Guardian of the Horizon (35 page)

I couldn't get Nefret to stop crying. "We'll never see them again," she sobbed. "And it's all my fault. I was the one who insisted we come." Obviously stern measures were called for. I took her by the shoulders. "Stop it this instant. This is not like you, Nefret. We have a job to do and I expect every English--er--woman to do her duty. And set your wig straight." "Yes, Aunt Amelia." She wiped her eyes with her fingers. "That is better. Now let us assess the situation." Unbeknownst to Ramses and Emerson, Selim had followed them at a short distance. I am a woman of iron nerve, and I had accepted the risks they would face, but I wanted to know that they hadcarried out the first, most hazardous part of the plan successfully. When Selim came back he was smiling. "The guards did not try to stop them. They are safely on their way to the village. It is strange, Sitt Hakim, that there are no soldiers in the corridors. But there are many of them outside this house." "Zekare is consolidating his forces, I expect," I said. "His spies will have reported that Tarek is about to mount an attack. I think . . . yes, I believe it would be advisable to send the servants away." "But they'll tell the king," Nefret began. "If he doesn't already know his schemes are in disarray, he soon will," I replied. "Step away from the door, Captain Moroney, and shoo the servants out of our suite." The flight of the unhappy servants did rather resemble that of a flock of chickens before a fox, even to the noises they made. "Now what?" Nefret inquired. "Now we wait," I replied, taking a seat on one of the divans. "The rest of you may as well sit down and be comfortable." "We could hide," Nefret said. "When they come for us. In the subterranean passages." "I had of course considered that possibility," I replied. "But I do not think it would be a wise move." In fact, I could not bear the thought of cowering in the dark, in ignorance of the fate of those I loved, while Emerson and Ramses were fighting for our lives. They might need me. Coups are never neat and clean, there are always pockets of resistance, and I felt certain that Zekare would make a last stand in the palace with the men who remained loyal to him. We waited for some time. The delay did not sit well with Selim or with the captain; they paced restlessly up and down the room. I considered it a good omen, however, a sign that Zekare was too busy with other affairs, such as disaffection in the ranks of his men, to concern himself with us. Selim wanted to go out again, to see what was happening, but I would not let him. The longer we could delay, the better. We had left the door open so we might have warning of personsapproaching. When we heard the footsteps, Nefret let out a little cry. (What on earth was wrong with the girl?) Selim sprang to my side and Moroney clenched his fists. The only one who did not move was Daoud. He, sensible man, was waiting for my orders. The delegation was headed by the High Priest of Aminreh himself. I looked in vain for Amenislo among the courtiers who accompanied him. That, I feared, was not a good omen. Had Zekare learned of his treachery? Apparently the servants had had the good sense to go into hiding instead of reporting to the king. Bakamani's formidable countenance took on an extremely foolish look when he saw Nefret and me sitting side by side on the divan, dressed alike in trousers and coats. "Why is this?" he demanded. "Why are you not ready for the ceremony? Where are the others? And who"--he leveled an accusing forefinger at Nefret, who drew back a little--"who is she?" "My doppelganger," I said. Nefret chuckled. It was a faint imitation of her melodious laugh, but I considered it was a good sign. I had to admire the fellow. He was quick to comprehend a situation that would have baffled most people for much longer. His eyes narrowed. "The High Priestess," he said flatly. "So she is here. Good. She will come too. Assume your robes." "No," I said without moving. "Yes! Do as I say!" "No," I repeated. "See here, Bakamani--er--curse it, Nefret, translate for me, will you please? Your Reverence, there is no need for a confrontation. Go back and tell the king we will come, but we will wear our own garments. The people will not know us if we are dressed differently. Is that not so?" I waved my parasol in an unthreatening manner. "You will come?" "Yes, certainly. All of us." "Where is the Father of Curses?" "At the moment? I have no idea. No doubt he will join us in due course." He hesitated, and I went on, "You had better take what you can get, you know. If you try to bring us by force, someone willbe injured, and I do not think the king would want that. Now run along and tell Zekare what I have said. We will await your return." He swung round, the skirts of his long robe billowing around him, and stalked out, leaving several spearmen on guard. "Good heavens," said Moroney, staring. "Mrs. Emerson, you really are the most--" "Thank