Guardian of the Horizon (28 page)

ELEVEN

After Emerson had placed me upon my couch he anxiously felt my brow and pressed his cheek against my breast, attempting, I presume, to listen to my heartbeat. He was off by several inches. I rather hated to stop him, but it would have been cruel to keep him in suspense. "I am not ill, my dear," I whispered. "It is only a ruse." Emerson sat up as if he had been stung by a scorpion. "Curse you, Peabody," he began. "Sssh! You will spoil the whole thing if you don't play along." "Rrrrr," said Emerson. It sounded like the amplified purr of a large cat but was, in fact, a growl. However, understanding had replaced resentment. He leaned closer and hissed at me. "The handmaidens?" "Yes. I would have told you earlier if you had been courteous enough to listen to me." Emerson stroked his chin and studied me thoughtfully. "Let us abjure our habitual exchanges of reproach for the time being, Peabody. This may come to nothing, but it has--er--possibilities. I will tell the servants you are ailing and demand medical attention for you." "You may express concern, but do not request a handmaiden until tomorrow morning. I don't want a lot of people trotting in and out of here tonight. There is a chance Ramses may try to communicate with us, and we must leave a message for him." Two of the ladies assisted me out of my elaborate costume and into a night robe. They had to roll me back and forth, since I pretended to be so feeble I could not even raise an arm. I heard Emerson shouting in the next room. It was clever of him to express suspicion about the food and the wine, though it was a little hard on the servants, who were afraid they would be punished for negligence, if nothing worse. Eventually I declared I would try my own medicines and see how I felt in the morning. The ladies left in a great hurry. "That's settled," said Emerson, scrubbing vigorously at my forehead with a damp cloth. "Have they all gone away?" "As fast as they could trot," said Emerson in a pleased voice. "Then stop doing that. You are rubbing the skin off my forehead." Emerson was somewhat surprised when I wrote the message on one of Ramses's shirts, but I believe in killing two birds with one stone whenever possible. An additional garment might come in useful. After brief cogitation I added trousers and a pair of boots. He hadn't wanted to burden himself with their weight when he left, but he might need them, and if he did not, there was no harm done. At the first light of dawn I woke Emerson, holding my hand firmly over his mouth until he had stopped thrashing and cursing. "Go straightaway, before the servants turn up, and see if there is any word from Ramses," I hissed. "I am filled with the direst of forebodings about him. I know he has done something of which I would not approve!" "That is generally a safe assumption," Emerson mumbled, but he went at once to comply with my request. When he came back he held a folded paper. "What does he say?" I demanded. Ramses had quite a lot to say, but it took us a while to puzzle it out. At the best of times Ramses's handwriting resembles the squiggles of Egyptian hieratic, and this letter looked as if he had used a rough block of stone for a table. I will reproduce the message as I remember it, without indicating the various points at which we interrupted its reading with exclamations of alarm and astonishment. "Daria is with me, in the place you once knew well. Could not get Nefret away, handmaidens sleep in her room. Tarek's scouts patrol access to northern pass. One of them--remember Harsetef?-- will meet me and take Daria on to Tarek's camp, but need shoes and clothing for her. Can you supply tonight, also food and water? Will return after dark." "Need shoes and clothing?" I cried. "Good Gad, Emerson! Is she . . . She cannot be . . ." "Stark-naked? Peabody, you have a positive gift for focusing on unessentials! Whatever she is wearing, and I feel certain she is wearing something, it must be unsuitable for a long, difficult trek." "But why did he take her with him?" "Because he was able to," Emerson said impatiently. "How the devil he pulled it off I don't know, but it means one fewer hostage to be released. And this tells us he is safe and still free. I would have thought that was the important point." "Yes, of course. The place we once knew . . . Our former abode?" "I should think so. He wasn't specific, in case this fell into the wrong hands." "Good heavens, yes! We must destroy it at once." "Groan," said Emerson. "I beg your pardon?" "I hear the servants. I presume you want to proceed with your scheme?" "It is all the more imperative now," I said between groans. "If Ramses cannot reach Nefret, we must do the job." "Damned if I know how," Emerson muttered, and went out. The obvious possibilities had occurred to me. Holding a handmaiden prisoner and demanding Nefret's return in exchange for her freedom? Taking Nefret's place, swathed in veils, while Emerson and the others