Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (37 page)

arms. The boatman gave him a critical look, wondering no doubt why we employed such a dirty fellow. I had accidentally got some of the dirt into his eyes; but that was all to the good, since they now had the red-rimmed look of the infection from which many unfortunate Egyptians suffer. "What did you purchase?" I asked, once we were under way. Some of the boatmen understand a bit of English. "The first large objects I could lay my hands on," Nefret said. "Including a perfectly hideous model of the facade of Abu Simbel." "We'll give it to Gargery for Christmas," I said. Our unkempt servant, squatting in the bows, let out a strangled cough. He made one more attempt to dissuade me as he put our parcels into the carriage. "Aren't you being rather cold-blooded about the risk to Selim and Daoud and the rest of the clan? My enemies will track us eventually." "But not immediately. It may take them a day or two. By then we will be prepared." We drove straight to the house. Had I not been preoccupied with more serious matters my heart would have swelled with nostalgia at the sight of our old home, which held so many memories. The climbing roses were dead, of course. Abdullah had never watered them either. But what did that matter? He had been right; this was where I was meant to be. My spirits received a slight check when I learned that the only men in the house were Yusuf and his youngest son. They were both in the parlor smoking and drinking coffee, and before I could get down to business I had to refuse refreshments and apologize to Yusuf for not coming to call earlier. The house was in perfect order and the parlor looked much as we had left it, even to the ornaments on the whatnot. "I thought you had gone to the Queens' Valley," I said to Jamil. "The young Effendi was weary," Jamil replied, staring curiously at Sethos. "We took him back to the Castle." "Selim and Daoud?" "Are with the Father of Curses. But we are at your service, Sitt Hakim, my father and I." And about as much use as Sennia, I thought. "Is Kadija here?" Nefret asked. She had been waiting for a summons. Nefret's question was enough; when she appeared in the doorway, black-robed but unveiled, I could have kissed her. Nefret did. Kadija folded her in arms almost as brawny as those of her husband Daoud and then looked inquiringly at me. "Thank goodness," I exclaimed. "Listen carefully, Kadija. This man-" I indicated Sethos. "This man is my prisoner. He must be kept hidden and secure." "Ah," said Jamil eagerly. "I will guard him, Sitt Hakim. With my father's gun." A suitable occupation for a man, I thought. I said firmly, "No gun, Jamil. He is to be well-treated and unharmed." "May God bless you, Sitt," Sethos whined. "You are merciful. You are kind. You are-" "I leave him in your charge, Kadija," I went on. "This is the most important thing. No one outside the family must know he is here. The Father of Curses and I will return tonight, to question him." Studying the boy's weak, handsome face, I decided I had better reinforce my warning. "Jamil-Yusuf--no one is to leave the house until I give permission, except, of course, for Daoud and Selim. They will take the horses to the dahabeeyah tomorrow morning. Is that clearly understood? If either of you mentions the presence of our-er-prisoner . . ." I did not finish the threat. The parasol and the invocation of Emerson should suffice. Sethos slunk off with Kadija and we returned to the carriage. "The skulking and whining were rather overdone," I said. "I hope he won't be carried away by the role; it is one of his weaknesses." "The role of prisoner," Margaret murmured. "How did you think of that? It would never have occurred to me." "I could hardly have described him as an honored guest, or a new servant, now could I? Besides, I wanted him locked up. I don't trust him." "It was a brilliant idea, Mrs. Emerson," Margaret said sincerely. I smiled at her. "You may call me Amelia." I consulted my lapel watch. "I hope we are not too late for luncheon. It has been a busy morning!" FROM MANUSCRIPT H Ramses found it difficult to concentrate on archaeology when his wife and his mother were off somewhere, bent on mischief. He consoled himself with the thought that they couldn't get in too much trouble on the streets of Luxor. Perhaps his mother meant to perch on a bench somewhere, examining the faces of passersby. She had always claimed she would recognize Sethos anywhere, in any disguise. Perhaps she really intended to shop. Christmas was approaching, and he had never known his mother to be distracted from those festivities by anything as unimportant as a murderer. Perhaps . .. Bertie had to speak to him twice before he took note of his surroundings. "I beg your pardon?" he said. "I only wanted to ask a few questions, if you don't mind. I didn't want to interrupt Cyrus and the Professor." "I doubt you could have," Ramses said. His