Guardian of the Horizon (29 page)

candidate myself--men always prefer to believe they think of things themselves--so I waited with an expression of innocent curiosity while the king wrestled with the problem. Finally he shoved his sword back into the scabbard and turned to me. "We will go to her. You and I." "Now?" I had been holding my breath. The word came out in a gasp. "At the fourth hour. Be ready." He walked out of the room, leaving us standing there. Emerson said softly, "I must admit, Peabody, you are in top form today. That was bloody brilliant. He meant Nefret, didn't he?" "Almost certainly. Unless," I added, "there is yet another European here. One of the ladies." "Who speaks Meroitic?" "It was just one of my little jokes, Emerson. Let us go back to our rooms. We have quite a lot to do today." It was still early, but Daoud had persuaded his admirer to bring a tray of food. She stood watching with a look of idiotic adoration while he ate. Selim had been busy with the task I had set him. He brought the large camera case into my room and showed me. It had been specially designed to hold not only the camera but the folding tripod and a quantity of plates. He had managed to cram the entire bundle into it, even the little shoes. Like the other garments, they were clothes Daria had borrowed from Nefret. "Well done," I said. "I see you have tied it securely. All we need do is get close enough to toss the bundle into the house without being observed. I have an idea about that . . ." Selim grinned. "I thought you would, Sitt. When shall we go?" "As soon as Daoud has finished eating. We may as well have a bite ourselves. Now that I think about it, I didn't have breakfast." While we ate, I explained my strategy to the others. Selim would carry the camera and tripod and appear to be taking photographs, as he had done before. Daoud would accompany him, carrying the camera case. Emerson and I would point out objects of interest and appear to be giving instructions. "People will follow us and watch," Selim objected. "Can we get close enough to act without being seen?" "Emerson and I will provide a distraction," I explained. Emerson gave me a very old-fashioned look but did not reply. He was in no position to be critical, and he knew it. So far he had not come up with a single useful idea.

I haven't been able to write much lately. They keep after me all the time. I spend hours with Amase the High Priest. He drones on about the glories of the goddess and her divine son Har, who is the same as Horus of the Egyptians, and coaches me in the words of the ritual, over and over and over till I fall into a sort of stupor. Sometimes there's another priest with him, who just sits and stares at me and never says a word. Poor old Amase is harmless enough, but I don't like that other man. The handmaidens dress me and paint my face as if I were a doll and ask me questions. They are full of curiosity about the outside world. I can see they don't believe all I tell them. Machines that move faster than a camel can run, wires that carry words great distances, clothing spun by worms! They loved that story. They are like magpies, chattering and prying, pulling out the clothes from my cases (there were a few bits of silken underwear, which prompted the silkworm story) and playing with the cosmetics. Everything I could use as a tool or a weapon had already been taken away. There wasn't a scalpel or a probe left in my medical bag. Needless to say, my knife and the one I lent Daria are gone too. And Daria is gone. It was Ramses who came for her, it must have been, she couldn't have got out any other way. I should have expected it, after Aunt Amelia asked me to put a light in the window, but when they told me this morning she had disappeared, I felt as if I had been stabbed to the heart. I thought that if he did risk that awful climb he would do it for me. She means nothing to him. She had no right to leave me alone. I'm not being fair, am I, Lia? It's hard to be fair when you are afraid. I felt so much better yesterday, after I had seen Aunt Amelia. Until this morning. I mustn't give up. She wouldn't. She'll find a way, she and the Professor and dear Daoud and Selim. And Ramses. Why did he take Daria?

"I am becoming bloody tired of this bloody escort," said Emerson. "I keep stepping on their heels." "Stop here," I ordered. "The gates of the cemetery are exceedingly picturesque, Selim, don't you think?" "Yes, Sitt," said Selim, aiming the camera. I wondered if there was a plate in it. "Just a minute. Emerson and I will pose between the pylons." We repeated this same maneuver several times, going up staircases and onto private terraces, where we stood grinning and pointing as people do when they are being photographed. Emerson made a point of stopping and chatting--gesturing and smiling, rather-- with all the guards we encountered. "Merasen's house again?" Emerson inquired between his rows of teeth. "Our little foray will distract the spectators, to say nothing of the guards, while Selim and Daoud carry out their instructions, and we will have another little chat with Captain Moroney. We ought to be able to make use of him some way or other." "Hmph," said Emerson. We strolled along the road, looking round like innocent sightseers and waving at passersby. Some of them flapped their arms back at us, and I heard the word "fly" repeated more than once. I deduced that the news of Daria's mysterious disappearance was already known. It is really astonishing that people prefer to believe the impossible and fabulous instead of employing common sense. At a given signal Emerson and I whirled about, as smartly as soldiers, and trotted back the way we had come. One would have supposed our guards would have got accustomed to this sort of thing by now, but they were very slovenly, uttering startled exclamations and jostling one another before they got themselves sorted out. I was pleased to observe that all of them followed us, leaving Selim and Daoud to stroll on with the