concealed her . . . where? Reluctantly I admitted the difficulties. At the moment I could see no way out of them. Ah, well, I thought, I will just have to think of something else. While I waited, groaning whenever I remembered to do so, I considered Ramses's message again. I looked forward to hearing thefull story of his adventures, which those terse, necessarily brief phrases could not begin to convey, but which maternal concern could easily visualize. He must have covered a great deal of ground during the previous two nights--much of it perpendicular. He had meant to go first to the village. We could assume, I believed, that this part of his plan had succeeded, for it was unlikely that he could have made his way to a rendezvous with Tarek's scouts without a guide. It was good to know that our old friend Harsetef was still alive and still loyal. Up to that point I could only commend Ramses. But instead of going on to join Tarek, he had come back and done what I had strictly forbidden him to do. Unless he had encountered Daria wandering about the street, which seemed unlikely, he must have got to her by climbing that sheer cliff. I promised myself I would have a word with that boy. If he returned to the ravine that night I would be awake and ready for him, no matter how late the hour. The curtain at the door parted and Emerson came in, followed by Selim and Daoud. "They wanted to see for themselves that you were not really ill," Emerson explained. "You rather overdid the groans. Would you like coffee?" "Why not?" I sat up and arranged the sheet modestly about my form before taking the cup from him. "I presume the handmaiden has been sent for?" "Yes. What are you going to do with her once you've got her?" Emerson inquired. I looked meaningfully at the doorway, and he went on, "Don't concern yourself about the servants, they are afraid to come near you." Selim wanted to know precisely what Ramses had said, so I obliged. He was a clever fellow, and I thought he might catch something I had missed. However, it was Daoud who came up with an idea that had not occurred to me. "We know where he is. Why do we not take the clothing and food to him today?" "Why, because . . . Because . . ." "We don't want to lead anyone to his hiding place," Emerson said, frowning. "The Sitt Hakim can think of a way," Daoud said comfortably. "It would certainly save Ramses a great deal of time and effort and risk," I mused. "He could take her straight to the northern pass instead of coming all the way back here first." Emerson went to the doorway and raised the curtain. "Here they come. Good Gad, it seems to be a delegation." I handed Selim my cup and fell back onto the bed, while Emerson greeted the delegation. When he came back he was trying not to grin. "They have just learned of Daria's disappearance," he announced. "Poor old Amenislo has been sent round to ask what we know about it, and the High Priest of Isis is here, in quite a state of agitation. Come along, Selim and Daoud, this should be amusing." He stepped back and politely held the curtain aside to admit not one but two veiled forms. It would have given a superstitious person quite a start to come upon them unawares. The wrappings covered their faces and reached to the floor, so that they seemed to glide rather than walk. As I believe I have mentioned, the priestesses of Isis were the medical practitioners of this society. They were trained in the methods their remote ancestors had employed, the knowledge having been passed down from generation to generation. Now as we all know, no scientific process can be truly scientific if it is weighted down by tradition and corrupted by superstition. The greatest achievement of ancient Egyptian physicians was the discovery that the pulse is "the voice of the heart" and that it may be a general indicator of health--no small achievement for an ancient culture, but somewhat limited in its applicability. I felt certain I would have no difficulty deceiving these girls; however, when one of them drew a small corked vial from under her garments and poured the contents into a cup, I realized I had better change my tactics. The liquid was dark and thick and smelled very peculiar. I didn't bother asking what it was. Instead I shook my head andpushed the cup away. "I am well now," I said. "My medicines are good." My attempts to engage them in conversation were not entirely successful at first, but I did manage to persuade them to unveil. One of the young women was quite beautiful, with well-cut, aristocratic features, but her narrowed black eyes studied me suspiciously. The other girl was younger, with rounded cheeks and a pretty smile. She responded innocently to my answering smiles and friendly questions. We were getting on quite nicely when Emerson burst into the room. "Matters have become a trifle tense," he announced. "The king has sent a whole bloody troop to fetch us and they won't take no for an answer. Daoud is itching to fight them off, but--" "No, no, that