father and Cyrus were some distance ahead, with Selim and Jamil in close attendance. Somewhat guiltily he turned his attention to his companion. He ought to have been looking after Bertie. But Jumana was riding close on Bertie's other side, and Daoud was behind him, and although Bertie was flushed and perspiring he seemed to be all right. They had taken the road from Medinet Habu into the cliff-enclosed valley. Few tourists came that way; the Cook's tours allowed only enough time for the major sights: the east bank temples, the Ramesseum and Medinet Habu, the royal tombs, and a few selected tombs of the nobles. It was likely that Sethos had maintained his role of tourist. He wouldn't risk- "Is this where Cyrus wants to dig?" Bertie asked. "What? Oh, sorry. It's one possibility. There've been over seventy tombs found already, but most are unfinished and undecorated- more like caves, really. They date from the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties, and include tombs of royal princes as well as queens." "Are we going to see any of them?" Bertie passed his sleeve over his forehead. "It looks that way." His father and Cyrus were talking with an Egyptian who had emerged from a rough shelter. "The most important tombs are closed. The custodian has the keys." They inspected three of the tombs, finishing with that of Queen Nefertari Merenmut, where Emerson fulminated about the damage to the exquisitely painted reliefs. "There's a worthwhile project for you," he declared. "You should be spending your money on repairing scenes like these, instead of exposing more antiquities to be looted and damaged." "I haven't exposed anything yet," Cyrus retorted. "Jumping Jehoshaphat, Emerson, all I want is one tomb-one good tomb. That's not asking much." The sun was high overhead when they settled down in the mouth of an unfinished tomb and opened the basket of food. "That's enough for you today, Bertie," Emerson announced. "I feel perfectly fit, sir," Bertie protested. "Of course you do." Emerson smiled paternally. "It's a long ride back, though, and you mustn't overdo. Tomorrow is another day." Daoud wanted to take Bertie home, but Emerson had other ideas. As soon as they had finished eating, he sent Bertie off with Jamil and Jumana. "That's got rid of them," he announced, taking out his pipe. "Now we can get down to business." "Will he be all right?" Ramses asked, watching the little cortege wind its way along the valley floor toward the entrance. "She'll look after him," Emerson said. "Pack up, Selim, and let's be off." "Where?" Ramses asked. "Where do you think?" "Deir el Medina?" "Very good," Emerson said. "Is it the man Kuentz you suspect?" Selim asked, jumbling crockery and leftover food into the basket. Apparently Cyrus and Emerson had not been talking archaeology with him. "I think he's our man, yes," said Emerson. "The broken stela Sennia found," Ramses said. "Well done," said his father. "I don't get it," Cyrus said blankly. "The bottom part had been knocked off," Ramses explained. "It was a fresh break. The name and titles of the owner were missing. That's why it took me awhile to remember where I had seen others like it. In those cases, the owners were described as workers in the Place of Truth-the Valley of the Kings, that is. The men who cut and decorated the royal tombs lived at Deir el Medina." Emerson's pipe had gone out. He gave Ramses an encouraging smile and struck a match. "The stela was planted," Ramses said. "Not only to capture our interest-Father might well have insisted on excavating the entire damned rubbish dump, which would have taken the rest of the season-" "Your mother wouldn't let me," said Emerson, grinning. "If I may finish, Father? It also got Sennia interested in the dump site and made it easier for the kidnapper to approach her. But it's not proof of Kuentz's guilt." "Bah," said Emerson. "He's the one who sent you to the spot where the rock fell," Cyrus pointed out. "And the body. I think I've figured out why-" "So do I," said Emerson. "The poor devil was an innocent bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." "Yes, sir, I agree. But even if we are right, it doesn't necessarily incriminate Kuentz." "So let us go and make him confess," said Daoud. "He tried to hurt the Little Bird." "Well said, Daoud." Emerson knocked out his pipe and rose. "We don't know that he's guilty," Ramses insisted. "Leave the questions to us, Daoud." "Of course," said Daoud. After handing over the keys and tipping the custodian, they rode back between the rugged, sun-bleached cliffs to the road and took the turning that led to the workmen's village. "A word with you, Ramses." said Emerson. The others obediently fell back. "Yes, sir?" said Ramses. "Did I sound patronizing?" "Yes, sir." "Habit, my boy. Didn't intend to." "That's all right, sir." It was more of an apology than he had counted upon, and perhaps more than he deserved. He added, "I shouldn't have been so