said meekly. Ordinarily his ready acquiescence and that of Margaret would have struck me as highly suspicious. I thought they would both do as they were told, but I meant to keep a close eye on my brother-in-law. Just in case. We had no difficulty in finding the suspected, or cursed, house. It was one of a number of expensive villas that had been built during the extravagance of the prewar period. Rather than waste time, I had dispatched a message to Inspector Aziz, requesting that he meet us there. We were a sufficient force in ourselves, even supposing we encountered opposition. It did not seem likely that we would. Like several others, this house had a derelict air, as if it had been long unoccupied. The flower beds were overgrown and untended, the shuttered windows broken. Emerson marched up the steps and kicked the door open. A strong smell of mold and decay met us—but that was all. A quick search made it clear that the birds had indeed flown, leaving behind rotting food, a few discarded garments, and certain other evidences of their disinterest in elementary sanitation. Having made certain that there was no danger of an ambush, we divided forces for a more detailed search, examining every scrap of paper and piece of cloth. We were engaged in this whenInspector Aziz arrived. His hail brought us all to the entrance hall, where he stood with folded arms and a critical expression. "Your message was not very informative, Mrs. Emerson," he said sternly. "Why did you break into this house?" "We are not guilty of breaking and entering, only of entering," said Emerson. "The door was not locked." "Don't tease, Emerson," I said. Ramses and David had come here searching for Margaret, I explained, and went on to tell the rest of it. As he listened, Aziz's expression changed from sternness to one of gloomy resignation. "I have become accustomed to your habits, Mrs. Emerson, so I accept the fact that I won't get any more out of you. You ought to have reported this immediately." "That would have meant getting you out of bed in the middle of the night, Inspector. And for no purpose. The miscreants took to their heels as soon as Ramses and David made good their escape." "Who were they?" Aziz demanded. "That is what we are endeavoring to ascertain. Do you happen to know who owns this house?" "No, but I will find out. Is he responsible for this?" "I doubt it," Ramses said. "The house was empty, so they simply moved in." We left Aziz to carry out his own search. He was a conscientious man, and a good man; I regretted having to deceive him, but it was absolutely necessary. We stopped by the hotel long enough to pack a suitcase for Margaret. The men left this to me, except for Margaret's notes and papers, which Emerson gathered into a bundle. I intended to have a close look at them before I handed them over. When we reached the house we found Sennia and Gargery on the veranda. Both were bristling with indignation. Sennia ran to Ramses and threw her arms round him. "Fatima told me! Why wasn't I told before? I would have gone and found you." "That is dear of you," Ramses said, hugging her back. "But you couldn't have helped, Sennia. No one knew where we were." "I would have taken the Great Cat of Re to follow your scent," said Sennia. I looked at the cat, who was sprawled across the settee sound asleep. He was taking up as much room as he could, his plumy tail extended and his fat paws outstretched. Sennia's conviction, that one day he would prove to be Ramses's salvation, did not seem likely to be fulfilled. "Fatima shouldn't have worried you," said David, who was being embraced in his turn. "Someone else would have told her if Fatima hadn't done so," I said. "As you see, Sennia, everything has turned out all right." Before we gathered for our council of war I remembered another duty I had overlooked. I penned a brief note to Cyrus, informing him of Margaret's safe return. I then invited everyone to join me in the parlor, where Kareem had placed chairs facing the large table I intended to use as a desk. Seating myself behind it, I arranged my papers and opened the meeting. For the benefit of Selim and Daoud, who had not been present, I first described the results of our
