Children of the Storm (31 page)

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EMERSON WAS NOT AT ALL pleased when I informed him I had accepted Katherine’s invitation to a reception on Sunday. He had already begun to work himself into a state of aggravation about the fantasia.

“Selim has been so busy making arrangements he isn’t worth a piastre,” he grumbled. “And Daoud is almost as bad. Now you are proposing I waste another day. I won’t do it, Peabody, and that’s flat.”

“Supposing I let you have Ramses and David tomorrow and the next day to make up for your lost time.”

“Let me? Hmph,” said Emerson.

Everyone was agreeable, even Walter, who said he wouldn’t at all mind a day in the fresh air. All of us, including Sennia and Gargery, were at the dig the following afternoon. Horus went everywhere with Sennia and the Great Cat of Re had decided to accompany us as well. He and Horus got on reasonably well, since the former was attached to Ramses and did not challenge Horus’s preemptive claim on Sennia. The Great Cat of Re, who specialized in snakes, flushed an angry cobra out of its hole and was with difficulty prevented from attacking it. Emerson killed the poor snake. It was only behaving as a snake is entitled to behave, but a venomous serpent is a dangerous neighbor. We did not often encounter them, for they avoid human beings.

I was alone with my rubbish, since the others found the task tedious and had found excuses to be elsewhere. I watched them enviously, for I, too, had become bored with rubbish. Evelyn was under the shelter, taking a little rest; her silvery hair glowed even in the shadows. Emerson, bareheaded in the boiling sunlight, was lecturing Walter about something . . . As my eyes wandered, I became aware of a strange insect-like buzzing. As it grew louder I looked about, trying to find the source.

Ramses, whose keen hearing is proverbial in Egypt, popped into sight from behind the ruined wall he was digging out. Like his father, he was without a hat. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked up.

I sprang to my feet, staggering just a little, and hurried to Emerson. The others had seen it too; frozen in identical postures, heads raised, they stared in astonished silence as the aeroplane circled and headed off across the river.

“What’s everybody gaping at?” Emerson demanded, recovering from his initial surprise. “Haven’t you ever seen an aeroplane before?”

A good number of them had—during the rioting the previous spring. Planes had dropped leaflets all over the country, warning that anyone committing acts of sabotage would be shot, and bombs had been dropped on any gathering that struck the military observers as suspicious. It is not surprising that as this one turned and came back toward us, a great outcry arose, and some of the men flung themselves flat on the ground. I found the confounded things unnerving myself. When they were airborne they looked unreal—not like a bird or a machine, but like some mythological flying insect, rigid and fragile, gliding on the wind with motionless wings.

This time it passed directly overhead, so low that I could see the concentric circles of red, white, and blue on the wings, and the heads of two persons protruding from the body of the machine. Their faces were concealed by helmets and goggles. One of them raised an arm and gestured.

“Damnation!” Emerson exclaimed. “What does the damned fool think he’s doing?”

“He wants to land,” Ramses said in disbelief. “On this side of the river.”

He ran toward the shelter where we had left the horses, vaulted onto Risha’s back, and set the stallion at a gallop toward the road that led around the hill of Kurnet Murai toward the river.

“Where is he going?” Nefret demanded. She tore her eyes from the plane, which was making another circle, and started after Ramses.

Emerson moved with long strides toward the horses. “To guide them to a suitable landing place, I presume. Why they aren’t landing on the East Bank, where there are great stretches of empty desert, I cannot imagine.”

“Wait for me!” I cried, and ran after him. Nefret and David had already mounted.

Our assistance, I felt sure, would be needed. The stretch of low desert between the cultivation and the cliffs was rock-strewn and hilly, with pits and tombs and ruins all over the place. How much space an aeroplane required to land I did not know, but the main tourist road seemed to offer the best possibility. When we reached it the aeroplane was circling again, while Ramses tried to get donkeys, carts, camels, and people off a relatively level stretch. It was not an easy task, since they were running in all directions, some scampering for cover, the braver and more curious trying to get closer. By dint of shouting, shoving, and, in a few cases, towing balky mules and arrogant camels, we managed to empty a part of the road, though it was lined with spectators.

“That should do it,” Ramses panted. Turning, he shouted Arabic curses at a camel driver who was edging closer. “Keep back!”

