Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [168]
Bertie nodded. He looked absolutely miserable.
Sethos had helped himself to a whiskey. I suspected it was not his first. “That step was necessary, but it may not be of much use. I have taken the liberty of dispatching a number of your fellows to alert the villages between here and Nag Hammadi, and upstream, as far as Esna, in case she changes course. The word will be passed on.”
“A regular Pony Express,” Cyrus said, with an approving nod.
“Donkey express,” Sethos corrected. “And a few camels.”
“That’s all very well and good,” said Walter peevishly. “But I do not understand why we are sitting round drinking whiskey and not acting!”
“What else can we do?” I asked.
Walter banged his fist on the table. His mild countenance was no longer mild; his eyes glittered. “Go in pursuit! We have the Amelia, have we not?”
Sethos put his empty glass on the table and the rest of us gaped at Walter. “I wondered if you would think of that.”
“You had, I suppose?” Walter demanded.
“Selim had. That’s why he’s here. We will need him. There’s only a skeleton crew on board, and it would take too long to get Reis Hassan and his engineer back.”
“Hmph,” said Walter, only slightly appeased and sounding as warlike as Emerson. “Then why haven’t we started?”
“Because,” said Sethos, in his most irritating drawl, “we cannot start before morning. Aside from the danger of navigation at night, we could go right past the Isis in the dark. And because we were waiting for Amelia and Ramses. And, most importantly, because we need to gather all the facts and plan our strategy before we charge ahead. Suppose we do catch her up, then what? Board her, swords in hand?”
Walter jumped to his feet. He looked twice the man he had been when he arrived in Cairo, and for the first time I saw the resemblance between him and the man he confronted. He snatched his eyeglasses off and threw them across the room. “Damn you, er—Sethos, are you making fun of me? If swords are required, I will use one!”
Sethos said in quite a different tone, “I beg your pardon . . . brother. I know you would. We had better pray it won’t come to that. Sit down, I beg, and let us discuss the situation calmly. Amelia, would you like to take charge of the discussion?”
Before I could begin, Selim rose carefully to his feet. “I am going to the Amelia to begin overhauling the engines. I will have her ready to sail at daybreak.”
“I will go with you,” Walter declared. “What the devil did I do with my glasses?”
“Here.” Evelyn handed them to him. “Walter, dear—”
He knew what she was about to say. Adjusting the eyeglasses, he took her by the shoulders and smiled at her. “Perhaps I can be Selim’s hands or run errands for him, if I can do nothing more.”
“I too,” said Bertie. “I know a little something about engines.”
“Selim, I strictly forbid you to let that horse gallop,” I called after them. “Walter, make sure he obeys.”
“Losing control of your subalterns?” Sethos inquired. “I am your willing slave, as always. What orders have you for me? Another whiskey, perhaps?”
“I am in no mood for humor,” I informed him.
“Only trying to relieve the tension, my dear. The fact is, I believe we have matters under control here. The children are all in the main house, and it is surrounded—men every ten feet, all aroused and looking for trouble. The women and children will be safe—”
A united outcry from every female in the room silenced him. “If you think I am staying here,” Lia began.
“Or me!” Evelyn cried, brandishing the parasol.
“You will both do what you are told,” I said. “By me. We must decide how our forces can best be employed. Someone must remain to deal with M. Lacau. He is due tomorrow.”
“He’s here,” Cyrus said. “Got in this evening. How can you worry about him at such a time as this?”
“For one thing, he may be persuaded to join in the hunt for Isis.”
“Not very likely,” Cyrus said. “He’ll be too worried about his consarned treasure. What about the other tourist boats?”
“I could not in conscience ask a party of innocents