Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (18 page)

little baboons which had given the valley its name. By the time he announced they would return, her head was so full of unspoken comments it felt as if it would burst. They parted from Jumana at the point where the path to Gurneh diverged from the main road to the ferry landing. Jamil, who would take the horses back to the house, trailed along after them. "She held up well," Ramses said in a low voice. "It's a pity I can't dismiss Jamil, he's more of a nuisance than a help, but I'm afraid Yusuf would be offended." "Yes, I suppose. Ramses, what makes you think Sethos is-" "We'll talk about it later." "But-" "Later." It was at this point, Nefret thought, that her mother-in-law would have expressed her annoyance-firmly-and insisted on continuing the discussion, and then she and Emerson would have shouted happily at one another and the air would have been cleared. There was no hope of any such thing with Ramses. She bowed her head and said nothing more. She had finished bathing and changing when he joined her in their room. "I had to wait for Jamil," he explained unnecessarily. "Do you mind if I clean up a bit before we talk? I'll be as quick as I can." He finished unbuttoning his shirt and tossed it in the general direction of a chair, then sat down to unlace his boots. When he bent over she saw the faint scars that ran across his shoulders and down his back. Thanks to the use of a "magical" ointment supplied by Kadija, the wounds had healed well and were not visible except in certain lights, but Nefret knew they were there. It was morbid and self-indulgent to blame herself for those injuries; her inadvertent blunders would not have affected the outcome of that awful business. She kept telling herself that. One day she might be able to believe it. "I'll have tea ready," she said, and fled, before he could see the tears in her eyes. She took it out on poor young Nasir, spurring him into a flurry of activity that actually got the tea-things on the table before Ramses came upstairs. "Cucumber sandwiches again?" he inquired, settling into a chair. "It seems to be an unalterable law. Your mother started it and I can't get Maaman to stop. He won't even do cheese." "It doesn't matter." She poured the tea. When she handed him his cup she saw he was watching her, his eyes bright and steady, his lips slightly curved. "You do it on purpose, don't you?" she demanded. "You're adorable when you're in a temper." He began to laugh, raising one hand in a mock posture of defense. "I thought that would stir you up. No, honestly, I don't do it on purpose. I thought we ought to conduct the discussion of what is unquestionably a complex and controversial subject-" "When we are comfortable and not likely to be interrupted," Nefret broke in. "All right, I've had all afternoon to think about it, so you can let me talk first. You think Sethos is back, don't you? Ramses, he can't be. I saw the wound. It must have penetrated his lung." "People have survived such wounds, haven't they?" "People have survived worse," Nefret admitted. "Miracles, they're called, but they do happen. So let's grant that he had a good surgeon, and a miracle. I'll also grant that it would make excellent sense to let everyone believe he had died. You wouldn't dare make an exception for fear word would get back to his counterparts in the intelligence services of Turkey and Germany. They must have known of his existence, if not his real identity, and he'd have been high on their list of people to be eliminated. They'd write him off if they thought he was dead." "I agree." He watched her, his eyebrows tilted and a smile curving his lips. "Anything else you want to say?" "Yes. That peculiar mark you pointed out to me-the one like a yin-and-yang symbol. He'd find that appropriate, wouldn't he-the light and the dark sides of his nature, his criminal past and his most recent role as an agent of British intelligence. And the wavering line looks like a flattened S! The sign is meant to warn thieves away from places that are under his protection, and they include sites in which we-especially Mother-take a personal interest. That occurred to you earlier, didn't it? Why didn't you tell me?" "I hoped you'd arrive at the same conclusion without my prompting. It was such a far-fetched idea." "Not so far-fetched now," Nefret said thoughtfully. "I have to admit it fits together rather neatly. Is he back in the antiquities business?" He answered with another question. "Did he ever leave it? He may have been in touch with his old confederates all along. Random digging wouldn't have located that jewel cache so easily. Someone must have known where it was-the same thief, perhaps, who found and marketed those carved plaques that Carter bought for Lord Carnarvon a few years ago. They showed Amenhotep the Third and his queen, and may well have come from the tomb." "And when they appeared on the market, Sethos got wind of it and passed the word to leave the tomb alone? I have to admit, your idea is looking more and more plausible. That was a well-planned operation in the West Valley-a lookout posted, an orderly retreat- more his style than that of the locals." "It's possible," Ramses said cautiously. "What are we going to do about it?" "Flush him out." "I expected you'd say that. Should we tell Mother and Father what we suspect?" "Father already suspects, I think. Discretion is not his strong point; he's let a few things slip. He wouldn't say anything to Mother, and you know what a confounded romantic she is; she's convinced that Sethos died nobly serving his country, and saving her life." Nefret was silent. After a moment Ramses added, "And mine, and yours. Do you suppose I've forgotten what I owe him?" "Then couldn't we just pretend we don't know?" "You're a bit of a romantic yourself." He smiled at her and her heart quickened. "I have several reasons for wanting a private chat with him." "How do you propose to go about it? Start a rumor that we've found some unique antiquity and left it sitting here in the saloon, unguarded and unprotected?" The sun had set and the afterglow lingered on the western cliffs. Ramses pushed his cup away and lit a