Children of the Storm (52 page)

A sudden jar broke her numbed hold. Her head went under water and her feet jolted against a solid surface. She stood up, wobbling on one leg, and pushed the streaming hair out of her eyes. The log that had been both disaster and savior had run up against a muddy bank. It was not either of the river banks—just another damned island.

A wave lapped her ankles. The log dipped, as if nodding a courteous farewell, and floated away. Nefret leaned over and threw up.

Once she had rid herself of the rest of the water she had swallowed, and all of the meal she had eaten, she realized she was ravenous. A brief, hobbling survey of her current position offered no hope of relieving her hunger or her thirst. This island was a little larger than the other, but not much, and she was still in the middle of the river, no closer to either shore than she had been, though she was some distance downstream. The only other inhabitants were birds, snowy white egrets, and a few kingfishers. She startled a nesting goose, which rose flapping and honking. In the strengthening light Nefret considered the clutch. No, she wasn’t that hungry. Not yet.

She sat down and examined her bare leg. It hurt like the devil, but there was no break, just a bruise the size of her closed fist. Swearing and wincing, Nefret probed the injured arm, and diagnosed a bruised bicep. She wouldn’t be using that arm for a while. But there would be boats on the river soon. She ought to be able to hail one of them, making damn good and sure before she did so that it was not a dahabeeyah the size of the Isis.

It did not take her long to discover that the main channel was too far away for her faint calls to carry. She grew hoarse from shouting. Against the gray-green reeds her body was essentially invisible. She had nothing bright to wave, no way of starting a fire.

When the sun was high overhead, she saw the Amelia go past. She went on waving and calling until it was out of sight, and then sank down and hid her face in her folded arms.

I DECIDED I COULD ABANDON my post for a short time, and summoned the others to the saloon. No one was hungry, but it is necessary to keep up one’s strength when strenuous endeavor may lie ahead.

“You mean a fight?” Cyrus asked. “I sure would like one, but has anybody figured out what we’re actually going to do if—when—we catch up with them?”

“Run them aground,” Selim said. It had taken a direct order from me to remove him from his engines. He allowed me to take his pulse and feel his brow for signs of fever, but refused to let me do more; and indeed there was not much more I could do. Black smears of oil stained his clothes, from his turban to the hem of his galabeeyah, but so far as I could tell he was holding up well.

Daoud scooped up a portion of chicken and vegetables with a bit of folded bread and popped the whole thing neatly into his mouth. He nodded in agreement.

“Let’s see where we stand,” Sethos said. He had finished eating. Now he reached for the map Nasir had pushed aside when he served us. “The Isis was seen at Tukh yesterday afternoon. Reis Hassan swears she didn’t pass Qena today. If we take his word, and I gather you are all inclined to do so, there are only two possibilities. She has changed her name and her appearance, or she is lying low somewhere between here and Tukh.”

“Why?” The question came from Ramses, who was standing at the window, looking out, his hands clasped behind him. He swung round. “Why should they delay? What are they after? Would they have collected all of us, one by one, if Father hadn’t spoiled their plans? Or did he? Goddamn it, we’re sitting here studying maps and timetables, and Cyrus is the only one who’s asked a sensible question. Supposing we do catch her up. Then what? Fire a cannon across her bows? That would be entertaining, if we had a cannon. Board her, with cutlasses between our teeth?”

He broke off, breathing hard. I went to him and slipped my arm through his. “That has always struck me as an impractical procedure,” I said. “One would have to have extremely hard teeth and strong jaw muscles, and even then an involuntary movement might easily result in the loss of teeth and jaw.”

For a moment I feared my attempt at a little joke had been misplaced. His black eyes blazed with anger. I said, “I too am very worried.”

The hard lines around his mouth softened. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mother. It’s selfish of me to be glad that Father is with her, but . . .”

“I am also glad of it,” I said. It was partly true. “I don’t know what it was that made Emerson realize Nefret might be in trouble, but it is just like him to go rushing to the rescue all by himself. One good thing has come of his impetuosity. The villains know we will be hot on their trail. Whether it was their original intention or not, they will not . . . they will keep them as hostages.”