defensive." "You are leaning over backward to be fair. Wasn't Kuentz one of Nefret's swains a few years ago?" "Yes, sir." "Is he still?" "Damn it, Father-" "Jealousy," said Emerson, "takes people differently. I, for example, shout and threaten. It's the best method. Get it out of one's system. Women are-er-they don't think the way we do." My God, Ramses thought, I'm about to get that kindly lecture fathers are supposed to deliver before their sons marry. He's a little late. More than a little. I don't think I can stand it if he starts telling me how ... "I agree, sir," he said quickly. "You," said his father, carefully not looking at him, "try to be fair and reasonable. I don't recommend that approach. Your mother, for one, doesn't like it at all." Ramses was at a loss for words. After a moment Emerson went on, "Don't keep your thoughts to yourself. I never do, and neither does your mother, and so we-well, we thrash it out, you see, and that's all to the good." "I expect you're right, sir. I appreciate your advice." "Hmph," said Emerson, who was brick-red with embarrassment. "One more bit of advice, then. Don't always give the other fellow the benefit of the doubt. Your instincts are good enough guides." "What do you suggest? Instead of shaking hands with Kuentz, I should walk up to him and punch him in the face?" Emerson grinned. "It might not be such a bad idea. Well. That's all I wanted to say." He loosened the reins and urged his horse into a trot. Ramses followed more slowly. He had been touched and amused by that exchange; it wasn't easy for Emerson to talk about personal matters, but when he did he went straight to the point and hit the nail square on the head. Now all I have to do is follow his advice, Ramses thought. If I can. Had he been too inclined to give Kuentz the benefit of the doubt? The evidence was mounting up. Another point against Kuentz which no one had mentioned was the fact that he had not always been at the dig at times when most excavators would be working. Their opponent must be busy these days, trying to find Sethos, keeping track of their activities, guarding his find. If he wasn't there today ... He was, though. He had a crew of ten or twelve men at work, and a good twenty square meters had been cleared since Ramses had last seen the site. He greeted them with his usual exuberance and shook the hands of everyone except Daoud, who folded his arms and fixed Kuentz with an intimidating frown. Emerson explained that Cyrus was looking for a site. "What about you, Professor?" Kuentz asked. "Possibly, possibly. We have decided to stay on in Luxor for a while." Kuentz was full of suggestions. They included almost every site in Luxor. Were the omissions significant? Damned if I know, Ramses thought, watching in growing distaste as Kuentz slapped people on the back and emitted genial roars of laughter and finally turned the conversation from professional advice to general gossip. How was Miss Minton getting on with her story about tomb robbers? He owed her a dinner invitation, though he wouldn't be able to match her generosity; the Winter Palace was too expensive for a poor hardworking archaeologist. The Vandergelts must excuse his failure to call on them, as courtesy demanded; he would come by one day soon, if he might. How was Mrs. Emerson? Had Nefret recovered from her shocking experience the other day? "I feel responsibility," he explained to Emerson. "No reason why you should," Emerson said, stroking his chin. "The tomb you mentioned was empty anyhow, I believe." "Except for broken pieces of Roman mummies. They looked as if someone had danced on them," Kuentz said with another guffaw. "Teeth and bones and scraps of linen." He turned abruptly. "What are you doing?" he shouted at one of the workmen, who was holding up an object that appeared to be a broken pot. "I told you not to remove anything. Damn these people, they have to be watched every second." "We are keeping you from your work," Emerson said. "Time we were getting back anyhow." "Time for tea?" Another hearty laugh. "You English must have your tea. I will see you soon again, I hope." "Sure," said Cyrus. "We'll have a little dinner party. You and Barton and Lansing and a few others." "It will be an honor." Kuentz shook hands all round again and hastened back to his crew. They heard him shouting Arabic curses as they mounted and started off. "Did he confess?" Daoud asked hopefully. "No," Emerson said. "But there were a few points of interest, eh, Ramses?" "Yes, sir." "Roman mummies. Disgusting objects. All in pieces, too." "Yes, sir." "Not the right place. Don't say 'yes sir' again," he added. "No, sir." "Excuse me-" Cyrus began. "Later, Vandergelt, later. I am anxious to get back. If Amelia isn't there I will be forced to take steps. She was up to no good." "She went looking for Sethos," Ramses said. His father nodded. "D'you suppose she found him?" "I wouldn't be at all surprised," Emerson said gloomily.