“What is he waiting for?” Emerson asked.

“Something to do with the wind,” Ramses replied. He rose in the stirrups and waved. The import of his gestures eluded me, but they must have meant something to the pilot, for on its next approach the machine came in for a landing. The wheels touched the ground; in a series of alarming bounces and at considerable speed it rushed toward us. The remaining spectators scattered, shrieking and braying, and finally the machine jolted to a stop.

“Nobody hurt, thank God!” Emerson growled. “I will just have a word with the damned fool and ask him what he means by this.”

The aeroplane had stopped several hundred feet away. Everyone converged on it except the donkeys, who were unaccustomed to loud noises and were kicking and braying. I followed more slowly. I had just had one of my premonitions.

When I arrived on the scene the pilot had removed his headgear and was shouting cheerfully at the audience. “Get away, you fellows. Imshi! Clear off or I will tell the big bird to bite you.”

The second man, in the observer’s seat, waited until I came up before unmasking. “Ah, Amelia, there you are. Good afternoon, everyone.”

“You!” Emerson croaked.

“Weren’t you expecting me?”

“Not in this fashion,” I said.

Sethos gave me a provoking smile. Like his brother, whom he closely resembled, he was a handsome man, but his face was discolored and not so well-shaped as usual. It looked to me as if someone had given him a severe beating. “I was in a hurry,” he explained. “Rob was good enough to give me a lift. Flight lieutenant Wickins, may I present you to Mrs. Emerson, her husband, Professor—”

“Not now, for pity’s sake!” I exclaimed. “Get out of that cursed machine at once!”

Sethos shifted position, winced theatrically, and reached out to Emerson. “Give me a hand, will you, old chap? I am a trifle stiff.”

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CHAPTER EIGHT Lieutenant Wickins politely declined my invitation to join us for tea.

“Can’t leave the old bus unguarded, ma’am, these beggars will strip off everything they can carry. Must start back anyhow. Due for a nasty wigging from my C.O. as it is. Absent without leave, stealing one of His Majesty’s valuable aeroplanes.”

He chortled like a mischievous child. He wasn’t much more than nineteen or twenty, with a fresh complexion and merry brown eyes under brows as sun-bleached as his hair.

“I do hope you won’t get in trouble for this,” I said.

“Couldn’t refuse good old Badger, ma’am. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

The slower members of the party had caught us up. Lia was carrying the Great Cat of Re, and I could hear Horus spitting and swearing in his basket. Walter stared. “Badger?” he echoed.

I gave him a little poke, and the boy went on blithely, “I’ll need petrol. Can you help me there?”

He addressed Emerson, who could never be taken for anything but the leader of any group of which he made part. However, Emerson was glowering at his brother, who leaned pathetically on his arm, so Ramses took it upon himself to reply.

“Yes, of course. It will be dark before long, though. Wouldn’t you prefer to wait until morning?”

“Piece of cake” was the breezy reply. “Just follow the river. Can’t miss Cairo. Sooner the better, though, so if you don’t mind . . .”

“Quite,” said Ramses. “Selim will . . . Selim?”

Selim was gaping at the aeroplane in open adoration. He had seen them, not only here but in Palestine, during our little hegira to Gaza, but I believe this was the first time he had ever seen one on the ground—not a distant flying thing but an actual machine, with an actual engine. “Yes,” he said, starting. “What did you say, Ramses?”

Sethos let out a faint groan. “I had better get—er—good old Badger back to the house,” I said, giving him a hard look. “Will you excuse us, Lieutenant? The men will stay—of course—to help you. I hope you will come for a proper visit one day.”

“Delighted, ma’am.”

“Frightfully good of you, old chap,” said Sethos, overdoing the accent a bit.

“I will be along shortly,” said Emerson. He heaved his brother unceremoniously onto Selim’s stallion and went back to staring at the aeroplane with the same expression of vacant adoration as Selim’s. A sense of deep foreboding ran through my limbs.

When we reached the house I sent Sethos to our room to freshen up and asked Fatima to make tea. A few tactful hints dispersed most of the others, though Evelyn had to drag Walter away and I knew Gargery would probably listen at the door.

