Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [139]
“We won’t stay unless we can be of use, Amelia,” Katherine assured me, seating herself next to me and taking my hands. “What can we do to help? Is he really better?”
I had just left the sickroom, where Kadija sat like a large ebony idol, her very presence reassuring. “He is still unconscious, but his breathing is easier.”
“It must have been horrible for Nefret,” Katherine murmured, with a little shiver. “The knowledge that the life of someone she knows and loves was in her hands . . .”
“She has always come through when she had to,” I said. “Cool and steady as a machine. She will break down eventually, but not before she is certain he is out of danger. You will stay for luncheon, won’t you?”
Fatima, who had been trying to force me to eat again, let out a murmur of pleasure and hurried into the house. Cyrus stopped pacing—he had been up and down the length of the veranda a dozen times—and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Sure we won’t be in the way?”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “We could use some help with the children. I am very grateful to you for getting Dolly and Sennia away so quickly, but they all know something is wrong and they are, of course, behaving like fiends.”
“How well I remember.” Katherine rose. “Where are they?”
“Lia and Evelyn have corralled them in Sennia’s courtyard. At least I hope they have.”
She hurried off. I motioned to Cyrus, who was still pacing. “Sit down, Cyrus. The men will be back soon. They went to Gurneh to inspect the motorcar. Will you wait for them here? I promised Nefret I would sit with Selim while she got a little rest.”
She was in his sickroom when I hastened in, bending over the bed. Guiltily I began, “I am sorry, Nefret. I was only away—”
She looked up. Her eyes were luminous. “He’s conscious. Kadija came for me.”
I dropped to my knees beside the bed. Selim’s eyes were open. He saw me; he recognized me. His lips parted.
“Don’t speak,” I said gently. “Don’t move. You had an accident and were badly hurt, but Nefret has taken care of your injuries. You are in her clinic and you are going to be fine.”
I thought that answering the most obvious questions would keep him quiet, but he had something else on his mind.
“Did my father tell you—”
“He told me you would live.”
“Ah.” It was a soft, relieved sigh. I have long been convinced that the mind affects the body in ways we cannot define. With that assurance Selim had gained additional strength and will to live. Who could deny the wisdom of a saint?
Nefret’s fingers were pressed to his wrist. “You have a number of broken bones and your head was hurt,” she said. “You must not move it. I will give you something for the pain now.”
Selim’s eyes opened wide, the whites showing all round the pupils. “A needle? No! I do not want—”
“All right, no needle,” Nefret said quickly. “Don’t get excited.”
Selim grunted. Then his expressive orbs rolled in my direction. “Who took my clothes off?”
Nefret began to laugh. It was the sort of laughter that is often followed by tears, so I was relieved when the door opened and Ramses looked in. “What—” he began.
“He asked who undressed him,” Nefret gasped. She turned blindly into Ramses’s arms, her face streaked with tears.
“I did, Selim,” said Ramses, over her bowed head. His voice was steady, but his black eyes shone suspiciously as he gazed at his friend. “With you be peace and God’s mercy and blessing, my friend.”
“No needle,” Selim whispered.
“Not if you behave yourself,” Ramses said. “Sleep now.”
Selim’s lids snapped shut. I looked at Kadija. She smiled her beautiful, kindly smile, and nodded. I noticed that under the bandages Selim’s shaven head was green.
WE HAD A GENUINE CELEBRATION, for even Nefret admitted to cautious optimism about her patient. She looked exhausted but radiant, the violet smudges under her eyes intensifing their blue. “There is always danger of a relapse, but his recuperative powers are astonishing. If I believed in miracles . . .”
“Miracles be damned,” said Emerson predictably. “It was