17

When Emerson burst into the sitting room and found me placidly drinking tea, his expressions of pleasure and relief took a predictable form. "Well, what the devil have you been doing?" "Good afternoon to you, too," I replied. "Close the door, Emerson, and make sure there is no one lurking in the corridor." Cyrus kissed his wife and joined her on the settee. Ramses did not kiss his wife. However, he took the hand she extended and continued to hold it as he stood beside her. "And how was your day?" I inquired. "Speak up, Emerson, Bertie is resting, but he will be down soon, and so will Sennia, and William may take it into his head to do more reading." "I beg," said Emerson, slamming the door, "that you will not provoke me, Peabody. You first. I presume you found the-you found him, you are looking particularly smug. Where is he?" "It was really very clever of her," Margaret said. "The way she deduced where he had gone-" "I don't give a damn where he was, I want to know where he is now," said Emerson. "At our house. Locked up and guarded." "By Jamil and Yusuf? Good Gad, Peabody-" "And Kadija." "Oh. That's all right, then. Selim and Daoud will be there by now. What did he tell you?" "He maintained he does not know the identity of his rival or the location of the tomb." "He lied," said Emerson, starting for the door. "For pity's sake, Emerson, sit down! I told Kadija we would come round this evening. It is all arranged. Now tell me what you did this afternoon. Did you find the tomb and capture the villain?" "We are getting closer to a solution, I think," Ramses said, over Emerson's growls. "Father and I agree that Kuentz is the most likely suspect. There are several circumstances-" "You needn't explain," I interrupted. "I had come to the same conclusion. He must have had a confederate in Cairo. William Amherst?" Emerson rolled his eyes, in that way he has, and Ramses said, "Not necessarily. We haven't made out a timetable-unless you have, Mother?" "I haven't got round to it yet." "I believe you will find, when you do, that Kuentz could have been in Cairo on the significant dates. He maintains two residences, if they can be called that; it's a useful device, since people would assume that if he's not in one place he is at the other, whereas in reality he could be somewhere else-on the train to Cairo, for instance." "William has been behaving suspiciously," I said. "Whether he is involved or not," said Ramses, somewhat impatiently, "Kuentz is the man we must watch." "You intend to follow him?" Nefret asked. "It's the only way, Nefret," Emerson said. "With Daoud and Selim we should be able to keep him under surveillance, at least during the hours of the night. He's got to do something soon. The longer he waits, the greater the chance someone will find his prize, and the word has got about that we are engaged in a survey of the Western Valley sites." "Perhaps he will attack one of us," I said, giving Katherine my cup. "Don't get your hopes up, Peabody," Emerson said amiably. A cup of the genial beverage had refreshed him, and I knew he was looking forward to trailing Kuentz. Emerson loves disguises, though he is not very good at them. "An attack on us would be futile," Emerson went on. Katherine, who had been watching Cyrus anxiously, let out a sigh of relief. Emerson gave her a reassuring smile. "He can't wipe out the lot of us. By descending on Luxor en masse, we have left him with only one viable alternative. He's got to clear that tomb before we find it." "Christmas Eve," I murmured. Even Emerson, who ought to know me better, stared at me in surprise. Strangely enough, my son was the first to comprehend. "Of course. He'll expect us to be absorbed with holiday merriment that night-decorating the tree and eating Fatima's plum pudding. Well done, Mother." I heard voices outside-Sennia's high, birdlike chirps and Bertie's laughing responses. "There is only one person who is in danger now," I said hurriedly. "We must .. .Ah, Bertie. How are you feeling, dear boy?" Naturally I did not intend to wait until Christmas Eve to apprehend our suspect, nor did I believe it would be practical to follow Kuentz. He might not be our man after all, in which case the real culprit could go about his business unseen and undetected. A much easier method, one I had always favored, was to make him come to us-or, in this case, to Sethos. His attempts to track Sethos down and murder him strongly suggested that either, (a) Sethos did know where the tomb was located, and el-Hakim (I preferred my nom de guerre to the anonymous X the others used) was aware of this; or (b) Sethos did not know, but el-Hakim believed he did. In either case, Kuentz, or whoever he was, would try to dispose of Sethos before he emptied the tomb. I explained this to Emerson while we were changing after tea. "Hmmm," said Emerson. "Aside from the fact that some might consider it callous to stake my-to stake him out like a goat for a tiger-" "It was his idea." "So you