Guardian of the Horizon (12 page)

(These letters and the ones that follow, from Nefret Forth, were not found among the papers of the persons addressed, but in a separate bundle once in the possession of Mrs. Emerson.) My dear Evelyn, In my opinion it is highly unlikely that you will ever receive this letter. When we return from our projected expedition, you will hear of our adventures from our own lips. However, a sensible individual takes even remote possibilities into account. We are returning to the Lost Oasis. An unexpected visitor brought us a plea for help from our friend Tarek, of whom you have heard me speak. I need not explain to you why we felt obliged to respond. I will leave this sealed packet with my excellent solicitor, Mr.Fletcher, with instructions to deliver it when and if he deems it appropriate. (Gargery would most likely steam it open.) It contains this brief account and a copy of the map of which you have heard so much. Emerson strictly forbade me to enclose the map, remarking in his bluff fashion that Walter might be fool enough to dash off to the Sudan looking for us, and die of thirst in the desert. I have more confidence in Walter. Should he decide to act, it will be with all due deliberation and caution--and the choice, in my opinion, should be his. You will, I expect, take David into your confidence. Persuade him if you can that our failure to include him was due to our great affection for him. Do not assume if we fail to return within a reasonable time that we are no more. It sometimes takes us a little longer than we expect to carry out our plans.

Dearest Lia, I don't know whether you will ever receive this letter. It seems unlikely, but I felt the need to write it. There is a chance we may not return, and I would hate to vanish without a word of love to someone who means so much to me. Aunt Amelia has written your parents. If you don't already know about my life before I came to England, and the epic journey that brought the Professor and Aunt Amelia--and Ramses--I mustn't forget Ramses--to the Holy Mountain, your parents will tell you when they deem it advisable to do so. We have always been confidantes, Lia dear, but on this one subject I have been mute. I had promised I would not speak of it, but that wasn't the only reason for my silence. As the months andyears went on, the memories faded until they seemed as unreal as a strange dream. Aunt Amelia would probably claim I didn't want to remember. It may be so. We are about to set out on the same journey. There are still great gaps in my memory, Lia, I don't know why. But I remember Tarek, who was my foster brother, kind and gentle and brave. I loved him very much. Yet I had forgotten what he looked like until his young brother, Merasen, arrived at Amarna House with an appeal for help from Tarek. Tarek and his son, his only heir, are suffering from a strange illness which none of his people can cure--not too surprising, when one considers that their notions of medicine are derived from the mixture of magic and unscientific theory that characterized ancient Egyptian medicine. I've read everything I could find on tropical diseases and I hope and pray I can be of assistance. In any case, we had to make the attempt. I owe Tarek my very life, for I doubt I would have survived long in the City of the Holy Mountain. I had wondered, now and then, what happened after we fled, leaving Tarek still fighting for his throne. What was the fate of my despicable cousin Reggie Forthright, who had done his best to prevent me from returning to England to claim the inheritance he hoped to get? Was Tarek able to alleviate the suffering of the common people, the enslaved and downtrodden rekkit? Did he marry and have children? For all I knew, the City of the Holy Mountain itself might have fallen into ruin, overrun by enemy tribesmen or destroyed by some unforeseen natural catastrophe. I know the answers to some of those questions, and soon (inshallah) I will find out the other answers. The journey will be difficult and hazardous, and yet I look forward to its culmination with an eagerness you may find hard to understand. Whatever happens, I will be glad I attempted it. Remember that, dear Lia, if the worst should befall us. I don't for a moment believe it will, though. Aunt Amelia would never allow such a thing.