camera. "Discipline is very poor," I panted. "Save your breath," Emerson advised. He caught me round the waist and broke into a run. Since our first visit Merasen had increased the number of his guards. Emerson's cheery greetings had no effect on this lot; he had to push two of them out of the way. The reception room was unoccupied when we entered it. Emerson hastened at once to the doorway of the room I had identified as Merasen's bedchamber and pulled the hanging aside. We had caught him, if not in flagrante, in a state close to it. He was on his feet when we entered, trying to wrap some sort of garment about him. The two young women could not decide whether to burrow into the tumbled bedclothes or make a run for it. They settled on screaming. "My profound apologies," Emerson exclaimed. "We were looking for our friend Captain Moroney." "He is not here." Merasen sounded as if he were choking. He managed to fasten the skirt round his waist. "So I see," said Emerson. "Shall we retire to the reception room and allow the ladies to--er--in private?" He bestowed his most winning smile upon those young persons, who immediately stopped screaming and studied his stalwart form with interest. After taking in the scene in one quick comprehensive glance I had politely turned my back and was pretending to examine the pretty painted reliefs on the nearest column when Merasen followed Emerson out of his room. "You go too far." Merasen's voice was a full octave higher than usual. "I could have you killed for this." "I did apologize," Emerson said self-righteously. We were wasting time, so I thought it best to intervene. "Your threats are idle, Merasen, and you know it. If you still want those weapons, you had better cooperate with us. Where is Captain Moroney?" "In a place where you will never find him." The angry color began to fade from Merasen's face. "I treated him well, I offeredhim gold to bring me what I wanted, but he was too quick to agree. I did not trust him to come back, and I do not need him now. You will come back, with the guns, because she will stay with me until you do." "Ah," said Emerson. "And afterward? Will she be free to go with us?" "She must do as she likes. Perhaps--who knows?--she will want to stay--with me." Emerson's hands clenched into fists. It was all I could do not to slap the smile off the boy's face, but I contained my wrath and stepped on Emerson's foot as a gentle reminder that he should do the same. It was useless trying to negotiate with Merasen. He had no intention of allowing Nefret to leave the Holy City. If he could not persuade her--and he was vain enough to harbor that delusion-- he would employ other means. "Let us talk about the weapons, then," I said. "How soon can we leave?" "As soon as you have played your part in the ceremony. Your son must be there too. Send for him." "How?" I asked. Merasen made it clear that that was our problem and that it must be solved before the ceremony took place. On our way out Emerson looked into the sleeping chamber and said good-bye to the ladies. A duet of giggles answered him. "That was unnecessary and rather rude," I said. "I enjoy stirring the little weasel up," said Emerson. "A pretty proposition, was it not? Does he really suppose we are dim-witted enough to believe he will let us go after he's got his bloody guns?" "Like most venal persons he believes what he wants to believe," I said thoughtfully. "Emerson--what if his talk about the weapons is only a blind? It would take us weeks to go and return with them. I think he means to act sooner, with or without his father's knowledge. He was very insistent that we all be present at the ceremony." "Hmph." Emerson stroked his beautifully shaven chin. "Perhaps they mean to assassinate us after we have done the job for them." "Goodness only knows. I will have to think about it. And about poor Captain Moroney. Merasen must have clapped him into a dungeon cell. I expect he is frightfully uncomfortable." "Serves him right," snapped Emerson. "He is the least of my concerns at this moment. Why didn't you ask Merasen about the other white man?" "Because he would have looked me straight in the eye and lied. Ah--there are Selim and Daoud. They look pleased with themselves." We met at the foot of the staircase. "I have taken many excellent photographs," Selim announced. "Shall I put the camera in its box now?" The box was empty. "No one saw you?" I spoke in a low voice to Daoud. "No, Sitt. Those who did not go with you were having their pictures taken by Selim. He made them stand with their backs to the house." It was hard to turn my back on the house, hard to think that Ramses was so close and yet so unreachable. I hoped--I sincerely hoped--that Daria was safe with him. "We had better hurry," I said. "It is almost time for our meeting with the king." "How do you know?" "My watch, of course. I have kept it tucked away from dust and sand and remembered to wind it every day." I took it from my pocket. "Half past three." "Yes, but you don't know that his fourth hour is the same as four P.M." Emerson's face took on an abstracted expression. "I wonder how they do measure time. Most people without mechanical means count the hours from sunrise, and their hours are not sixty minutes long. The Egyptians--" His steps had slowed as he lost himself in scholarly speculation. I tugged at him to keep him moving and gave him a little poke to get him back on track. "Hurry, my dear. I am breathless with anticipation and suspense." His Majesty's fourth hour was not four P.M. That hour came and went. The shadows lengthened and faded into the dusk. Anticipation had given way to doubt and then to despair before I heard at last the sounds I had been waiting for. I sprang to my feet as the curtain was swept aside by two of the inevitable, and in this case numerous, guards. They spread out across the chamber, peering into corners and looking into the adjoining rooms. Not until their commander had announced that the coast was clear (I translate idiomatically) did