Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [166]
“It’s David,” I said. “I wonder why Emerson sent him instead of coming himself.”
Ramses glanced out the window. “He’s got something on his mind. I don’t like the look of this, Mother. Stay with me.”
I followed close on his heels as he shoved and pushed toward the end of the car, so that we were first in line to exit. The train stopped with a shudder. Ramses swung himself out without waiting for the steps to be put in place, and reached up to lift me down.
“Thank God!” David exclaimed. “We hoped you would take this train. I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”
I did not have to ask if something was wrong. The deep lines of anxiety on his face, the hard grip of his hand as he seized mine were signs anyone could read.
“The children,” I cried, remembering Abdullah’s warning. “Has something—”
“No, they’re all right. And will be, I’ve taken precautions.” He didn’t stop moving, but went on, almost at a run, toward a waiting cab. I had to trot to keep up, which, you may well believe, Reader, I did.
Ramses said softly, “Nefret?”
David knew better than to try to spare him. “Gone. So are the Professor and Maryam. The Isis sailed six hours ago.”
Without haste, but with a tighter grip than was strictly necessary, Ramses helped me into the cab. “Six hours ago. What have you done about it?”
David collapsed onto the seat opposite us and waved the driver on. “We didn’t realize they were missing until a few hours ago. The Professor had gone back to the house, or so we assumed, but he wasn’t there, and—”
The lights of Luxor flashed past, and the carriage jolted alarmingly. “Take it slowly, David,” I said. “You are becoming incoherent. And tell the driver to slow down. I believe he is whipping the horse. You know we never permit that.”
Ramses said, “Go on, David. Take it in order. Father wasn’t at the house . . .”
David’s voice rose. “None of you were there! When nobody turned up for tea I thought you might be at the Castle, so I sent Ali to inquire. So much time wasted . . .”
He covered his face with his hands. I jogged his elbow. “Self-recrimination is fruitless, David. I cannot see that you acted irresponsibly. Go on.”
David pushed his hat to the back of his head, took a deep breath, and resumed in a calmer voice. “The Vandergelts came, with Mother and Father. They were concerned; said none of you had been there. We started counting heads. That was when we realized Maryam hadn’t been seen since last night, nor Nefret since midday. We found the note—your note—in the surgery, so at least we knew where you two had got off to. We had to track Nisrin down, she’d closed the clinic and gone home; it was she who told us Nefret had been sent for by the doctor on the Isis. The boy was ill, he said.”
Still at full gallop, the horse turned onto the corniche and I fell heavily against Ramses. He put me back onto my seat with hands as cold and hard as ice.
David shouted at the driver and our headlong pace slackened. There was enough traffic on the road to make this expedient; it was still early by Luxor standards, and the tourists who sought pleasure rather than edification, and those who catered to them, were out in full force. The cold white light of electricity shone from the hotels, the mellower glow of candles and lanterns from shops and houses.
“As soon as we learned where Nefret had gone, we crossed to Luxor, Bertie and I. That’s when we found out the Isis was gone. The vendors and shopkeepers along the street had seen Nefret go on board. She didn’t come off.”
“And Emerson?” I inquired, straightening my hat.
“You told me to take it in order,” David replied. “Are you all right, Aunt Amelia?”
“Perfectly.” There was a lump the size of a cannonball in my stomach, and I wanted to scream at him.
“Almost there,” David said, glancing out the window. “Well, shortly after Nefret boarded, along came