say. Hurry and dress, we had better get over there." "He is in no danger as yet," I assured my husband. "The gossip mills in Luxor work quickly but not instantaneously, and no one except the family knows there is a stranger in the house. We will see to it that the word gets out tomorrow afternoon. That will give us time to arrange for protection." "I don't like this," Emerson muttered, lacing his boots. "It is an eminently logical, practical plan." "All your plans are," said Emerson. "Until they fall apart." I had thought Margaret would insist on accompanying us, but she did not so much as ask. I had some trouble dissuading Cyrus, who was understandably curious about the man who had once taken his place, and even more with Sennia, who declared she was bored and was only prevented from throwing a tantrum by Bertie, who requested another story and a lesson in hieroglyphs. In the end the party consisted of Emerson and me, Ramses and Nefret, just as I had planned. Emerson set the pace, which was rapid enough to make conversation difficult. At one point, when we were slowed by a heavily loaded camel, I said to Nefret, "Touching, is it not, how concerned Emerson is for his brother? I wonder how they will greet one another." "So do I," said Nefret. The men of the family were on the veranda, watching for us. "Everyone here?" Emerson asked, counting heads. "Selim, has Yusuf explained to you and Daoud-" "I explained," said Jamil, caressing his mustache. "Where is Jumana?" Nefret asked. "In her room, reading a book. We do not want women involved in men's business." "It's a pity he has to be involved," Nefret said angrily, as we hastened down the corridor. "I don't trust him to hold his tongue." "We will let him loosen it tomorrow," I said. "By that time-Ah, Kadija. How is our-er-guest?" "I was about to take him food, Sitt Hakim. You will stay and eat with us? There is plenty." "Yes, thank you. After we have talked with him." The room-it had once been David's-was lit by the soft glow of oil lamps. There was only one window, and the shutters opening onto the courtyard were closed and barred. Sethos had been lying down (the sheets were wrinkled), but he was on his feet when we entered, shoulders braced and jaw tight. Kadija had cleaned him up, possibly by force; she would not have tolerated such a filthy person in the house. His black head was bare. Emerson tried to enter first, but I slipped past him. Clenched fists and a dark scowl are not evidences of brotherly concern. I took Sethos by the shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed. He was unable to offer much resistance. "Lie down," I ordered. "You are having another paroxysm, aren't you?" Sethos looked at Emerson. "Can't you stop her?" "No," said Emerson. "Never could. Er-are you-um ..." "Having another paroxysm," Sethos admitted. "This one's not so bad." "When did it start?" Nefret asked. I reminded myself that she was the doctor, and stepped away as she approached. She made a quick examination and asked a few more questions, and then said, "He's better. The first stage lasted less than an hour and the fever isn't as high. I'll stay with him tonight." "No, you will not," said Sethos, galvanized into speech. "I refuse to go through another session with you and your Hippocratic oath. What the devil is this-a medical consultation, or a council of war, or possibly a social gathering? Do sit down, all of you, and make yourselves comfortable. I'm sure Kadija will serve coffee." So much for the brotherly greetings, I thought. The atmosphere was marginally more cordial, however. Emerson's fists had unclenched and Ramses was smiling. "I'll keep Nefret away from you," he offered. "If you tell us what we want to know." "Yes, let's get down to business," said Emerson gruffly. "No more beating about the bush. We believe Kuentz is the man we're after. We intend to follow him until he leads us to the tomb." "There's a simpler way," Sethos said. "Pass the word that I'm here. He thinks I know the location of the tomb, that's why he has been so hell-bent on killing me." "Ha," I exclaimed. "I thought so." Emerson gave me a forbidding scowl. "Where is the damned tomb, then?" "I don't know. That," said Sethos, with a fair imitation of his infuriating smile, "is what comes of having a reputation for omniscience. 