Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [162]
“They’ll have to kill the witnesses,” she said numbly. “And sink the steamer.”
“Not necessarily. Sethos is not a violent man. But there is no one better equipped to get a load like that into the marketplace.”
The lamplight flickered. Their shadows rushed back and forth, as if frantic to escape. She felt his lips brush her hair, and then he gently detached her hands and got to his feet. “If Sethos is the ringleader, you’ve nothing to fear. He wouldn’t harm you. Better get hold of that lamp before it falls over. We are picking up speed.”
The motion of the ship was more pronounced. Emerson began going through his pockets. “Went off without my coat,” he said, removing a handful of motley objects and inspecting them. “No pipe, no tobacco—and no matches.”
“No gun, no knife,” said Nefret, trying to emulate his coolness.
“They overlooked these.” Emerson picked half a dozen nails out of the mess and shoved the rest of it back in his trouser pocket. “Did they search you?”
It came back to her then, the sensation of hands moving over her body. Big, fat hands. She grimaced. “Superficially. He was looking for a weapon. I didn’t have one.”
“Take these.” Emerson handed her three of the nails. “And hide them. Not in your pocket; they may decide to search you again.” He went back to the window and began scraping. “That fellow spoke of other arrangements,” he said over his shoulder. “If they separate us—”
“Oh, no,” Nefret whispered.
“If that happens . . . Well, my dear, a nail isn’t much of a weapon, but a sharp jab in the region of a man’s kidneys, or—er—elsewhere, will certainly give him pause. Not to worry; I’ll get you out of this somehow. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been such a bloody idiot, there would be help on the way now.”
Nefret took a deep breath and steadied herself and her voice. “If you’re a bloody idiot, so am I. I ought to have suspected something when he brought me here.”
“Could you have done anything if you had?” Emerson inquired reasonably.
“Maybe not. He’s as strong as a bull, and even if I could have overpowered him, I’d have had to evade the crewmen. They must be in on this.”
“No doubt about that. Three of the bastards jumped me as soon as I was on board. Admittedly, my demeanor was not that of a gentleman paying a social call.”
Nefret hugged her knees and laughed, picturing him charging up the gangplank, fists clenched, shouting out accusations. “Stop blaming yourself. If you had delayed to get help, the boat would probably have sailed. Why did you come after me?”
Emerson went on chipping. “Well, you see, it suddenly came to me. When I was thinking of something else. I remembered who it was who lived in El-Hilleh, and why it— Damnation. Shove those things out of sight and come here.”
There was only time to push the nails into the tops of her shoes before the key turned in the lock and the door opened a crack.
“Stand back,” the doctor said. He sounded nervous. “I have a gun.”
“Very nice,” Emerson said. He stood in front of Nefret, seemingly relaxed, but she had seen him, and his son, in that pose before. They could both move with the speed of a charging lion.
“We all have guns.”
Someone pulled the door back. The opening looked like the entrance to the infernal regions, blocked by hulking bodies and redly lit.
“Don’t risk it, Father,” Nefret whispered, taking hold of his arm. She knew Emerson’s temper only too well and as her eyes adjusted to the light she saw that there were at least three of them in addition to the doctor.
“Hmph.” Emerson settled back on his heels. “They’re bound to hit something in this confined space. Might be you.”
The doctor took a step forward and then thought better of it. Obeying his curt order, two of the men edged cautiously into the room. Both held pistols and one carried a lantern. The doctor remained where he was.
“Leading your regiment