you," I said. "Conquer by confusion, I always say. I took Bakamani to be a man of sense rather than temper, and I was correct. I could not have dealt so easily with Merasen, who has no sense and a very bad temper. I wonder where the little wretch is?" Nefret got to her feet and went into the garden. After a moment I followed. It was very still and peaceful there, the lilies on the surface of the water folding their petals and the vines rustling in the breeze. Nefret was looking up over the wall at the western sky. "It lacks less than an hour of sunset," she said. "How much time do we have, Aunt Amelia?" Her nervous state had been succeeded by one of unnatural calm. I preferred it to the other, but I found it worrisome. "Are you all right?" I asked. "Oh, yes." She turned and held out her hands to me. "Now that I am with you. I only wish I could see the Professor and Ramses once more. And Tarek." "You will see them, and before much longer," I said with a conviction I wished I felt. The attack was to begin at sunset. The western sky was streaked with gold. If Emerson could carry out his plan, there would be no fighting at the pass and he would hasten at once to my side. If he could not, a bloody, prolonged battle would ensue, with, I did not doubt, Emerson in the thick of it and Ramses at his father's side. Win or lose, and I did not doubt he would win in the end, Emerson would find me and he would find me doing my part. I squared my shoulders and squeezed Nefret's hands. "I depend on you, Nefret, to obey my orders instantly and precisely. Don't worry; I have it all worked out." When Bakamani returned, the room was cool with shadows. He was in quite an unusual state of agitation, and we had a rather loudargument about the arrangements I proposed. Finally I turned to the men and said, "You will be allowed to accompany us, but you must agree to leave your weapons behind--your knife, Selim, and your scissors, Captain." "But, ma'am, how can we defend you without weapons?" Moroney demanded fiercely. "I promised Ramses--" "Never mind what you promised him, he has no business issuing orders on my behalf. Do as I say." Daoud coughed politely. "Sitt Hakim," he began, his hand moving to the breast of his robe. "No," I said quickly. "No, Daoud. Await my orders." "Ah," said Daoud. "Yes." This reminder, that Daoud was in possession of a concealed weapon, consoled Selim a little, but he was slow to release his grip on his knife. Ignoring Bakamani's demands that we hurry, I marshaled my troops and inspected them. I must say they did me credit. At my request Moroney had shaved, and he was wearing a tweed coat and trousers that belonged to Ramses. I had had to roll up the trousers and the coat was too wide across the shoulders, but the effect was not at all bad. Selim and Daoud wore nice clean galabeeyahs and their best turbans. The former had adorned himself with several pectorals and armlets, to which he had taken a fancy. I gave Nefret a little poke. "Step out strongly," I hissed. "And straighten your wig." As we left the room I took one last look at the light--or rather, the lack thereof. It had faded quickly. The sun must have set, or be on the verge of setting. The next hour or two would determine our fate. I assure you, Reader, that I had considered the possibility that Zekare might threaten to murder us should Tarek's victorious troops surround the palace. I didn't think he would, though. He must know that even if Tarek agreed to lay down his arms and surrender, a promise given under duress does not hold. Anyhow, I had no intention of submitting meekly to any such thing. I felt certain we could work things out. He had not struck me as a cruel or vindictive man. The Reader will agree, I am sure, that my logic was impeccable. I could not possibly have anticipated the development that ensued. When we were ushered into the reception room with the Window of Appearance, it was not Zekare who awaited us. The room was crowded with people--courtiers, priests, soldiers of the royal guard. They had to squeeze back to make an aisle for us to approach the throne. Seated upon it, wearing the royal robes and the diadem, was Merasen. "Where is your father?" I demanded. "My father is dead. Where is the Father of Curses?" Could nothing disturb the boy's monumental self-esteem? I wondered. The news that had staggered me had left no shadow of grief or anger on his handsome young face. "I do not know," I stammered. "What do you mean, dead? How? When?" "Killed," Merasen said coolly. "By my brothers. They too are dead, at my command, for their crime. I am king of the Holy City. And so you will proclaim me, lady, you and she who is now High Priestess ofIsis, when the moon rises." He gestured, and a priest stepped forward, carrying the gold-embroidered white robes of the High Priestess. "Put them on, Nefret," Merasen said softly. She shook her head. "I won't. I'll never wear them again." "It will be the last time," Merasen said in his most caressing