"The die is cast," said Emerson in reverberant tones. "The time has come." We were seated round a campfire, which had been kindled for comfort rather than warmth, though the sun had set and the air was already cooler. The moon had not yet risen, and the outlines of the tents glimmered palely in the darkness. "What die?" I demanded irritably. "What time? We will not be ready to leave for several more days. You sound like the oracle of Amon Re." "How do you know what it--" Ramses broke into his father's complaint. "What Father means is that the time has come to tell Daoud and Selim the truth. Up until now they have heard only the story we told the hired drivers-- that we are looking for ruins west of here." "And a cursed unconvincing story it is too," I declared. "The number of camels and drivers we have hired is far too great for such a short trip. The men are already speculating." "Let them speculate to their hearts' content," said Emerson. "They don't know anything. Good Gad, Peabody, you are in an excessively critical mood this evening. Get her another whiskey, Ramses." I accepted the offering in the spirit in which it was meant. "You are both right," I admitted, after a cheering sip or two. "Ramses, will you ask Selim and Daoud to join us? You might see if you can locate Merasen too. He has rather avoided us lately." "He's been making friends with our men," Nefret said, as Ramses went off toward the little camp our fellows had set up. "I told him his autocratic manner wouldn't serve him well with them--or us--and he seems to have taken my lecture to heart. He and young Ali have become chums." I couldn't help laughing a little, the word "chum" sounded so incongruous in connection with Merasen. Ramses was back almost at once, with our two stalwarts. "I couldn't find Merasen," he explained. Selim scowled. "He and Ali have gone off together. You must speak to the boy, Emerson; he is too interested in the women of the village, and Ali is young and a fool." "We won't have to worry about the women of the village any longer," said Emerson. "This is our last night here. Er--our last for some time to come. Selim--Daoud--my friends--the journey on which we embark tomorrow is longer and more hazardous than I have led you to believe. I am about to tell you of our true purpose, so that you may decide whether or not to accompany us. The choice will be yours." Placid and unmoving as a monumental statue, Daoud said, "There is no choice. Where the Father of Curses goes, we follow, even into the fires of Gehenna." Emerson cleared his throat noisily. "Hmph. Thank you, my friend. But you have not yet heard the facts." "There is no need," said Selim. The moon had risen; its cold light outlined his sharp handsome features with shadows. "Daoud has spoken the truth. Your words come as no surprise, Emerson. The boy is no villager, and the weapon he carries is no Arab sword." Without further ado, Emerson launched into the story of the Lost Oasis. Daoud listened with interest but without surprise; he had an almost childlike sense of wonder about the world, which meant that nothing surprised him--or that everything did. Selim's mobile features expressed a variety of emotions, but the predominant one was delight. "It will be a great adventure," he exclaimed. "Think well, Selim," said Emerson, in sepulchral tones. "At the end, our bones may lie whitening in the sand." Daoud's deep voice replied, "Or they may not. It is in the hands of God." Emerson had been speaking his fluent and somewhat florid Arabic. I now said, in English, "We have a proverb: God helps those who help themselves." Selim threw his head back and laughed aloud. "And so we will, Sitt Hakim. How can we fail, with you and the Father of Curses to lead us?" I could think of a number of ways, but there was no sense in raising doubts. It is a well-known fact that courage is based to some extent on the failure to recognize danger (stupidity, in other words) and also on self-confidence. After swearing Selim and Daoud to secrecy, we went early to bed. Emerson dropped off to sleep at once, but I could not. Forebodings seldom trouble my husband; he does not believe in them, or so he says. They troubled me that night. Small wonder, considering what the morrow would bring. At last I gave up the attempt to woo slumber; rising quietly, I put on my dressing gown and slipped out of the tent. The moon was nearing the full. Its silvery rays were bright enough to illumine a familiar form standing still as a statue some distance away. His back was toward me; he looked toward the west. He must have heard the rustle of my skirts as I approached, but he did not turn. "Is something the matter, Ramses?" I asked. His voice was as soft as mine when he replied; the stillness forbade loud speech. "I was remembering a certain night ten years ago, when you found me outside my tent, and I told you I had heard a voice summoning me. A voice I took to be yours. It was on this very spot." "Or near it," I agreed cautiously, for he sounded very strange. "Please don't tell me it has happened again. That imagined voice was the result of a post-hypnotic suggestion planted in your mind by Tarek in order to--" "I know why." His face looked like stone, his eyes sunk in pits of shadow, his high cheekbones and firm mouth sharply outlined. In a sudden panic I caught hold of his arm and was ridiculously relieved to feel warm, hard human muscle. He shivered. The air was cold. Then he looked down at me and said lightly, "No, Mother, nothing has happened, not even a ghostly voice from the past. I couldn't sleep and stepped out for a breath of air. I hope I didn't waken you." "I couldn't sleep either." "It will be all right, Mother." "I know." 