Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [156]
“You have remembered?” I whispered.
“Yes. It came to me,” Ramses added in an expressionless murmur, “when I was thinking of something else. The place is about thirty miles south of here, on the West Bank. I presume there is no point in asking you why—”
“You will learn the answer tomorrow. I want you to come with me. And don’t tell your father.”
“Or Nefret?”
“No.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Emerson had turned over and was muttering to himself. When he reaches for me and I am not there he becomes agitated. “I will make the necessary arrangements,” I hissed. “Go now, your father is stirring.”
Emerson sat up. “Peabody!” he shouted. Ramses vanished into the darkness.
GETTING AWAY WITHOUT EMERSON’S KNOWLEDGE was not easy, but I managed it by telling him he could have Lia and David with him that day.
Emerson said, “Ramses—” and I said, “He promised to finish a translation for me this morning. We will be along later.”
Emerson wisely decided to take what he could get, and swept Lia and David out of the house as soon as they had finished breakfast, for fear I would change my mind. Nefret and Maryam were not at the breakfast table. I assumed the former was with a patient and at that moment I did not care where Maryam had got to, as long as she was not in my way. Like me, Ramses was attired as he would have been for a day at the excavation, so we did not have to delay to change. As we left the house I selected a particularly sturdy parasol.
I had not seen the train station since the explosion and was surprised to find so little damage. Business was going on as usual. We were recognized, of course, and had to answer a number of friendly questions and listen to the latest gossip. The train was an hour late, which was not unusual. It was a local, with only second- and third-class carriages; as Ramses helped me into one of the former, I saw a familiar form on the platform. Catching my eye, Dr. Khattab swept off his fez, placed a fat hand on his embroidered waistcoat, and bowed. I concluded he must be meeting someone, since he did not board the train.
The aged carriage jolted and clanked along the rails and a fine sandy dust blew in through the open window. Ramses put a steadying arm round me and offered me a handkerchief.
“You didn’t bring your knife,” I said.
“Are you expecting trouble? You might have mentioned it.”
“I do not expect it, but I believe in being prepared. Never mind, I have my belt of tools and my parasol.”
“That should suffice,” Ramses agreed. “You told everyone who asked where we were going.”
“I also left a message for your father. Should we fail to return—”
“Damn it, Mother!” The train hit a bump. I bounced, and he tightened his grip. “I beg your pardon. Are you going to confide in me now?”
In the cold light of morning my brilliant inspiration did not shine as brightly. I rather regretted wasting an entire day on a far-fetched idea—and bouncing up and down on the hard seat was cursed uncomfortable. “It will all be made clear to you at the proper time,” I said, hoping it would be made clear to me as well.
Ramses said another bad word. This time he did not apologize.
* * *
FROM A DISTANCE THE VILLAGE looked quite picturesque, set in a grove of palm trees, with a pretty little minaret poking up through the branches. Experience had taught me that close up the effect was less picturesque than nasty, and as we approached, the village looked no different from dozens of others I had seen: the same flat-roofed, plastered mud-brick houses; the same chickens and pigeons pecking at the dirt under the trees; the same pack of children dashing toward us with outstretched hands, asking for baksheesh; the same black-clad women pausing in their work of grinding grain or kneading bread to stare curiously at us.
However, as the small predators gathered round, I noticed that their half-clad (or unclad) bodies were healthily rounded and their eyes free of infection. Even the dogs skulking behind us were not so lean as most. There