search of the house. "I had hoped the miscreants might have overlooked something that would give us a clue as to their present whereabouts," I went on. "Unfortunately these few scraps were all that remained, and they contain no helpful information. "We are somewhat further along, however. We know the nature of the conspiracy—to overthrow King Feisal and end the British—" David committed the unusual discourtesy of interrupting me. Eyes widening, he exclaimed, "Feisal? It is Fuad who will be forced to abdicate. Zaghlul will be made—" "What?" I cried. "That is not—" "I knew someone was lying," Emerson growled. "By heaven—" "Not me!" Sethos exclaimed. "I swear by—" "Stop!" I said, raising my voice to be heard over the general outcry. "All of you, be quiet. Someone has certainly misled us, but let us not jump to conclusions. It might have been David's informants." "Why would Bashir lie to me?" David demanded. "He doesn't give a fig for Iraq or Feisal; he is dedicated to the cause of Egyptian nationalism." "He's a damn fool if he believes he can carry out such a scheme," Sethos said vehemently. "He's right," Margaret said. She was the last person I would have expected to come to his defense. Sethos looked at her in open-mouthed surprise. Coloring slightly, she went on, "It is much more likely that the target is Iraq. The political situation there is unstable, and the stakes are higher. Oil is a valuable commodity." "Thank you," Sethos said, recovering. "I admit that I haven't an unblemished reputation for veracity, but Margaret has, with her customary acuity, lent support to my story. What have I to gain by lying?" "I can't think of anything offhand," I admitted. "That doesn't prove a damned thing," said Emerson, with a critical look at his brother. "His reasons often pass the bounds of logical ratiocination. However . . . innocent until proven guilty." I consulted my list and then flung it down. "Good Gad," I said. "Instead of being further along, we are in even deeper confusion. The only positive thing to come out of this is that our adversaries have not broken their word. Margaret's abduction was not arranged by them, and Ramses and David—er—" "Got what they deserved," said Ramses. "Rushing in where angels fear to tread. I don't know that we can count on their forbearance henceforth, however." "A point to be considered," I agreed. "It would be helpful if we could be certain who 'they' are." We stared at one another with a wild surmise, as Cortez had done on a peak in Darien. But these were wilder waters than the broad Pacific. "Perhaps," said Daoud hesitantly, "there are many of them." "Good for you, Daoud," said Sethos. "I wouldn't for a moment doubt David's word, but that group can't have anything to do with my lot or I would have been told about it." "Two separate conspiracies?" Ramses demanded. "That's a bit much, even for us." "Let us go on that assumption, to begin with." I took out a blank sheet of paper and headed it "Things to Be Done." "Bashir," I said. "He is the only one whose name is known. We must hunt him down." "I don't believe he's dangerous," Ramses said. "He was always an ineffectual sort of fellow, a follower rather than a leader. His lads didn't even fire at us. All the same, I suppose the authorities should be warned about him." "Sir Thomas Russell is the man," I said, writing. "We can safely leave the matter in his efficient hands. How much time do we have, David?" "They told me they would hold Ramses for two or three days. I assumed that that too was a lie; the time would have been extended, day by day. But now ..."He shrugged helplessly. "They may move their schedule up," I agreed. "We dare not delay. Someone must go to Cairo at once. I am the obvious—" "Not you," said several people simultaneously. "And not David," Ramses said. He smiled at his friend. "He is burning to make a full confession, but I'm not going to allow that. We'll keep him out of this if we can. I'm the obvious person, Mother. Russell trusts me." "Very well," I said. "Now as for the other conspiracy—" Fatima came running in. "Mr. Vandergelt is here," she announced. "And—" She was pushed rudely aside by Sir William Portmanteau. Father Christmas was gone; hair and beard bristling, eyes wild, face livid, he reminded me irresistibly of the drawings of the enraged Nome King in Mr. Baum's charming books. "Where is she?" he demanded. "What have you done with her? You and your native henchmen . . ." He started toward Daoud, who backed off in alarm. In his estimation Sir William had gone mad, and madmen, as everyone knew, could not be assaulted since they were protected by God. "Sorry about this, Amelia," said Cyrus, trying to restrain his guest. "I couldn't stop him. He's kind of upset." "So I see. Sit down and be quiet, Sir William!"     