'Good night." 'Good night." I was drinking my tea when Selim came striding toward me. "Ali has not come back," he said, too worried to give the conventional greeting. "The boy is not in camp either, unless he is with you." I turned in silent inquiry to Ramses, whose tent Merasen shared. He shook his head. "He didn't come in last night." "Send someone to the village to look for them." Emerson's teeth snapped together. "If they are sleeping off a night of--er, well, if that proves to be the case, I will make them run behind the camels for a day or so." They were not in the village. Daoud returned to report that they had been there, but had left shortly before midnight. "The boy (he had adopted Selim's contemptuous name for Merasen) drank much beer and boasted to the girls. Ali drank too." Selim sprang to his feet with a furious exclamation. "Never has he done such a thing. He knows the Law. When he returns I will--" "I don't think we should wait for him to return," Ramses said in a curiously flat voice. "I'll go back to the village and start from there. Perhaps someone saw which way they went." This seemed the most sensible procedure, so we all accompanied him. We got little information from the locals; the virtuous among them had been asleep and the habitues of the illicit tavern too drunk to be observant. We spread out, searching behind every outcropping and hillock. It was Ramses and I who found Ali, in a little gully only ten feet from the path. One look was enough. The pool of blood in which poor Ali's body lay had already dried. Ramses made me look away when he turned the body over, and I did not protest. Ali's throat had been cut. There was no trace of Merasen. "That takes care of coincidence," said Ramses, after we returned to camp. Selim and Daoud were preparing Ali's body for burial, which must be done before sunset. The villagers had offeredall possible assistance, including a grave in the cemetery near the small mosque. The poor souls were afraid they would be blamed, and horrified by the brutality of the murder. "It wasn't one of the villagers," Ramses went on. "They had everything to lose and nothing to gain by such an act. And Ali is the third of our men to be taken from us." "Yes, yes, Ramses, we all understand that," Emerson grunted. He was smoking furiously, which would have been a sure sign of distress and anger even if his scowling countenance had not made his feelings clear. "When I get my hands on that boy--" "Merasen?" Nefret stiffened. "Why do you assume he is guilty? He may have been carried off by the people who killed Ali." "It is possible," Ramses said. Nefret's pale cheeks regained some of their color. "You're against him. You always have been." "That will be quite enough, Nefret," I said firmly. She had been badly shaken by the death of Ali, a merry, laughing lad whom we all liked. "The situation is too grave for recriminations," I went on. "We now have proof that someone is working actively against us. Who that person may be, we do not yet know. There is one strong point in Merasen's favor: he was not on the boat when Hassan fell, or was pushed, overboard." "That's right," Nefret said eagerly. "However," I said, "I suggest that we look through our baggage and that of Merasen. I would like to know whether anything is missing--money, personal possessions, papers of any kind." "Well done, Mother," said Ramses. "How good of you to say so, my dear." At first glance Merasen's precious suitcase and other bundles appeared to have been undisturbed. But when we opened the former we found that most of the clothing was gone, along with the sword and its scabbard. Ramses so forgot himself as to use bad language. "Goddamn it! I thought I was being so clever when I insisted on his sharing my quarters, but I obviously wasn't clever enough. He must have squirreled his things away earlier, I'd have waked up if he had come crawling in last night." "You did suspect him," Nefret said. "A pity no one else did," said Emerson, in the cool, quiet voice that was more ominous than his bellows. "Not your fault, my boy. Let's see what else he has taken." Emerson had already dispensed part of the money, in return for the hire of the camels and their drivers, and a considerable baksheesh to