Children of the Storm (24 page)

So there we were, bobbing up and down in the eddies, lined up along the gangplank like diners at a table. With a thrill of patriotic pride I observed that all the faces, though streaming with water and plastered with wet hair, were as unperturbed as those of well-bred persons at an evening party.

Then a more remarkable sight drew my attention. It was the head of Daoud, his eyes still open, his mouth still closed, erupting from the water. Next to appear were his arms, spread out wide. Emerson had him on one side and Ramses on the other.

Daoud blinked, looked round, and cautiously opened his mouth. “Now what must I do?” he inquired.

There is not much traffic on the river after dark, except for an occasional tourist wanting a moonlight sail. Evidently none of them had been romantically inclined that evening; and so, after a brief discussion, Ramses struck out for shore. At my suggestion we all kicked vigorously in order to ward off chills and cramp, and David kept our spirits up by giving Daoud his first swimming lesson. Daoud’s trust in us was unlimited; he followed David’s instructions and discovered, to his delight, that his very large frame floated as lightly as a leaf. (I do not understand why this should be so; it has something to do with buoyancy, I believe.) To see him lying on his back, with only his toes and smiling face above water and his robe wafting around him like the wings of a bird in flight was a sight I will long remember.

Entertaining though this was, I was relieved to behold at last a light approaching, and to hear the shouts of several men who (as Ramses later described it) he had found sleeping in their boat and had aroused in a somewhat peremptory fashion. They took us aboard and we were soon on the West Bank, where our carriages awaited us. Daoud declined our offer of a ride—and indeed, it would have been an extremely tight squeeze, since he took up the space of two people. He went off, still smiling, with his wet skirts flapping and his turban, which had remained miraculously in place, looking rather like a squashed cauliflower. Immediately upon our arrival at the house Fatima and I put Evelyn into a hot bath and then popped her into bed.

“Will she be all right?” Walter asked anxiously. He bent over her. She smiled drowsily at him, but her eyelids were drooping.

“She is chilled and exhausted, but has taken no lasting harm, I believe,” I replied. “Bed for you too, Walter.”

“While the rest of you gather for a council of war?” He was still quite damp, but he had dried and replaced his eyeglasses and his eyes were bright. “Good heavens, Amelia, who could sleep after an adventure like that? I want to talk. I want to listen. I want—yes, by Gad, I want a whiskey and soda!”

“And food,” Fatima said firmly. “There is cold chicken in the larder, and kunafeh, and bread, and lettuce—”

“Very well, Fatima, come and join us. Just don’t wake Gargery, I am in no mood to be scolded by him tonight.”

It was Fatima’s inveterate habit to feed us at any hour of the day or night, but in this case, as I well knew, her primary motive was to be the first to hear the news of our most recent escapade, so she could lord it over Gargery next morning. The two of them were in amiable but uncompromising competition on such matters.

Though we had not agreed upon a conference, it was obvious that all shared Walter’s opinion about its necessity; the others came in, clad informally in dressing gowns and robes, and we all tucked into Fatima’s spread. Strenuous physical exercise does give one an appetite.

Handing his brother the requested whiskey and soda, Emerson remarked, “You are looking very pleased with yourself, Walter. Why, I wonder?”

“I may not have been of much use,” said Walter, “but at least no one had to rescue me.”

How clearly I comprehended the emotion behind that simple statement! He had feared that his sedentary life had rendered him unfit for adventure—that in a crisis he would not measure up. I smiled affectionately at him, but Emerson, who has a more literal mind than I, said, “I trust you are not blaming Daoud for requiring to be rescued.”

“Good heavens, no!” Walter exclaimed. “You mistake my meaning, Radcliffe. He was splendid. And never a word of complaint about his boat. It is a considerable financial loss to him.”

“We will replace or repair the boat, naturally,” said Ramses.

After a brief silence, Lia said, “Because you believe we were somehow responsible for its loss? Why couldn’t it have been an accident, or a private vendetta?”

Emerson’s heavy brows lifted in surprise. “I took it for granted that the—er—gesture was aimed at us. Such demonstrations usually are. It certainly cannot have been an accident. Someone drilled holes through the bottom of the boat and plugged them with clay or some other substance that would gradually dissolve.”

