Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [144]
There’s nothing I can do about it, Ramses told himself, even if it’s true. And I can’t prove it is.
The colored lanterns began to go out as they left the hotel and started back along the road above the embankment. Ramses loosened his tie. “So if it isn’t the treasure, it’s something else she wants. Was Martinelli’s death part of the plan?”
“He had made a few enemies,” Sethos said noncommittally.
“While he was working for you?”
“Then, and when he was working for other people. Given his weakness for women, it isn’t impossible that he—er—offended one of them. Tracking him down would be easy. Everyone in Luxor knew he was working for Cyrus.” His uncle was a shadow beside him. They passed the Savoy and the Hotel de Karnak, now dark except for a few lamps next to the entrances. Bats flapped and swooped between the trees. A long, piercing whistle began and grew louder—the night train from Cairo, several hours late as usual.
It was drowned out by a roar of sound. The black sky to the east reddened and quivered.
“My God,” Ramses gasped. “What was that?”
Sethos’s head was raised like that of a pointer sniffing the air. “It’s near the railroad station. Come on.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
None of us heard the explosion, which was a good thing, since certain of us might have been worried enough to investigate. When a loud noise is juxtaposed to the absence of Ramses, one naturally assumes he had something to do with it. As Nefret told me later, he did not return until almost three in the morning. His attempt to undress without waking her did not succeed, and when she lit a lamp the sight of him almost made her drop it. His best evening suit was a complete ruin—torn, smeared with blood and ashes and other unmentionable substances, and his hands were, to quote Nefret, a bloody mess. The rest of us did not learn of the matter until breakfast.
“I wasn’t hurt and neither was Sethos,” Ramses insisted, trying to get a firm grip on his fork. “We were a half mile away when the blast went off. I cut myself up a bit digging people out of the rubble. Damn it, Nefret, I don’t need all these bandages. You always—”
“What happened?” My voice was, perhaps, a trifle loud.
Ramses picked up a sausage in his fingers. “They tried to blow up the train station, just as the express from Cairo was coming in. Mercifully they didn’t make a good job of it. The tracks weren’t damaged, and only part of the station went up. One man was killed and half a dozen others were injured—all of them Egyptians. The European waiting room and the platform were unscathed.”
“They,” Emerson said. “Who was responsible?”
Ramses had bit off a chunk of sausage. He shrugged.
“The peasants are revolting,” said David. His lips twisted. “The damn fools!”
Ramses swallowed. “That is the assumption. The rioting last spring included similar acts of sabotage.”
“Damnation.” Emerson took out his pipe.
“Don’t sprinkle tobacco on your eggs, Emerson,” I ordered.
“I’ve finished,” said Emerson, sprinkling tobacco on the remains of his breakfast and the surrounding area. “I suppose we can expect a contingent of troops from Cairo. What a bloody nuisance. David, perhaps it would be advisable for you to—er—lie low for a while.”
David’s finely cut lips straightened. “I won’t run away, sir. I had nothing to do with this and they can’t prove I did.”
“The military doesn’t need proof,” Emerson muttered.
“Yes, by God, they do,” Ramses said vehemently. “David is a British citizen, and some of the biggest guns in the government will vouch for him.”
“Including me,” said Sethos, posing in the open doorway. “Am I too late for breakfast, Fatima?”
“Can’t you ever enter a room without making a theatrical production of it?” I inquired.
“It’s a habit,” Sethos explained.
“Let me see your hands.”
He held them