Walter coughed. “I have been thinking,” he said.

“Yes, Walter?” I gave him an encouraging smile. He was so anxious to be of use, poor man, but he had only succeeded in getting in everyone’s way. Selim had politely but firmly rejected his further assistance after he burned his arm on the heated metal of the engine, and his attempt to use the sounding stick had almost got us run onto an invisible sandbar.

“I’m not good for much else, you see,” Walter explained matter-of-factly. He adjusted his eyeglasses. “We have been operating on the assumption that revenge is the motive for this.”

“What other motive could there be?” I asked.

“The Isis is an expensive operation,” Walter said. “And revenge loses its force after so many years. They are after something more rewarding. What else could it be but the princesses’ treasure? And if that is the case,” he went on, raising his voice a trifle to be heard over Cyrus’s oaths, “it alters our entire strategy. Let us say that M. Lacau finishes loading the artifacts today. If he is in sufficient haste, he will try to get a few miles downstream before nightfall. I think the Isis, under a new name, will intercept the steamer tonight, under cover of darkness.”

“Suppose Lacau doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning?” David asked.

“Then they will strike tomorrow night. The point is—” Walter raised an admonitory forefinger—“that they don’t know his schedule either. They will have to lie in wait for the steamer and follow it until it stops for the night, whichever night that may be. We must turn back. We may not be able to identify the Isis in her new guise, but we can’t miss the government steamer, and if I am right, the dahabeeyah will be nearby.”

“What if you’re wrong?” I asked, half convinced but reluctant to abandon the pursuit. “We would never catch them up if they have gone on ahead.”

“I think he’s right,” Sethos said. He gave Walter an approving nod. “There is definitely a streak of larceny in the family. I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it myself. I vote for heading back upriver.”

“No,” Ramses said. He went back to the window.

I looked at David. He had seen it too, the increase of tension to such a point that Ramses was beyond reason. The idea of retracing our route was unbearable.

David took him by the shoulders and spun him around. Ramses’s eyes were dead black, without a spark of awareness. He swung at David; David dodged the blow and struck back, hard enough to set Ramses back on his heels.

“It takes a blunt instrument to stop him when he’s in this frame of mind,” David explained coolly.

Ramses’s eyes came back into focus. He rubbed his cheek and blinked at David. “Did you have to do that?”

“My friend, you have been half out of your mind for hours. Stop and think. Father’s theory provides the first rational motive we’ve found. Everything fits, don’t you see? Even blowing up the railroad station. An armed assault on the steamer will be attributed to terrorists. We have to gamble, but this is our best hope. If we start back straightaway, we can reach Qena before dark.”

Ramses nodded. “All right.”

“I’ll tell Reis Hassan,” Walter said happily, and trotted off.

“All right,” Ramses repeated.

My heart ached for him. “What about a nice whiskey and soda?” I suggested.

“If you would like one, Mother.”

I was afraid I would have to administer another therapeutic smack on the face. However, Ramses is a true son of his father (and me). He passed his hand over his mouth, gave himself a little shake, and managed a smile.

Everyone joined us except Selim, who could not be extracted from his engines. Reis Hassan got us turned round in a series of maneuvers that inspired several breathtaking close calls and a lot of bad language from the persons thus inconvenienced. The white sail of a felucca passed so close it filled the entire window aperture. But finally we were headed south again.

It was late in the afternoon and the sun was setting when Bertie came into the saloon to report that someone was hailing us. “Looks like a local fishing boat.”

“Probably hope to sell us something,” Cyrus grumbled.

“We had better see what they want,” I said. “They may have news.”

We followed Bertie onto the deck. The sun was low in the west. A flotilla of small boats raced toward us, their white sails flapping like the wings of a flock of birds. The occupants were all shouting at once. It was impossible to make out words.

“Good heavens,” I said. “It is a miniature armada—every boat in that small village, by the looks of it. Tell Selim to stop the engines. They must have news for us.”

In my understandable agitation I caught the arm of Ramses, who stood next to me. He shook me off with absentminded force and raised both hands to shield his eyes against the glare of the sunset. Then his rigid body sagged forward across the rail and his breath came out in a long, shuddering sigh.