would be premature." I swung my feet onto the floor and stood up. "I am coming with you." "I had intended to tell him you were ill. It may come in useful if we need to postpone the ceremony." "I can always have a relapse." I nodded graciously at the handmaidens, who had retreated behind the bed and were desperately trying to adjust their veils. "Here is a little present, maidens, to show my gratitude." The present was jewelry, which always goes over well with young ladies. Since I had not brought any jewels of importance, I had been forced to rob Daria. The earrings were large and gaudy. They were not a pair; one had long dangles of gold beads, the other sparkling red stones--probably crystal rather than rubies, but since the people of the Holy Mountain knew nothing of the art of cutting stones, they made a good impression. I handed one to each. The pretty child snatched hers with a murmur of thanks. The other girl inspected the ear-wire and said, "Where is the other one?" As I had suspected, she was greedy and perhaps venal. Excellent, I thought. "I will give it when you come next," I said. "And more, much more, if you bring my daughter the High Priestess to visit me." I had intended to work up to the suggestion more subtly, but Emerson hadn't given me time. The girls glided out without replying. The king had sent Amenislo and a dozen guards, commanded bythe rude young officer. I was beginning to feel quite sorry for the poor count. Wasn't there anyone else who could speak English well enough to interpret? A good many of the younger nobles, including Tarek, had learned the language from Nefret's father. Were they all dead, or exiled with their king? The count was so relieved when I announced we would come at once he collapsed like a deflating balloon and with the same sort of dying whistle. I delayed only long enough to take Selim aside for a brief whispered conversation. "What was that all about?" Emerson inquired as we were led along the corridors. "I will tell you when we are not likely to be overheard." I glanced at Amenislo, who had edged up to me. He seemed to have something on his mind. "Yes?" I inquired politely. "The woman disappeared," Amenislo whispered. "From the guarded rooms of the High Priestess. How? Was it magic?" I smiled enigmatically. "Guards do not impede us, Amenislo. Does His Majesty not know that?" The count wiped the sweat from his face. "The king says do not speak of this. The people must not know." "Not much chance of that," said Emerson, who had listened with interest. "A good many people already know, and they won't be able to resist spreading the story." "And it will be embellished as it spreads," I agreed. "Did we, perhaps, render the girl invisible? Or supply her with wings?" "Wings?" Amenislo gasped. He flapped his arms. "She flew to the sky, to the god?" "Oh, do go away, Amenislo," I said impatiently. The count fell back a few steps. I heard him whispering to one of the guards. "Well done, Peabody," said Emerson. "Matters are developing quite nicely," I agreed. "This is going to be a busy day, Emerson. I have just had another idea." "My blood runs cold," said Emerson, grinning. Once again we found ourselves alone with his illegitimate majesty, as Emerson termed him, and this time he had thoroughlylost his temper. He was stamping up and down the room, brandishing a sword, and he began shouting at us as soon as the entourage had been dismissed. "What seems to be the trouble?" Emerson inquired interestedly. "He is in such a temper I didn't understand everything," I replied. "But I believe he is demanding to know what we have done with the servant girl--I presume he means Daria--and Ramses. He appears to be threatening us with a number of unpleasant things if we don't tell him where they have got to." "Tell him they flew away," Emerson suggested. This reply only aroused Zekare to greater fury. "I didn't suppose he would believe it," I remarked, as the king advanced on Emerson. His weapon was like that of Merasen, of steel instead of iron, with a handsomely decorated hilt. It appeared to be very sharp. Emerson, of course, stood his ground, even when the naked blade was only an inch from his chest. I raised my parasol. "Back off, Peabody," said Emerson out of the corner of his mouth. "I would as soon be run through as die of humiliation." "Now, now, keep calm and don't move. Nobody is going to run anybody through." As I had expected, Zekare had no intention of killing the goose that might still be persuaded to lay golden eggs. Slowly he lowered his blade. "You lie," he growled. "Not lie," I said quickly. "We have not enough words. You have not enough words. Your son--Amenislo--they have the words. Bring them to talk for us." The excuse obviously made sense to him, but after thinking it over, he shook his head. "Not Merasen. Not Amenislo." Ha, I thought. He doesn't trust his son and he has doubts about the count. "Who?" I asked. "Who knows the words?" I didn't want to propose the obvious