I did not shout; I employed the tone of voice I have learned to use on recalcitrant persons. Sir William of course did as I ordered. He was seriously out of breath anyhow. "I take it you are referring to Suzanne," I continued. "Don't tell me she has gone missing." Emerson groaned. "No, don't tell us. Not another one!" Nefret's gentle touch and professional firmness succeeded in calming Sir William. She stood by him, her fingers on his pulse, while Cyrus explained. Suzanne had returned from Abydos with her grandfather the previous evening. No one disturbed her that morning, since she had appeared to be very tired. When one of the maidservants finally ventured into her room she found no sign of its occupant. No one took alarm at first; it was some time before a search of the house and grounds determined that the girl was not on the premises. "And she's not the only one," Cyrus said. "Nadji's gone too." The name roused Sir William from his quiescent state. Pulling his hand from that of Nefret, he cried passionately, "He has carried her off against her will!" "What for?" Emerson asked in bewilderment. "For ransom! Or," Sir William groaned, "for...for a reason I dare not contemplate. You know how these people are! Lusting after white women ..." "Balderdash!" Emerson shouted, his face almost as red as that of Sir William. "You evil-minded old—" "Now, Emerson," I said. "We don't need two infuriated men shouting at each other." "She would never have left me of her own accord, without so much as a note of explanation," Sir William insisted. "We were going back to England together, she and I." Nefret pushed him back into the chair from which he was strugglingto rise. "You will have a seizure or a heart attack if you go on this way," she said firmly. "That won't help Suzanne, will it?" I had never doubted that Sir William cared deeply for his granddaughter. It did him no credit, really, since he regarded her as part of himself—his property, so to speak—and he had no interest in anything other than himself and his property. Nefret's appeal had the effect of calming him, and a sip or two of brandy, supplied by Emerson, was also helpful. Directed by me, Cyrus was able to continue his explanation. "Cat searched her room and determined that she had packed a suitcase—toilet articles, jewelry, and a few clothes. How she left the house and the grounds unobserved we don't know. The gateman hadn't seen her." "What about Nadji?" I asked. "Same thing," Cyrus said, glancing at Sir William. "Clothes and personal belongings taken, no one saw him leave. We looked everywhere, questioned the boatmen and the local folks; then Sir William got it into his head that they—she—must have come to you." The solution was clear. I did not propose it since it would have inflamed Sir William even further. "Take him back to the Castle and keep him there," I said to Cyrus. "He is only in the way. We will investigate, and inform you immediately if we learn anything." After they had gone Daoud said urgently, "Sitt Hakim, I did not do it." "I know that, Daoud. The explanation is—" "Obvious," Sethos interrupted. His eyes glittered like silver. "We asked who among us could be reporting to our adversaries. Those two are the only strangers in our midst. I have always had my doubts about the young woman; she is French, and France has interests in Syria." "I can't believe that frivolous girl is an agent of French intelligence," Nefret exclaimed. "The intelligence service loves to employ pretty young women," Sethos said darkly. "She's not much of an artist, that's sure," muttered Emerson. "Herportfolio impressed Peabody, but someone else might have done the paintings for her." "One could make an equally damning case against Nadji," David said. "He is an Egyptian and an intellectual, just the sort to be attracted by the nationalist cause. He might have arranged the attack on himself to allay suspicion." "They both took themselves off last night," Ramses added. "Shortly after David and I escaped. Coincidence?" Emerson tugged at his hair. "They can't be working together!" "Why not?" Ramses inquired. "Suzanne can't have got away from the Castle unobserved without help. She is not noticeably athletic, and according to Katherine, she was burdened with a suitcase. A strong young man could hoist her up onto the wall and help her down." Sethos nodded thoughtfully. "There are several places around the perimeter where the wall could be climbed by an agile man." "You would know," growled Emerson. "Quite," said Sethos agreeably. "But the fact that they presumably left together strengthens my hypothesis. They are and have been working as a team. I told you a number of different groups are involved in the plot." "You told us a good many things," I said. That supercilious smile of his was extremely exasperating. "Are you sure you haven't omitted any information that might forestall additional near disasters? If you had admitted abducting Margaret, David wouldn't have gone to Luxor and Ramses wouldn't have followed him. It was thanks to the mercy of God and their own abilities that they escaped unscathed. No thanks to you!" "I deserve that, I suppose," Sethos admitted. "But be fair, Amelia; had I but known David was mixed up in a plot of his own I would have acted differently." "So you say," Emerson remarked, scowling