cigarette. "He won't touch anything we've got or come anywhere near us. But there's one thing that might bring him out into the open. What did you do with that portrait of Mother?" They took the painting to Luxor next day. By the time they reached the river, half the population of the west bank had had a look at it. Several times they had to stop while a curious crowd gathered round to admire and comment. "By the life of the Prophet, it is the Sitt Hakim herself! Her very look, her smile, her parasol!" They used the English word. The parasol was so famous it rated a special designation. Some of the older, more superstitious residents of Gurneh thought it had magical powers. It had certainly come into contact with enough heads and shins. "Where are you taking her?" one of the men asked respectfully. Nefret explained. The picture was so fine they had decided to have another, more elegant frame made for it. Abdul Hadi in Luxor was known for his wood carving; he had promised he would finish the job by the following evening. "Who is going to believe that?" Nefret asked, after they had detached themselves from the art critics. "Abdul Hadi is the slowest craftsman in Egypt." "Well, I'm damned if I am going to spend more than one night in the back room of Hadi's shop." Because Ramses did not underestimate his quarry's intelligence, they went back to the Amelia and remained on board until after dark. When they left the boat it was through the window of their room. The crewman had the dinghy in position; he helped Nefret down into it-Ramses could hear her cursing her cumbersome robe and veil-and as soon as Ramses had joined them he pushed off. "I do miss Luxor," Nefret said, moving closer to him. "It's so quiet and the stars are as bright as candles. Aren't you going to put your arm round me? I'm feeling very friendly." "With Isam watching us?" "I don't care who sees." "All right." It had not been a sufficiently enthusiastic response, and he could tell she was annoyed, but even if he had been in the habit of public displays of affection, he couldn't get his mind off what was about to-what might-happen. They could be dead wrong about everything. In a way, he hoped they were. Abdul Hadi had left a back window open for them. He had been effusive in his promises of assistance and of silence, but Ramses didn't count on the latter promise holding for more than a day, which was one of the reasons why he had made a point of mentioning that the portrait would only be in the shop for twenty-four hours. Luxor men were formidable gossips. If nothing happened that night, they would have to abandon the scheme and try another. Nefret wasn't too pleased when he stationed her behind the curtain that led into the front room of the shop and took up a position nearer the window, behind a wooden chest. (Or was it a coffin? It looked like one.) She wanted to be near him, ready to pitch in if there was a struggle. His excuse, that having her close would distract him, was only partly true. He had politely requested that she refrain from switching on her torch until he told her to. She hadn't been pleased about that either. Flat on the floor behind the chest-he preferred not to think of it as a coffin-he settled himself for a long wait, putting his watch near his hand and shielding it so the radium-painted numerals would not be visible from the window. He didn't expect any activity before midnight, but he had been there less than an hour when a soft sound from outside drew his attention and a shadow darkened the window. He ought to have known. The fellow never did what one expected. The shadow remained motionless for over a minute, which is quite a long time when one is counting seconds. Will he risk a light? Ramses wondered. I would. It is not a good idea to enter a dark room through a narrow window without making certain that someone isn't inside ready to grab you by the throat. When it came, the light was a pencil-thin circle, just bright enough to show the outlines of objects. Ramses didn't dare turn his head; he felt certain Nefret had been watching through a gap in the curtain and hoped she had seen the shadow or the light in time to close it. The light flickered back and forth and went out, and the shadow moved. He didn't make much noise, but he couldn't avoid the brush of cloth against plaster, or the creak of the old wood of the windowsill. Ramses moved at the same time, rising slowly to his feet. He waited until the dark form was half in and half out of the room before he abandoned silence for speed. Vaulting over the chest, he got a firm grip on the first body part that came to hand-it turned out to be a leg-and pulled. He didn't want to hurt the fellow, he just wanted to make sure he couldn't get away. The second part of the plan worked. Instead of trying to free himself, the other man let go his hold on the window frame and collapsed heavily onto Ramses. Approximately a second and a half later it occurred to Ramses that he might have been guilty of a slight error in judgment. He was flat on his back, pinned by a body as hard as leather and steel, with a hand squeezing his right wrist. The bones felt as if they were about to crack. The fellow was thirty years his senior. Sheer embarrassment made Ramses forget his kindly intentions. He raised his head sharply and felt his opponent's nose bend with a nasty squashing sound. The grip on his wrist loosened. He pulled his hand free, grabbed a handful of hair and a fistful of sleeve, twisted his legs around the other pair of legs, and flipped the man over. A sudden glare of light half blinded him. "Goddamn it, Nefret, I told you-" "Shut up," said his bride. "That's enough. From both of you." Ramses looked down at the man whose limp body he straddled. He was not unconscious, just completely and infuriatingly relaxed. The face was unfamiliar and, at the moment, somewhat monstrous. His beard had been pulled loose, and the putty that had enlarged his nose had been mashed into a grotesque lump, like that of a boxer who has lost too many fights. The substance had probably saved him from a broken nose, but blood trickled from his nostrils. Ramses got awkwardly to his feet. "That was a filthy trick," his uncle said admiringly.