Fatima clapped her hands over her mouth and stared in horror. “Who would do such a thing?”

“That is indeed the question,” Ramses replied. He leaned back and lit a cigarette. “The job must have been done shortly before we got to the dock.”

“Half the population of Luxor knew our schedule,” I mused. “The miscreant was taking a chance, though. If we had been half an hour later, the boat would have been filling with water by the time we came. Half an hour earlier, and we would have caught him in the act. Didn’t anyone see or hear him?”

“There was no one nearby,” Ramses said. “Most of the boatmen had gone home. He wasn’t taking much of a chance, you know. If he hadn’t finished the job before we got there he’d have heard us in time to make himself scarce.”

“We are none of us children or cowards,” I said. “We must face the facts. I cannot imagine any boatman in Luxor being so vindictive, or so stupid as to risk Daoud’s wrath. No; it was aimed at us, but I must say it seems a very haphazard method of committing murder.”

“And somewhat wholesale,” said Emerson round the stem of his pipe. “Was he hoping to drown the lot of us, or was he after some one individual?”

“We can all swim,” I said thoughtfully. “That is generally known, I believe.”

“All except one,” said Ramses. “And that, too, is generally known.”

“Daoud,” Emerson muttered. “Impossible! He hasn’t an enemy in the world.”

NATURALLY NONE OF US ALLOWED our little misadventure to disturb our work schedule. The younger children were breakfasting in their own quarters, under the benevolent eyes of Fatima and Basima, so our own morning repast was soon concluded. However, we were subjected to a scathing lecture from Gargery, who had graciously ceded attendance on the children to Fatima. He pretended he was doing her a favor, but I fancy he had found four little ones a bit too much for him.

“Something is going on,” he declared, dribbling coffee into Emerson’s cup. “You’ve no right to keep it from me, sir and madam.”

It was one of Gargery’s more annoying habits (he had several) to dole out food and drink in minuscule quantities when he was annoyed with us. Emerson wrested the coffeepot from him.

“I don’t know what the devil is going on, Gargery,” he snarled. “And I do not intend to discuss it with you, especially in the presence of . . .” He nodded and winked in an exaggerated fashion, indicating Sennia.

For once she was tucking into her porridge without argument. She looked very neat and pretty that morning, with her hair tied back in a bow—and, I observed with a slight pang, very grown up. Emerson’s reference was not lost on her. With a slightly patronizing smile, she remarked, “I know all about it, Professor. Fatima told Gargery and me this morning.”

Gargery growled deep in his throat. He did hate hearing things secondhand from Fatima.

“It is very strange,” Sennia continued. “Who would want to hurt Daoud?”

“We don’t know that it was meant to hurt anyone,” Ramses replied. “The most the fellow could reasonably expect was that we would all get a ducking. The boat can be replaced, and will be, Sennia.”

His attempt at reassurance did not convince her. “Daoud can’t swim.”

“But we can,” Ramses insisted. “Father and I had him up within half a minute.” He laughed a little, and went on in a sprightly manner, “You should have seen him, Sennia. He never lost his calm, or his head—or even his turban!”

“It was a mean trick, though,” Sennia said, frowning. “What shall we do?”

“Go about our business as usual,” I replied. “That is our tradition, Sennia.”

“With a stiff upper lip?” Sennia inquired seriously.

“Quite right,” David agreed. “I hope you aren’t worried, Little Bird. It was a mean trick, as you said, but no one can possibly do something like that to you.”

“I am not at all worried. Aunt Nefret is teaching me to shoot with the bow.”

“Good Gad,” I exclaimed. “You haven’t taken up archery again, have you, Nefret? You were once expert at the sport, I know, but with the children around—”

“I’ve been very careful, Mother.” Nefret avoided her husband’s critical look; I could see that this was news to him too, and that he did not much like it.

“Hmmm,” I said. “Evelyn, are you sure you feel up to working today?”

“Of course.” She looked up with a smile. “I am enjoying it more than I can say. Sennia, dear, get your books and we will go.”

Sennia no longer objected to her lessons with Katherine, since she was allowed to learn drawing from Evelyn afterward. She trotted off and I accompanied Evelyn onto the veranda. Drawing on her gloves, she said gravely, “Do you think I should be armed, Amelia?”