My vision is not the equal of his, but I believe I was the next to see her, standing in the nearest boat, supported by one of the men. The coronet of golden hair was unmistakable, but so unbelievable and so welcome was the sight I refused to credit the evidence of my own eyes until the little boat came alongside and the grinning crewmen lifted her up into Ramses’s outstretched arms.

“It is a miracle,” Walter said reverently. He removed his eyeglasses and wiped them on his shirttail.

“Miracle be damned,” said my other brother-in-law. “Nefret, I am unspeakably relieved to see you, but—”

“Give them a minute,” I said. Ramses’s arms held her close and his face was hidden against her hair.

Nefret raised her head and turned in the circle of his arm. She held out her hands to me. “He is alive, Mother. I spoke with him early this morning. I didn’t want to leave him, but he—”

“You did the right thing, my dear,” I said. The situation was still grave, but I felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted off my shoulders. “Now come and rest, and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Nefret said. “They fed me and washed my clothes and dried them. They—”

David had been talking with the boatmen. They were so pleased with themselves they were reluctant to go, but after we had showered them with praise and thanks, and all the money we had in our pockets, they tore themselves away. Ahead the lights of Qena shone through the gathering dusk.

It took a little while for us to get underway, since every man on the Amelia had to see Nefret and touch her before they could believe she was safely back. Nasir burst into tears and flung himself at her feet. The sight of Selim, oily, weary, and smiling, brought a cry of protest from his physician but he would not let her examine him.

“Tell us,” he said. “Everything.”

After Nasir had been restored, he stumbled round lighting the lamps and the rest of us crowded round Nefret, who was seated on the divan, with Ramses’s arm round her. I am not ashamed to admit that the whiskey flowed freely. Nefret shook her head when Cyrus offered her a glass.

“My stomach is still a little queasy, and you know how the stuff affects me. I’ll tell you everything in due time, but you must hear this first. They are planning to take the princesses’ treasure!”

The announcement fell a little flat. “Curse it,” Nefret said. “You knew? How? I didn’t find out until last night.”

“Walter figured it out,” said Sethos. “Do you know when they plan to strike, and how?”

“No.”

“Damnation. If Lacau has already left Luxor, they could seize the steamer tonight.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Walter said.

This time his announcement got more attention. “Yes?” Sethos said respectfully.

“Certain of my initial assumptions may have been in error,” Walter explained in his precise schoolmaster’s voice. “One takes it for granted that dastardly deeds are done under cover of darkness, but they cannot travel at night, can they? Surely they would want to get underway as soon as they are in possession of the treasure.”

“It would take ’em a while to unload the cargo,” Cyrus said, stroking his goatee.

“No, no,” Walter said excitedly. “Why should they do that? It would, as you say, take a great deal of time, and the dahabeeyah is certain to be seen, however she changes her appearance. Every craft on the river would be on the lookout for her. The government steamer, on the other hand . . .”

“Of course,” I breathed. “They will board the steamer—massacre the crew—sink the Isis . . . Oh, my. What will they do to poor M. Lacau?”

No one seemed especially concerned about poor M. Lacau. Sethos shook his head. “I’ve been out of the business too long. Lost my touch. It’s a pity Walter is an honest man. What a partner he would make!”

Walter beamed. “You think I am right, then?”

“I know you are right.” Sethos slammed his fist into his palm. “That’s exactly how I would have planned it, supposing I were cold-blooded enough to murder a dozen innocent men. We’ve got until morning, then. Someone must go ashore at Qena and try to find out whether Lacau has left Luxor, and if so, when.”

“I’ll go,” Ramses said. It was the first time he had spoken since he took his wife into his arms, and his face was still alight with joy and disbelief.

“We must hear Nefret’s story first,” I said, with a fond smile at the pair. “She may have seen or heard something that will affect our plans. Start at the beginning, my dear, if you will be so good, and don’t leave anything out.”

It was, to say the least, an absorbing tale. The faces of the listeners reflected their feelings—surprise, indignation, admiration—but no one interrupted until she described the transformation of Mrs. Fitzroyce.