9

The arrival of Nefret's second letter-or letters-brought to my attention a difficulty I had, of course, already considered. After food and several cups of coffee had revived Emerson somewhat, I handed him what I must call the official or overt epistle. His reaction was not what I had expected. A particularly vehement expletive burst from his lips. Men! I thought to myself. I did not say it, since I have been happily married for many years and intend to remain so. Temperately I inquired, "What was it in that letter that could possibly upset you? Tetisheri's tomb is safe, the children are well and obviously very happy-if one reads between the lines, which I can easily-" Sounds of altercation in the hall, including a scream from Gargery, interrupted my speech. Sennia must have forgotten to shut Horus in her room. The cursed cat was bound and determined to go with her to school, and since that would have been inadvisable (the Reader will note that I have avoided the temptation to employ the word "catastrophic"), we had to lock him up until after she had left the house with Gargery. He and the cat had never got on, but mutual dislike had blossomed into open enmity since Gargery had appointed himself Sennia's escort. He ought to have known better than to catch hold of the beast. The sounds of combat died, and I heard Sennia scolding Horus in her high-pitched voice as she carried him off. I also heard Gargery cursing. I took no notice. Emerson took no notice either; it was a fairly frequent occurrence and he had become accustomed to it. He had also regained control of himself. "The letter? Oh, the letter. Nothing. It is a-er-fine letter. I could wish that Ramses had been more communicative; neither of them gave any details about their investigations." "Ramses is not much of a letter writer. I don't believe he is hiding anything, if that is what you suspect." Emerson said nothing. "Do you suspect him of hiding something?" I demanded. "No, why the devil should I? What's that?" he added, as I handed him the enclosure-the covert epistle, as one might term it. He glanced through it, and his face lengthened. "What precisely did you tell her?" he asked. "Everything. Nefret and I agreed not to hide things from one another. She is quite right, you know. We cannot keep these little disturbances from him indefinitely. He is going to be very annoyed with us, and it isn't fair to Nefret to put her in the position of conspiring with us against him." "Us? It was your idea to keep these-little disturbances, good Gad!-secret. Have you changed your mind?" "Would you like more coffee, Emerson?" "I have been trying to get the coffeepot away from you for several minutes, Peabody." "I beg your pardon, my dear." I filled his cup. "Well? Answer my question, if you please." "I dreamed about Abdullah last night." This might have struck some as a non sequitur, but Emerson understood, or thought he did. His dour expression became even darker. He is such a thoroughgoing skeptic that he continues to deny the validity of premonitions, dreams, and other "superstitions," as he terms them. I had not told him of my strange sleeping visions of our dear departed reis until the previous year, and although the effort almost choked him he refrained from pouring the ice water of his disbelief on them because he believed the dreams comforted me-as they did. I would always miss Abdullah, who had been very dear to me; to see him again, fit and handsome and strong, in the setting he loved as much as I, was like meeting a living friend. Many of the things he had told me in those dreams had come to pass; he had warned me of danger and consoled me when I was in distress, and I now had a strong if illogical faith in the import of such visions. Since Emerson could not quite bring himself to ask for details, I proceeded to inform him. "He did not advise me on what course to pursue. I would have asked him if I had had the opportunity, but this was different from the other dreams. The setting was the same-the cliffs behind Deir el Bahri, at sunrise-but this time when I reached the summit he wasn't there waiting for me. I saw him walking away from me, along the path toward the Valley, and called out to him. He stopped and turned, but instead of coming back he raised his arm and gestured me to follow. Then he went on .. .And I woke up." "Ah," said Emerson. "Hmph. Er-he was looking well, I hope?" "Oh, yes. Well and happy. He smiled as he waved me on. What do you suppose it meant?" I had pushed my amiable spouse too far. "The interpretation of dreams is your specialty, Amelia, not mine. What are we going to do about Ramses?" "Nothing at present. I have a pre-I have a feeling that the business will settle itself." "How?" Emerson demanded. "Either he will learn of Asad's death from someone else, or Nefret will break down and tell him. The dear girl learned discretion in a hard school, but in this case we are pushing her too far, and, I suspect, putting something of a strain on