I wanted to laugh and embrace her; but the solemnity of her sweet face in its frame of silvery hair warned me not to hurt her feelings. With equal gravity I inquired, “What sort of weapon did you have in mind, Evelyn? A pistol?”

“Dear me, no, Amelia, I am terrified of firearms and would probably shoot the wrong person. A knife, perhaps?”

The idea of gentle Evelyn plunging a knife into a human body would have struck most people as impossible. I had seen her do something almost as unbelievable, though, when she pumped four bullets into the chest of a thug while under the (happily erroneous) belief that he had murdered her husband. Gentle persons can be extremely dangerous when they are roused to maniacal fury by danger to those they love.

She saw my expression. Vehemently she exclaimed, “Do you suppose I could not act, if Sennia were threatened?”

“I believe you could and would,” I said, and meant it. “But, Evelyn, Gargery will be with you, and Abdul, the coachman, is a strong, devoted young fellow. There is absolutely no reason to suppose Sennia is in any danger.”

“We don’t know who is endangered,” Evelyn replied. “Do we?”

“Well—er—no. I have it! Take one of my parasols. You have, upon occasion, wielded one effectively.”

“The sword parasol?”

It was not really a request. She meant to have it. I heard Sennia’s voice, and said hurriedly, “All right, I’ll get it. Just don’t tell Emerson!”

I didn’t have to warn her not to tell Walter. He would raise a great fuss. Good gracious, I thought, as the carriage drove off, what a bellicose lot we have become! Evelyn with a sword, Sennia and Nefret with bow and arrow . . .

I might ask Nefret to give me a few lessons too.

And not tell Emerson.

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

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“Damnation!” said Emerson. “Look at that! It will take hours to get them settled down to work.”

Ramses brought Risha to a stop beside his father’s mount. A crowd had gathered next to the blocked-off area of excavation behind the temple. In the center, his head rising over those of the shorter spectators, was Daoud. From his sweeping gestures it was evident that he was relating the dramatic events of the previous night.

“He’s entitled to his moment in the spotlight,” Ramses said tolerantly. “Not only did he lose his boat, but he almost drowned.”

Daoud proceeded to drown, sinking slowly down out of sight. A chorus of awed exclamations greeted the performance, erupting into cheers when his head popped up again and he began waving his arms.

The others, who had been following at a more leisurely pace, drew up beside them. “What’s going on?” Walter asked.

Lia giggled. “Daoud is dramatizing his rescue. I think those arm motions are meant to indicate swimming. Bless his heart, don’t stop him, he’s putting on a splendid performance.”

“Bah,” said Emerson.

Selim, standing on the outskirts of the crowd, was the first of the absorbed audience to notice them. He called out, “He is here, the Father of Curses. It is time—”

“Yes!” Daoud shouted. “They are here, my saviors! The Father of Curses and the Brother of Demons, who lifted me out of the water, and the others, the brave ones who faced death with smiling faces. They are heroes!”

A great cheer broke out. Hiding his smile behind his hand, Emerson muttered, “What a showman the old fellow is! He picked up his cue as neatly as any actor.”

“I wonder how accurate his story was,” said Ramses, acknowledging the plaudits of the crowd with a wave of his hand. “Hullo, Selim. Sorry to have interrupted.”

“It was time,” said Selim, frowning. “My respected uncle is a great liar, but . . . Is it true that the sinking of the boat was deliberate?”

Emerson had dismounted. Politely fending off two admirers—Daoud’s sons—who were trying to embrace him, he said, “It is true. Ramses, will you address the crowd, since Daoud has got them in the proper frame of mind?”

“Yes, sir,” Ramses said. He raised his hand for silence, and the faces turned expectantly toward him. “My friends! Daoud has told you what happened. It was no accident. We will replace the boat, but we must find out who was guilty of such an evil act. We ask for your help, knowing you will give it as you have always done.” He would have stopped there, but the sight of Daoud’s hopeful face made him add, “Though he was too modest to say so, Daoud is also a hero. Honor him for his courage.”

“Well done, my boy,” Nefret murmured.

She hadn’t called him that for a long time. He turned quickly to her, but she had already started to dismount. The rest of them followed suit and one of the men led the horses away, to the shelter his mother had rigged up with poles and pieces of canvas.

“Get the men started, Selim,” Emerson ordered.