Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [159]
“Then there’s nothing we can do but wait,” Nefret muttered.
“That’s how I see it. I may as well go back to work for a few hours. Let me know if they turn up.”
Nisrin put a cautious head out the door. Emerson, who hadn’t noticed her before, gave her an affable smile. Emboldened, she ventured out. “Nur Misur, there is a sick one who has come back. And this message.”
“From Ramses?” Emerson asked expectantly.
“No.” The curving, ornate handwriting was unfamiliar. Nefret ripped the envelope open. “It’s from Dr. Khattab—Mrs. Fitzroyce’s physician. Justin is ill. He asks if I will have a look at the boy.”
“I will go with you.”
“That’s silly,” Nefret said impatiently. “What possible harm could come to me in broad daylight, with hundreds of people around? I’ll deal with my patient—it’s probably that old hypochondriac Abdulhamid wanting more sugar water—and be back in a few hours.”
By the time she set out for Luxor she was in a calmer frame of mind. Ramses couldn’t be in serious trouble; she would know, as she had always known, if danger threatened him. She would have a few words to say to him when he got back, though, on the subject of promises broken and trust betrayed; but in a way she didn’t blame him. His mother was an elemental force, as hard to resist as a sandstorm.
As Nefret approached the Isis she saw signs of unusual activity and deduced that the dahabeeyah was preparing to get underway. The doctor was waiting for her at the head of the gangplank, his hat in his hand. His waistcoat was particularly resplendent, glittering with gold threads. “My dear lady, how good of you to come.” He grasped her hand and would have kissed it had she not pulled it away.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.
“A fever.” The broad smile with which he had greeted her was replaced by a worried frown. “I have tried without result to bring it down. Our departure is imminent, as you have no doubt observed, but it will take several days to reach Cairo, and my mistress wants to be sure all possible ways of relieving the boy are taken before—”
She cut him off. “Then let’s not waste time talking. Take me to him.”
“To be sure. Follow me.”
He indicated the shadowy passage that led between the cabins to the saloon. The doors lining it were closed, so that the only light came from the open entrance through which they had come.
“After you,” said the doctor, bowing. “It is the last door on the right.”
His vast shadow enveloped her, and a hand took her by the elbow as if to guide her steps. He was close behind her, she could hear his quick breathing, and she stopped, resisting the pressure on her arm, seized with sudden panic. Too late. His arm gripped her, pinning her arms, and his hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled, but he had her in a hold that was impossible to break, the great bulk of his body as impervious to blows as a feather bed, the big fat hand covering half her face. She kicked back. Pain shot up her ankle as her heel slammed into his shin, and with a grunt of annoyance he pinched her nose shut, cutting off the last of her breath. Her darkening vision swam with purple and green lights and her legs gave way. When he took his hand from her face she could only gasp, sucking in air, while he opened one of the doors and pushed her into the room beyond. She fell to hands and knees. The door slammed, leaving her in total darkness.
Nefret rolled over onto her back and lay still for a time, getting her breath back and trying, not so successfully, to get her thoughts in order. She had made a bad mistake, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered was what they meant to do with her—and how she could prevent it.
A wry smile touched her bruised lips. She had found her mother-in-law’s gang, and by the method favored by that estimable lady. How many of them were involved? The entire crew, almost certainly; the doctor couldn’t take her captive without their knowledge. It was possible