their relationship. Their natures are so unalike-her quick temper and openness, and his reticence-" "You said they were obviously very happy," Emerson protested. "What are you reading between the lines now?" "It is obvious that they love one another dearly, but that does not prevent them from having differences. I anticipated that they would." "What sort of differences?" Emerson asked anxiously. "For one thing, I expect both of them will be ridiculously overprotective of one another-you know, the way you used to be with me. And Ramses isn't as easy to deal with as you, my dear; he keeps his feelings to himself, and broods instead of bellowing. She will have to give a little, and so will he. It takes awhile to smooth out the wrinkles in a marriage. As you ought to know." "Hmph," said Emerson. "Well, curse it, I would hate to think we are making it more difficult for them. You were the one who-" "Recriminations also put a strain on a marriage, so I will not stress the fact that you were in full agreement with me." I went on quickly, before Emerson could recriminate. "Nefret's primary loyalty, after all, is to her husband. As the Scripture says, a married person should cleave only unto-" "Don't quote the bloo-blooming Bible, Amelia, you know how I hate that." "Certainly, my dear. Shall we be off, then? We will have to stop work early. You haven't forgotten that the Vandergelts are arriving this afternoon?" "Today? Oh. I suppose you will want us to meet them at the train station, though I don't see the sense in it, when they will be coming on to us." "It is a courtesy, my dear. If I had followed my own inclinations, I would have gone to Alexandria to meet them." Katherine had said she did not want us to go to the trouble of meeting the boat, so I bowed to her wishes; but unbeknownst to Emerson, I had sent Daoud to Alexandria the night before. With the city in such chaos and an invalid in the party, I felt sure his strength and sympathy-for he had the kindest heart in the world-would be welcome. Emerson was bound to complain when he discovered Daoud's absence, so after we had mounted our horses and set out toward Giza, I decided to distract him by tactfully reintroducing a subject I had raised before. It really was the most logical next step. We had worked our way down the row of large mastabas parallel to the south face of the Great Pyramid, except for the one we were presently excavating. A pedant might have claimed we had not the right to proceed farther in any direction, since it was this part of his concession Herr Junker had asked us to take over. He had not set any limits, however, and how were we to consult his wishes when he was officially an enemy, cut off from us by the cruel laws of war? As for permission from the Antiquities Department, I did not see how they could possibly object to our extending our work, so long as we did not intrude on the areas given to Mr. Reisner. He had the lion's share of the cemetery as it was. My conscience being entirely at ease on this point, I saw no reason why I should not investigate the southernmost of the three queens' pyramids, which was adjacent to our row of mastabas. It was the most complete of the three, having in addition a small chapel attached to one side. This structure had been a temple of Isis during the late dynasties, several thousand years after the pyramid was constructed. "However," I remarked to Emerson, "I feel certain that the remains of the queen's original mortuary temple lie under the later one, since all pyramids had such temples, and that is the location-" "Peabody," said my husband. "Do you suppose I require to have the architecture of the pyramid complex explained to me?" It was a fine, clear day, with only a little wind, and although the hour was still early, there were a good many people on the road, some on foot, some employing various means of transportation. We passed an object that looked like a pile of perambulating green vegetation: a donkey, all but his four patiently plodding legs hidden by the load. A motorcar filled with tourists, their veils flapping, passed us. Emerson waited until the cloud of dust raised by its passage had subsided before he continued his complaint. "You are attempting to distract me from the greater provocation by supplying a lesser. I will not be provoked, Peabody." "But you love temples, Emerson." "The word is inappropriate in that context!" Emerson shouted. "I do not 'love' inanimate objects. I love you and-" "That is very kind, Emerson, but you need not broadcast your feelings to the entire world." "Hmph," said Emerson. His teeth shone white in the handsome brown of his countenance. It might have been a smile .. ."I see what you are up to, Peabody. There may be some interesting problems of stratification if there are, as one may reasonably expect, the remains of different temples of different periods on that spot-" "And no one is better than you at unraveling such complications." "Flattery has no effect on me, my