voice. "You will have another position tomorrow and finer garments." Righteous wrath replaced my temporary confusion. Ramses had been right after all. The young villain wanted the throne, and Nefret. Love did not enter into it; I doubt he was capable of feeling it for anyone but himself. She was a symbol of that which is rare and precious, a trophy of victory over us and those who opposed him. I do not believe Nefret fully comprehended his meaning. It was the garments themselves that frightened her, I did not know why. She turned to me in appeal, her face white. "It will be all right, Nefret," I said. "Just drape the confounded veils over you. Here, let me do it. So, Merasen, you have decided you don't need the other Great Ones?" Merasen's utterly charming smile broadened. "I was with you in England, lady I saw how you lived. You are not rulers or even nobles of that kingdom. You are mortal, and you too can die. Like my father." I heard a gasp and a muttered oath from Selim, close behind me. I murmured a word of caution, and Merasen went on cheerfully, "I know you do not have divine powers, but the people are fools, and they will yield to me if you command them." "The Father of Curses has more authority than I." "Then he will do as I say because you are in my hands. If he lives," Merasen added happily. "Do you think I was not told he had gone to Tarek? He will be foremost in the attack and I have offered the gold of honor to the one who slays the Father of Curses. I am only sorry that your son will die too. I would like to have killed him with my own hands." There was another muttered remark from Selim. Roughly translated, it meant, "I'd like to see you try." I removed the wig from Nefret's head and wrapped the veils round her, leaving her face uncovered. She stood still as a statue, and I made a leisurely survey of the audience, which I had not had the opportunity to do before. Amenislo was not there, nor the High Priest of Isis. Were any of the others secretly loyal to Tarek? Possibly; Ramses had not had time to give me any names save that of Amenislo. The tall commander of the guard met my gaze squarely but made no gesture of encouragement. When I turned toward the Window of Appearance I saw our missing rifles, held by six of Merasen's chosen guard. It was not an encouraging development. The young fools clutched them so awkwardly I doubted they knew how to aim them, but if they fired into the crowd they were bound to hit someone. That would never do. I raised my parasol and waved it in intricate patterns, over my head and in front of me, and began chanting. "Arma virumque cano ..." By the time I had finished the first two verses of The Aeneid I had everyone's full attention, including that of the rifle holders. Switching to Meroitic, I explained that I had put a spell on the rifles (I had to use the English word, but my pointing fingermade the meaning clear). They would now shoot back instead of forward, killing the ones who held them. "She lies!" Merasen shouted, shaking his fists. "Do not believe her!" One of the men stooped and put the rifle carefully down on the floor. The others held them out at arm's length, jostling one another to avoid having either end aimed at them. "Clever," Merasen said, breathing hard. "But not clever enough, lady. See." The curtains behind the throne parted and two guards entered, dragging Sethos with them. He was wearing the false nose and preposterous ears, though one of the latter looked unstable. "I have your 'friend,' " Merasen said. "He will be the first to die if you do not obey me. Give me your word you will do as I say." Sethos gave me a doubtful look. "This is not up to your usual standard of efficiency," I said. "I was looking for you when they caught me." It was a fairly pointed reminder of what we owed him. He had obviously stopped to change from the priest's robes to the MacFerguson disguise before going in search of us. He would have to have done so, I supposed, since even Sethos could not maintain the priestly role with anyone except Amase. He certainly had not wasted his time if he had managed to suborn the aged High Priest of Isis. I wondered what he had promised Amase in exchange. "Er--ladies?" said Sethos. One of the guards had a sword at his throat. "I believe the--er--new monarch is waiting for your reply." "Oh, very well," I said. "What do you want us to do, Merasen?" Merasen stood up and advanced toward us. "Come," he said, and took Nefret by the wrist. I struck him smartly on the arm with my parasol. "We will follow," I said. "Lead on." I had delayed as long as I could. The room was darkening, lighted by torches and braziers. We had gone only a few steps when a man burst into the room and dropped to his knees before Merasen. He wore the feathered helmet of the royal guards and his chest heaved like that of a winded horse. "They are coming," he panted. "Save yourselves. The battle is lost!" "Huzzah!" I shouted, waving my parasol. Merasen's royal foot knocked the