'The Master knows all.' But I've wondered lately whether he has firmer grounds for his suspicions. He may not be the only one who knows the location. If the original finder was a local man-a man who once worked for me-old loyalties or higher baksheesh might induce him to seek me out." "No such devoted former follower has approached you, I take it," Emerson said. "There aren't that many of them left, and the Luxor lads are so bloody confused they run for cover at the very mention of the Master." "Then Kuentz-if it is Kuentz-has only three men on whom he can rely," Ramses said. "Yes, well, even if it's true that's not such good news. You encountered one of them. The other two are almost as deadly." Kadija knocked and entered, to announce that the meal was ready. "Shall I bring his food here?" she asked. "Later," I said. "He's not feeling well enough now. We will be with you shortly, Kadija. Let us finish making our plans. Tomorrow we will allow the word to get out that there is a mysterious prisoner in the house. He will attack tomorrow night, or at the latest, the night following. We will be ready for him." "Them," Sethos corrected. "If he's determined to make an end of me he won't come alone. And who the hell do you mean by 'we'?" "The four of us and Daoud and Selim," I said. "That should be sufficient." "Not Margaret and the Vandergelts?" Sethos demanded. His face was slick with perspiration. "For the love of God, Radcliffe, you can't let her-" "Er-yes," said Emerson. "Leave it to me." "The fever is breaking," I announced, wiping Sethos's brow with my kerchief. "That's good. Rest now, you will be perfectly safe tonight. It might be a good idea, though--just as a precaution-if you were armed. Take my pistol." "I don't want your damned pistol," Sethos said violently. "Shoot someone yourself. Radcliffe-" "Yes, yes," said Emerson. "Er-it will be all right." He came toward the bed, his feet dragging, and stood looking down at his brother. "Well. Uh-good night." "You might at least say you are glad to see one another," I said with a sniff. "I'm not glad to see him," Sethos declared. "I meant never to see him again." Emerson's tight lips relaxed. "That is probably the kindest thing you've ever said to me." He took Sethos's hand and shook it. "A demain," he said, in his execrable French accent. "Dieu aidant," said Sethos. His accent was perfect. "Men!" I said. FROM MANUSCRIPT H With a flourish, Nasir placed a plate of boiled eggs in front of Nefret. The plate was flat and the eggs rolled wildly from side to side. One of them must have fallen off while he was carrying it up the stairs. It was cracked and leaking. "Thank you, Nasir," Nefret said. "Do you remember what I told you about egg cups?" Nasir scuttled off and Ramses said, "He forgot them on purpose. I refuse to eat the cracked one." "No one expects you to, darling." She gave him a bright smile. "It's a lovely day." They had had another argument the night before. Ramses had lost. The aftermath had been even better than usual, but he was still uneasy. "So far," he said. "I hate these complicated schemes of Mother's. Something's bound to go wrong." "No, it's not. And if it does you can't blame her; we all agreed. Can you think of anything we overlooked?" "Well . .." Sensing his mood, Nasir timidly proffered an egg cup, rather in the manner of a supplicant offering to a notoriously temperamental god. Ramses took it and grunted a thank-you. "Mother and I," Nefret said patiently, "will stand guard with Daoud while you and Father and Selim climb all over the damned cliffs looking for Alain's tomb of Roman mummies. I think Father's theory about that is somewhat far-fetched, but never mind. In the meantime, Kadija will make sure no one leaves the house until after midday. At which time Jamil will head straight for the nearest coffee shop and Yusuf will tell everyone in Gurneh, in strictest confidence. Jumana thinks she is helping Kadija and Jamil thinks he is mounting guard over a dangerous prisoner. What could go wrong there?" "If I knew, it wouldn't go wrong." He stood up and looked over the rail. "Selim and Daoud have left the horses and gone on." "Father wanted to get an early start. But we needn't rush; we're to meet them at Deir el Bahri, and you know Father, he'll be perfectly happy inspecting the Metropolitan's excavations and criticizing Mr. Lansing." "You're determined to cheer me up," Ramses grumbled. "You could, very easily, if you would agree to stay at the Castle tonight. Mubashir is a killer, Nefret. Even Sethos has avoided him." "I thought we'd settled that." She went to him and he turned, his back against the rail, and put his hands on her waist, enclosing the delicate bones and soft curves in the cage of his fingers. "I love you," he said. "That's no excuse." She laughed and stood on tiptoe, face lifted. He was about to make the obvious response when the muscles under his hands went rigid, and her eyes widened. "Good Lord. Is that-" The person approaching the boat looked like an old woman, stooped and stumbling. By the time Ramses realized who it was Nefret was racing down the stairs. When he caught her up she had reached Jumana. The girl had fallen, but she was still conscious. She raised a face smeared with dried tears. Dust coated her long lashes. "It was Jamil. He-" The sense of vague apprehension that had bothered Ramses all morning coalesced into a tight knot. Nefret had removed Jumana's head cloth. The hair on her temple was clotted and stiff with blood. "You must listen," Jumana gasped. "Later. You can pick her up, Ramses, nothing seems to be broken." The little body was as light as a child's and trembling with