Sethos was back almost at once. His face and hands were cleaner, but the uniform, that of a major in the Egyptian Army, was a mass of wrinkles. Passing his hand over his bristly chin, he said, “I know I look like the devil, Amelia, but don’t lecture me. I haven’t been able to shave for a week. I brought a change of clothing with me, but not much else; cargo space in those machines is limited.”

“What happened to your face?” I asked.

Sethos settled himself in the most comfortable chair. “I encountered several fellows who considered I had no right to be where I was.”

“Doing what?”

“Never mind.” He leaned forward, hands clasped. “Where is she?”

“Employed as companion to an elderly lady and her mentally disturbed grandson. They are staying on their dahabeeyah in Luxor.”

His expression did not alter. “That doesn’t sound like her. What became of the rich husband?”

“Imprudent investments stripped him of his fortune. He died leaving her penniless.”

“You are uncharacteristically terse, my dear. What are you keeping from me?”

Gargery came out with a tray, which he placed on the table. I had to speak to him sharply before he sulked away.

“I think it best if you hear the details from Maryam herself,” I said, pouring a cup of tea. “But not here.”

He drank thirstily and I refilled his cup. “I suppose you have it all worked out,” he said.

“Certainly. It would not be advisable for you to go to her. There is no need for her employer to meet you or learn of your relationship at present. I will go across to Luxor and fetch her back.”

“Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

“Don’t tell me you are getting cold feet? The sooner the better, in my opinion. We are somewhat crowded here, and you will want privacy, so you had better stay on the Amelia. You will be quite comfortable. Fatima has kept it ready for guests. Gargery, when the Professor comes back, tell him where we have gone.”

“Yes, madam,” said a voice from just inside the door.

“Yes, madam,” said Sethos.

It required only a few minutes to explain the arrangements to Fatima, and we were soon on our way to the dahabeeyah. I left Sethos there, and got one of the crewmen, two of whom were always on duty, to take me across the river. I was not properly dressed for a social call, since I had not taken the time to change from my working costume, but I had put on my second-best hat, which had a nice wreath of pink roses and chiffon streamers that tied under the chin. Parasol in hand, I marched up the gangplank of the Isis, announced myself to the guard, and was shown into the saloon.

Tea had just been brought in, and they were all present—Justin and Maryam, Mrs. Fitzroyce, and the doctor. The doctor was the only one who appeared pleased to see me; he bounded to his feet, cheeks rounded in a smile. His waistcoat was a rainbow of bright embroidery. Hands resting on the head of her stick, Mrs. Fitzroyce looked me up and down, from my dusty boots to my rose-trimmed hat, as her late Majesty might have eyed a mongrel dog.

“I apologize for my intrusion,” I said. “I will not stay. I came only to ask if I might borrow Miss Underhill for the evening. An old friend has arrived unexpectedly and would like to see her.”

A faint gasp from Maryam was the only response. The doctor’s fixed smile did not change; Mrs. Fitzroyce did not move an inch. I am not easily disconcerted, but as the silence lengthened I began to feel slightly uncomfortable. There was something uncanny about the shadowy room, the motionless figures, and the eyes of Justin, gleaming like those of a cat.

Finally the old lady stirred and cleared her throat. “I cannot permit Miss Underhill to absent herself. She knew when she accepted the position that I expected her to be on duty all day every day.”

“You mean she hasn’t had a day or an hour to herself since she joined you?”

My tone was incredulous and critical; it seemed to me, as it must have done to most persons, that the arrangement was cruelly unfair. Mrs. Fitzroyce responded with a brusque “That is correct.”

“But surely . . .” I modified my indignation. “Since she has been so faithful in her attendance all this time, can you not spare her for a few hours? I would be extremely grateful. We will bring her back immediately after dinner.”

Unexpectedly and unnervingly Mrs. Fitzroyce’s face broke into a broad smile, which added a new and interesting collection of wrinkles. I realized she was having another “spell.” “Very good,” she mumbled. “Go and get your hat, Miss Underhill. The nice hat Mrs. Emerson gave you.”

Maryam got slowly to her feet. That she knew the identity of the “friend” I did not doubt. I could not see her features clearly, but her bent head and bowed shoulders suggested that she had resigned herself to face her father.