the obliging Mustapha. The rest, according to his count, was intact, which did not surprise me, since he had kept it close to his person throughout. Our next concern was for the weapons. The heavy boxes, which had been in Selim's charge, appeared to be untouched; but Emerson wrenched them open. "All here," he said. "I meant to hand them round before we left, but I may as well do it now." He lifted one of the rifles, a great heavy thing longer than my arm, and handed it to Ramses. "Load it. Now." "Yes, sir." Ramses refused to hunt and preferred not to carry firearms, but after an incident a few years earlier he had taken up target shooting, explaining in his cool fashion, "There are circumstances under which proficiency in this particular skill might come in useful." I reached for another of the weapons. Emerson slapped my hand away. "It's too heavy for you. The recoil would probably break your shoulder, even if you could hold it steady. You too, Nefret." Nefret was watching Ramses, who had taken shells from another box and was expertly loading the weapon. "I don't want it," she said in a choked voice. "What about the pistols?" I inquired hopefully. There were seven of them, large, efficient-looking weapons. "You are the world's worst shot, Peabody," said my husband without rancor. "You have never even managed to hit anything with that little pistol of yours--anything you aimed at, that is." "I could learn, Emerson." "Not with this," said Emerson. There were enough weapons to arm all of the men, with several extra. We left Ramses to mount guard over them and went to carry out the next stage of our search. I had a horrible foreboding of what we would find--or rather, not find. It was Nefret's copy of the map that had disappeared. At first she refused to accept this, tossing papers all over the floor of the tent in a frantic search. "Face facts, my dear," I said, putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "He had ample opportunity to take it." "So did others," Nefret muttered, as she knelt, head bowed, among the scattered papers. "We are wasting time," said Emerson. "The sooner we get off, the better. Masud is watering the camels. I will hurry him up and tell him to start loading. Nefret, get your gear together. Peabody, find Selim and tell him we are leaving immediately after the funeral." "You mean to go on, then?" I asked. "Have we any other choice?" In fact, we did not. It would have been unthinkable to abandon Tarek if there was the slightest chance that we might be of service to him. As Ramses had been the first to point out, Merasen had carried no written message, and his behavior since had given us good cause to question his veracity. Yet I had known men to be proved innocent with even stronger evidence against them. The evidence against another, unknown party was mounting. Merasen could not have been responsible for Hassan's injury; Ali's brutal murder and the theft of the map from Nefret must be part of the same deadly plot. The map in itself would be of no use to Merasen; he could not read the compass bearings; yet, as we had realized, he could not find his way to the Holy City, or guide another there, without such an aid. Whoever this "other" might be, his intentions could not be honorable or harmless, toward us or toward Tarek. We knew only two things about him. He could use a compass and follow a map; and he had been on the boat to Wadi Haifa. The missionaries, the Great White Hunter, the garrulous German tourists, the agreeable Captain Moroney? Or someone else, cleverly disguised as one of the crewmen? The sun sank slowly in the west. (Or, to put it in scientific terms, the turning globe on which we stood revolved slowly in the oppositedirection.) Like most sunsets in sandy regions, this one set the horizon ablaze with streaks of brilliant color, and the last rays of the solar orb cast a theatrical effect of light and shadow over the forms of man and beast. It was a scene to capture the imagination of the most romantic--the line of heavily loaded camels, their long shadows even more grotesque than the beasts themselves, and the men attired in long robes and a variety of exotic headgear. Except for the incessant grumbles of the camels, an eerie silence reigned. We were to travel at night, avoiding the daytime heat, while the moon was at the full. It was the evening of the day following our discovery of Merasen's treachery. Emerson's intention of leaving that same night had been overly optimistic. Camels cannot be hurried when they are being readied for a long expedition; they must be allowed to drink their fill and rest afterwards. Proper loading also requires time and deliberation. Zerwali had politely pointed out these facts to Emerson. He was the leader of the Bedouins we had hired to accompany us. Most of our men were Nubians, but the Bedouin know the desert well and were valuable additions to our crew. Zerwali was a slight, wiry fellow who had--of course--known Emerson before. When