A River in the Sky (27 page)

“It didn’t do me any harm,” David insisted. “I think it lowered the fever.”

“And put you to sleep for hours,” Ramses said, his jaw set stubbornly. “I can’t sleep yet, I have to warn you about Mansur.”

Much as I yearned to see my afflicted child get the rest he needed, I knew he was right. None of us could afford the luxury of relaxation when there were so many things we needed to know, and without delay.

So we retired to my sitting room, where we found the others assembled and the tea I had ordered set out. Feeling the teapot, I was pleased to find it was just off the boil (I had had occasion earlier to speak to the cook about this). I tipped a teaspoon or so of the herbal mixture into a cup and filled it.

“Mother,” Ramses began.

“I will allow you to tell your tale, Ramses, if you promise that when you have finished you will take your medicine and go to bed.”

A scowl and a nod indicated reluctant agreement. I continued, “First I would like to make a few remarks.”

Ignoring the slight ripple of amusement that ran through the audience, I cleared my throat…And found, to my utter astonishment that I was unable to speak. I suppose I had not fully realized how alarmed I had been—how filled with forebodings I dared not admit even to myself—until I saw all my loved ones gathered together again: Nefret, her golden hair glowing in the lamplight; Emerson, his sapphire-blue eyes fixed on his son with an expression of benevolent affection; Selim stroking his beard and smiling; Daoud amiably contemplating the plate of sandwiches; and my two boys—for boys they will always be to me—returned against all odds from as yet unknown perils. David was too thin and Ramses’s cheeks were flushed with fever (or possibly aggravation), but they were there, safe and sound, and that was all that mattered.

They were all looking at me, waiting for me to begin. It was Emerson, as always, who understood my emotion and relieved it, in his own inimitable fashion. “If you are inclined to say a prayer, Peabody, kindly make it brief.”

I returned his smile. “‘But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret.’”

“Excellent advice,” said Emerson. “We are all waiting for our tea, Peabody. I beg you will pour and allow Ramses to get on with his story. Start from the beginning, my boy. There will be no interruptions.”

This was directed at me, of course; but indeed I had no desire to interrupt a tale that held us all spellbound. Once I had dispensed the genial beverage (I refer in this instance to tea), I took out paper and pencil and began one of my little lists. As I expected, everyone burst
out talking at once when Ramses finished. Emerson’s shout rose over the rest. “Damnation! The confounded woman is a spy!”

“And a murderess, in intent if not actuality.” Ramses leaned forward and spoke with febrile intensity. “Father, you must tell MO2 about Macomber. The body may have been moved, but surely there would be evidence remaining.”

“Yes, yes, my boy,” Emerson said, watching him uneasily. “I promise it will be done. Peabody, shouldn’t he be in bed?”

The medicinal brew was a nasty greenish brown in color. Had it not been for David’s urging, I would have hesitated about administering it; but he was now completely free of fever and Ramses radiated heat like a stove. With Nefret’s help I got a few sips of the medicine into him and—after he had decidedly refused to accept our further assistance—David led him off to their room.

“Well!” I said. “We have a great deal to discuss. I have made a few notes.”

Without a word Emerson rose and got out the bottle of whiskey.

After a few refreshing sips, I continued. “The first order of business is to locate that fellow Mansur.”

“No,” said Emerson. “The first order of business is to keep my promise to Ramses. I will wire the War office at once about that unfortunate young man Macomber.”

“Most ill-advised, in my opinion, Emerson. Leave that to me, if you please.”

I ticked off one of the items on my list. Brows forming an emphatic black line across his brow, Emerson said with ominous calm, “Peabody, are you telling me you are in touch with the local agent here?”

“That is correct, Emerson. I will explain later.”

Nefret rose with quiet dignity. “Never mind, Aunt Amelia. I have suspected for some time that you and the Professor were under orders from some cursed government bureau. Frankly, I don’t give a
damn about that, or about them. They were of no help whatsoever when it came to locating the boys, and I doubt they will do anything for us we cannot do better by ourselves. I suggest you all go down to dinner now. Daoud has eaten all the sandwiches. I don’t want any dinner. I am going to sit with Ramses.”