dear," said Emerson, looking pleased. "You want me to excavate the temple so that you can poke around inside the confounded pyramid." "Of course." "Well, I suppose we might have a look. At the temple ruins," Emerson added hastily. "Not the interior. At least not today." "Bokra?" The Arabic word for tomorrow is frequently heard in Egypt. It is always tomorrow, not today, that an order can be carried out. Emerson acknowledged my little witticism with a grimace and an excuse. "The Vandergelts will be here." "Life is getting a bit complicated," I agreed. "I am vexed we have heard nothing from Mr. Russell or the enigmatic Mr. Smith." "That isn't his name. His name is-" "I know what his name is, Emerson. I prefer Smith. It is shorter and not so silly." Emerson opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, and remarked, "Have it your own way, Peabody. You always do. Your point is well taken, however. If the information we want from the police is not forthcoming, we will have to extract it by guile or force. But not today. And probably not bokra." When the little party descended from the train in Cairo, I was glad I had had the foresight to send Daoud to meet them. If the others had not been with him I would never have recognized Bertie. I do not suppose I had encountered him more than half a dozen times over the years, but I had liked what I saw of him. Though he was more interested in sport than in scholarship, he was a cheerful, considerate young chap, utterly devoted to his mother and obviously fond of his stepfather. Of medium height and sturdy frame, he had always been the picture of health, his cheeks ruddy and his hazel eyes clear. Now ... it was an old man who leaned against Daoud's supporting arm. Gray streaked his brown hair, his wandering eyes were dull, his cheeks sunken. I heard a muffled oath from Emerson and forced my lips into a smile as I hastened to embrace Katherine and Cyrus. It did not take me long to decide what should be done, and I proceeded to do it. Leaving Daoud to arrange for the luggage, we got into the motorcar, Katherine and I in the tonneau with Bertie. After I had surrounded him with cushions and covered his knees with a robe, I directed Emerson to proceed. For once I did not have to tell him to drive carefully. He had been as shocked as I at the lad's wasted appearance. "You will stay with us for a few days," I said to Katherine. "Fatima has your rooms ready and everyone is anxious to be of use. Now, my dear, don't argue, I have it all worked out. Ramses and Nefret are in Luxor just now, so there is plenty of room." At that, Bertie sat up a little straighter and spoke with the first indication of interest I had seen him display. "Ramses isn't here? I had looked forward to talking with him." "You will be able to do that very soon," I assured him. "The most important thing now is for you to rest and get your strength back." He nodded and closed his eyes. His face looked like a death's head, gray skin stretched tightly over the bones. I took Katherine's hand and gave it a little squeeze. That was all I could do then. She could not talk freely in his presence. As soon as we reached the house I sent Katherine and Cyrus to their room and put Bertie to bed, ignoring his feeble protests. By the time I finished with him there was some color in his face-primarily embarrassment and wounded masculine pride. I considered this a hopeful sign; he had enough energy, at least, to resent me! I made him drink a quantity of water and pointed out the little bouquet, an indiscriminate mixture of marigolds and weeds, that Sennia had arranged in a glass on his table. That brought a faint smile, and before I left the room I had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes close. Katherine and Cyrus were in the drawing room with Emerson. "How is he?" Katherine asked at once. "Sleeping." I took a chair and accepted a glass of whiskey from Emerson. "The wounds appear to have healed nicely and although his breathing is still short, I believe it is a matter of weakness and lack of exercise rather than permanent injury to his lungs. However, if you feel we ought to have a doctor look at him ..." "He wouldn't accept that," Katherine said wearily. "He is bitterly resentful of the entire medical profession. I cannot imagine how you managed to examine him." "Ah, well, I have had a good deal of practice overcoming the objections of injured and recalcitrant male individuals," I said, glancing at Emerson. "Which reminds me ... why is he so anxious to talk with Ramses? They got on well enough, but were never close friends." "Can't you guess?" Cyrus demanded. His long countenance had been lined and weather-beaten ever since I had known him, for seasons under the hot Egyptian sun has that effect on fair-skinned people. Some of the lines were deeper now. Bertie was the only son he would ever have, and he had always been proud of the boy, his only regret being that Bertie did not share his passion for Egyptology.