at his brother. "Have you anything to add?" "No," Sethos said, with every appearance of sincerity. "I give you my word." Chapter Eleven From Manuscript H He had known nefret would insist on going with him to cairo. He didn't argue. He knew that look of hers. Sethos tried to talk them out of it. "You're wasting your time, Ramses. Bashir's lot can't pull this off. I wouldn't be surprised if Russell weren't already aware of their scheme. It's a matter for the CID, and he keeps a close eye on local dissidents." "We can't take anything for granted," Nefret said. "Hadn't you better notify Mr. Smith of the latest developments?" "I told you, we know all about it." "Including the purported role of Suzanne and Nadji?" Ramses asked. The faintest flicker in those pale eyes was the only sign of uncertainty. "They haven't left Luxor," Sethos said. "Nor will they. Selim is watching the railroad station and Sabir is in touch with the boatmen. We'll find them. That's my job, and it's a good deal more importantthan arresting a few feeble revolutionaries. However," he added, "you might want to speak with our Mr. Smith. Tell him I'm close to accomplishing our original goal." "Smith, and you, can get on without me," Ramses said brusquely. "Dear me, what a negative attitude." After a moment Sethos said, without any trace of humor, "Keep your eyes open. If they are aware of your arrival, they may try to stop you from reaching Russell. Unlikely that they could succeed, but still. . ." "Don't worry," said Nefret, taking Ramses's arm. "I'll be there to protect him." They made it to the station with time to spare. Daoud went along to see them off, as was his custom, and the three of them joined Selim in a final scan of the departing passengers. None matched the appearance of the missing couple. Seated across from his wife in the dining car at a table for two, Ramses felt a sense of unreality. The motion of the train didn't detract from the pleasant ambience—soft lights, white linen on the table, assiduous service. He couldn't remember the last time they had dined alone, just the two of them, with not a familiar face in sight and no prospect of seeing one until they reached Cairo. Almost twelve hours with no responsibilities and no interruptions—the prospect was dazzling. As she often did, Nefret read his mind. "I feel as if we were eloping," she said. "So do I. It's wonderful." He took the hand she held out and raised it to his lips, indifferent to the hovering waiter. "I've given you so many bad hours, Nefret. Why do you put up with me?" "On the whole, your virtues outweigh your vices," she said with that enchanting chuckle of hers. "And I've given you a few bad hours. D'you remember the time I talked you and David into letting me go after the Book of the Dead with you?" "I was thinking about it last night, as a matter of fact. And of the time you marched into a room with a murderer and let him take you hostage." "Were you making a list of my misdeeds?" "Balancing them against mine." He let go her hand, and the waiter offered menus. "Such as the time . . ." Some people might consider reminiscences of near death and catastrophe unsuitable for dinner conversation, but it had all been so long ago—the follies and foibles of their youth. They could even talk about the hardest years, when mutual stubbornness and misunderstanding had kept them apart. It had taken Nefret a long time to stop blaming herself for that. Guilt, as his mother often remarked, is a wasteful emotion; forgive yourself and go on to do better. As was the case with most of his mother's aphorisms, you wanted to swear when she uttered the banal words with that bland assurance of hers, but they had a way of sinking in. He didn't think of them again that night—nor, to judge by her behavior, did Nefret. At one point Ramses heard himself murmur, "Wonderful things," as Howard Carter had done under quite different circumstances. Nefret's laughter was the sweetest sound he had heard for years. Neither of them woke until the train had stopped in Cairo. "Back to the real world," Ramses said. "Curse it," Nefret agreed with a smile. "Let's get it over. Straight to Russell's office?" Ramses consulted his watch. "It's still early. He won't be there for a while. We may as well have a leisurely breakfast." They had it on the terrace of Shepheard's. It wasn't Ramses's favorite place in Cairo, but staying there had become a habit, and they could always count on getting a room if they had to stay over. The sunlight was dulled by the inevitable and omniprescent dust kicked up by hooves of animals and feet of humans and wheels of vehicles. Across the way the green gardens of the Ezbekieh were reminders of other youthful escapades. There was hardly a part of Cairo that was free of such