I made my peace with Nefret at midnight, when I went in to relieve her vigil, admitting (quite handsomely in my opinion) that we had been wrong to keep her in the dark. She melted at once, dear girl, as she always did, and agreed with me that we ought to wake Ramses for another dose of the medicine. He was groggy enough to offer no resistance and fell back asleep at once. So did David, who had wakened instantly when I came in.

Not long after Nefret had left, Emerson crept in. I think I have mentioned that Emerson believes he can tiptoe, but that he is mistaken. He made enough noise to rouse one of the Seven Sleepers. David sat up with a start.

“All is well, my boy,” said Emerson in a penetrating whisper. “It’s just me.”

“Good,” David mumbled. “Keep watch. Mansur…”

“Go to bed, Peabody,” said Emerson. “I will stand guard till morning.”

I had also made my peace with Emerson earlier, when I told him of Mr. Camden’s true identity and explained my plans for the morrow. He had of course agreed that our best hope of catching up with the murderous Mansur was to keep a close eye on Frau von Eine. The precise relationship between the two was still unclear, but it was likely Mansur would try to communicate with her. In the meantime it was essential that we watch over the boys.

“He cannot possibly get at them here,” I said. “Nefret had the good sense to lock the door and not open it until she heard my voice. I observed that she had her knife.”

“You didn’t lock the door,” Emerson said accusingly.

I showed him my little pistol. “Speaking of that,” I said, while Emerson mumbled to himself, “where did you get the weapon you carried today?”

“Brought it with me, of course.”

“Do you have it now?”

“Good Gad, no. I only hope the bastard does turn up. I would prefer to tackle him with my bare hands.”

I
WILL NOT BORE
the Reader with a detailed account of my activities the following day, though they would certainly be of consuming interest to any female who contemplates setting up an archaeological establishment. Suffice it to say that by evening our house in Siloam was fit for habitation and our newly hired cook was busy preparing dinner.

I had refused Emerson’s well-meant offers of assistance, knowing his efforts would be confined to moving the furniture to the wrong places and demanding how much longer the process would take. He had gone happily off to his excavation. The others had pitched in with a will and by late afternoon we were taking a well-deserved rest in the sitting room. I had, at Ramses’s request, just finished bringing him and David up-to-date about our recent activities and discoveries when Emerson came in, accompanied by Mr. Camden.

Emerson wrinkled his nose. “Carbolic,” he said resignedly. “Well, well, I ought to have expected it. Isn’t it teatime?”

“I have not had time to instruct our new cook on the proper procedure,” I said gently. “You must expect a few minor inconveniences at first.”

“Perhaps a drop of whiskey instead?” Ramses suggested. He started to rise. Emerson pressed him back into his chair.

“No, no, my boy, you must rest. How do you feel?”

“Much better, sir, thank you.”

“That mysterious herb is amazingly effective,” Nefret said. Perched on a low stool, clasped hands round her bent knees, she looked very pretty, despite—or perhaps because of—the smudges that marked her nose and chin and the loosened locks of hair curling over her brow. “I must find out what it is.”

Following my directions, Emerson had finally located the whiskey and glasses, which were standing in plain sight on the table under the window. “Your best chance of doing so,” he said, handing me a glass, “would seem to lie with the Sons of Abraham.”

“I would like to know a great deal more about that organization,” I said. “They came to Ramses and David’s aid on several occasions, and yet their leader went off leaving Mansur alive and capable of doing both of you an injury.”

“They expected you would kill him,” Selim suggested, in a tone that indicated he would have expected the same thing.

Ramses shook his head. “I don’t think so. I had delivered a rather pompous speech about murdering an unarmed prisoner, and Ismail knew I meant it.”

“Well, we know the identity of one of the group,” I said. “Rabbi Ben Ezra.”

Emerson turned. “We know two. Our landlord. Has he been round today, Peabody? No? Nor did he turn up at the site of my excavation. Odd, isn’t it, considering how ubiquitous he was at first.”

The other servant came in and began to lay the table, as I had taught her. She did quite well, except for mixing up the forks and spoons and forgetting the napkins. I corrected her in a kindly manner and she scuttled out.

“We will pursue that inquiry tomorrow,” I said, suppressing a yawn. “I believe dinner is almost ready. While we eat, you can tell us what you discovered today, Emerson.”