the king enter. Instead of sending for us, he had come in person--and he had brought her with him. She was veiled from head to foot and attended by two of the handmaidens, but I knew her, and so did Emerson. He sprang forward, shoving the king aside, and caught her in a bruising embrace. "You will smother her, Emerson," I said, controlling my own emotion. "Nefret, my dear, will you unveil, if that is permitted?" "Oh, sorry," muttered Emerson. He loosened his grasp and with his own hands put the veils aside--making quite a tangle of them, I might add. When he saw her face smiling up at him he embraced her again. The king watched with folded arms. "She is dear to you," he said softly. It was irrelevant and self-evident, so I did not waste time responding. "Nefret," I said urgently. "You have been brought here to translate for His Majesty. Try, if you can, to interpolate questions and answers to my questions without his noticing. Emerson, do stop squeezing the breath out of her." "No, Professor, don't stop, I feel fully alive for the first time in ... how many days has it been? I've lost track." Zekare had listened with mounting suspicion to the exchange. He said something to Nefret that wiped the smile of happiness from her face. "He says we must not talk until he gives permission." A brusque gesture dismissed the guards, and another indicated that Selim and Daoud should also leave the room. Nefret insisted upon embracing them both before they did. That left only the handmaidens, the king, and ourselves. "We may as well sit down and be comfortable," I said. "Emerson, offer His Majesty a cup of wine." His Majesty refused the wine. "Suspicious bastard, isn't he?" said Emerson, drinking the wine himself. "He is taking something of a chance by letting us talk with Nefret." I accepted the cup he gave me and sipped it genteelly. "It is an indication, if one were needed, that there are few he can trust, including his own--" The king interrupted with a long speech, to which Nefret listened attentively. She had settled onto a pile of cushions, with the handmaidens standing behind her like pillars of salt. "He wants to know what happened to Daria, whether it was Ramses who got her away, how he accomplished it, and where he has taken her." Nefret added vehemently, "I too want to know. I couldn't believe it this morning when they told me she was not in her room." "We took her away by means of our magic, of course," I replied. I used the Meroitic word for magic. The king snarled, and Nefret smiled faintly. I was convinced the king understood more English than he had let on, so I had to choose my words with care. It made the ensuing conversation challenging, but if I may say so, I thrive on challenges. Naturally I denied any knowledge of Ramses's whereabouts or activities. He was, I explained, a venturesome lad who did not like being cooped up. This disingenuous statement made the king's eyes bulge with fury, so I went on, "It was against my wishes that he acted as he did, but alas, I have never been able to control him." I added, for Nefret's benefit, "A subsequent repetition would be inexpedient because of your sequestration, but 'my brain it teems with endless schemes.' " I flatter myself that I got more out of His Majesty than he got out of me. We had decided not to raise the question of Merasen's underhanded dealings, since we were not certain what he had in mind and how it might be turned to our benefit. "When your enemies fight, they may leave one less enemy for you," as Emerson put it. (He claimed it was not an aphorism, since he had made it up.) My question about Captain Moroney elicited only a shrug of indifference. He was a person of no consequence and we could have him with us, to deal with as we liked--after the ceremony. "What are we expected to do?" Emerson inquired. I had been about to ask that myself. "She will tell you what to say." The king indicated Nefret. "After I have told her. You will stand at my side, at the Window of Appearance, before the people, and say that the gods have chosen me to be king and that any who fight against me will be visited by the wrath of the gods. I will honor you, with high office and collars of gold, as loyal officials are honored. Chosen ones will enter the shrine and see her bring the goddess back to her place. The goddess will speak through her. There will be feasting and food given to the people." "It should be quite a show," remarked Emerson, after Nefret had translated. "A pity we will miss it." "But, Professor," Nefret began. "All of us will miss it," said Emerson. The king had one more point to make. He did not mince words. "I know what Tarek plans. I have spies in his camp, as he has in mine. I will know if your son has joined him. I will not harm you unless you defy me, but he is a dead man if he does not give himself up." He rose, drawing his mantle around him, and beckoned to Nefret. She repeated the words in a faint, uneven voice. "Don't lose heart, my dear," I said. "It isn't easy to kill Ramses. Is there a way to your rooms through the temple?" "I don't want to go with him," she whispered. Her voice was high and soft, like that of a frightened child. His face working, Emerson put his arms around her. "Why can't she stay with us?" he demanded furiously. "I will be damned if I will let you take her away." "Emerson, no," I said. "Resistance would be futile and you are only making it harder for her. Nefret?" Nefret drew a long, quivering breath and moved away from Emerson. "Yes, Aunt Amelia. I'm all right now." She went on, without a change of tone, "Negative, Aunt Amelia, my recollection is faulty and every step is guarded." "Where there's a will, there's a way," I replied. "Keep that inyour recollection, my dear. Oh, I almost forgot. Ask him about the other white man. We suspect him of being the archaeologist, Mr. MacFerguson." "What?" Nefret stared in astonishment. "Mr. MacFerguson, here?" "Ask him." The royal reply required no translation. "You know him. He is your friend." '