Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [114]
“He got off all right,” Ramses said. “Whether he makes it to Cairo is another matter. It will be a near thing—the range of that aircraft is between three and four hundred miles—but he seemed to regard it as a fine lark. He was carrying extra petrol. Nefret, shouldn’t the children go to bed?”
This process ordinarily took quite some time. It began to dawn on me, as the young parents hurried their offspring through good-night kisses and embraces, that something had happened, something they did not want to discuss in front of the children. My affectionate concern pictured one disaster after another: Selim mangled by the propeller of the aeroplane, Cyrus suffering a heart attack, Bertie pale and dead of poison, a suicide note clutched in his stiffening hand . . . No, that was too absurd. He had better sense, even if I did suspect him of writing poetry on the sly.
Sennia was the last to leave—she considered that her right, since she was the eldest. Horus followed her out, and the Great Cat of Re emerged from under the settee, his tail waving like a plume of dark smoke.
“Well?” I cried. “Do not keep me in suspense, Emerson. Something terrible has happened, I know it. Is it Cyrus, or—”
“Nothing like that, Peabody. Good Gad, you must learn to control your rampageous imagination. There’s been a body found. The remains of one, rather.”
“Ah,” I said, relieved. “No one we know, then.”
“That seems to be the question,” said Emerson. “The police think the fellow was not an Egyptian. They’ve asked Nefret to come to the zabtiyeh and examine him. Them. Bones.”
“Where were they found?”
“In the desert east of Luxor.”
“In that case,” I said, rising, “I will tell Fatima to serve dinner immediately. I had hoped I would not have to ride that horse again today.”
“Can’t wait to get at a corpse, can you?” Emerson inquired, baring his large white teeth. “Dismiss the idea, Peabody. It can wait until tomorrow. He isn’t going anywhere.”
As Ramses explained during dinner, the determination of sex and race had been arrived at because of the scraps of clothing found with the bones. I expressed my surprise at the deductive powers of the police official, and at his request for Nefret’s services. He could have spared himself considerable trouble by disposing of the remains without bothering to mention them to the British authorities.
“He’s a new broom,” Ramses replied. “The old chief tottered off into retirement a few months ago. Ibrahim Ayyad is young, ambitious, energetic, and canny enough to avoid stirring up trouble until he’s certain of his conclusions.”
I had reached certain conclusions of my own, but like the admirable Mr. Ayyad, I was canny enough not to commit myself. If the others shared my suspicions they did not say so.
I had intended to pay a quick visit to the dahabeeyah before accompanying Nefret to Luxor, but it did not prove necessary. Sethos arrived at break of day. Informed of his presence by Gargery, I hastily finished dressing and went to the veranda, where I found that Fatima had brought him coffee. He looked reasonably respectable in flannels and tweed coat, which Nasir must have pressed for him. The bruises had faded to a greenish yellow, and the beard was now well developed.
“Breakfast will be served shortly,” I informed him.
“So Fatima told me, with apologies for the delay. Sit down, Amelia, and let us watch the sunrise together. You will no doubt appreciate the symbolism.”
Pale clouds of rose and amber washed the cerulean blue of the heavens. It was the same sight I had watched so often with Abdullah, from a greater height. The symbolism did not elude me.
“You have made your peace with Maryam, then?”
“We had quite an emotional few hours,” said Sethos, at his ease. “She’s a moist young woman, isn’t she? I don’t recall her weeping so much.”
“She has had cause for tears.”
The tone rather than the words themselves conveyed the reprimand I intended. His eyes avoided mine. “My remark was in poor taste. You have reason to believe me a poor parent, but I did spend time with the child whenever