“I believe we are on the track of something interesting,” said
Emerson, as the servant returned with baskets of bread and a steaming pot. “Ah—that smells good.” He nodded amiably at the woman, who drew her veil tightly across her face and backed out.

“As I was saying,” Emerson went on, “we managed to get a grid laid out—”

“I am very happy for you,” I said, ladling out the stew. “But when I mentioned a discovery, I was referring to our primary reason for being here. What is Major Morley doing? Was Frau von Eine with him? Did you see anything of Mr. Plato? You had better let the food cool a bit, Emerson, you will burn your tongue.”

He had already done so. “Try a sip of water,” I said, over his mumbled swearwords. “Nefret made sure it was boiled. Now, you were about to tell us about Major Morley.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Well, in a nutshell, Morley never appeared. He’s there, the guards admitted as much, but insisted he was deep down in his damned tunnel and couldn’t be disturbed.”

“How do you know he never appeared if you spent most of the day at your dig?” I inquired.

Emerson took a cautious bite and chewed. He looked at me, at Nefret, at Ramses, and at Mr. Camden, who looked off into space.

“You sent him to watch Morley,” I said. “Well, that makes sense. We have had enough nonsensical secrecy, Emerson. If the rest of you do not know Mr. Camden is really Mr. Tushingham and a British agent, it is high time you did.”

“Who?” said Emerson.

“Speaking of secrecy,” Ramses said, fixing me with a hard stare, “you told me this morning that Macomber’s death had been reported, but refused to say how. Am I to assume that Camden here was the means?”

“I had not yet determined that it was necessary for you to know that,” I explained.

“And now you have? May I ask why?”

His tone was decidedly critical. Since I could not explain what had prompted my change of mind—it had to do with my infallible instincts—I ignored the questions.

“The Sons of Abraham will have to wait,” I said. “Mr. Tushingham, please make your report.”

“Who?” said Emerson, looking round.

“Camden,” I said with a sigh. “Emerson, please pay attention.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mr. Camden, as I must continue to call him. “Well, after the Professor left me I hung about for several hours, mingling with the pilgrims and the water carriers. Once I tried to pass the guards, claiming I was a friend of Morley’s, but I was summarily dismissed. So I retreated into a clump of cacti and squatted there with my binoculars fixed on the entrance to the excavation. At around noontime Morley appeared, covered with dust and looking, I thought, disgruntled. A few minutes later Frau von Eine showed up, on horseback, and joined him for luncheon. I would have given a great deal to have heard what they were saying, but there was no way I could get closer without being discovered. She did most of the talking. After luncheon she remounted and rode off, and Morley went back into the shaft.”

“So much for her supervision,” Emerson exclaimed. “It was a token gesture, to keep me away.”

“Never mind that now, Emerson,” I said. “You saw no sign of Mansur?”

“Not unless he was one of the workmen. They were indistinguishable, all half naked and smeared with dirt. I never set eyes on the fellow, you know.”

“What about Mr. Plato? You are familiar with his appearance, and I cannot imagine he would consent to hard manual labor.”

“He’d have been first at the luncheon table,” Emerson agreed.

“Well, he wasn’t. He can’t have been at the site or I would have spotted him sooner or later.”

“I wonder what has become of him,” I mused. “Mr. Fazah told me he left the hotel yesterday morning, with his luggage.”

“Which we supplied,” Emerson growled. “I doubt we’ve seen the last of him. Mark my words, he’ll turn up before long.”

He did turn up. But not in the way any of us expected.

“T
HE SERVANTS SEEM TO BE
working out well,” I said at breakfast. “How is your coffee, Emerson?”

“Not bad,” grunted Emerson, who was still on his first cup.

“Quite good,” said Nefret, with an encouraging smile at the house maid. “Tell the cook, Safika.”

Both female servants were in mortal terror of Emerson, whose reputation had preceded him (via Kamir) and whose gestures of friendliness only alarmed them. But they had fallen in love with Nefret, who had taken the trouble to learn their names and compliment them on every achievement. Safika’s eyes narrowed in a smile. The eyes were all we could see of her face, for of course she remained veiled when the men were present. She murmured something to Nefret, who rose at once.