Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [170]
“There are a number of things you do not know,” I said. El-Gharbi’s revelations had been overshadowed by the magnitude of the catastrophe that had befallen us, but they were vital to the case. Evelyn and David had voiced a hope, a doubt, which must be present in the minds of the others. It was hard to picture that fresh-faced girl as capable of murder.
“It is important that all of us understand precisely what we are up against,” I went on. “It is not a—er—disturbed young woman with a crew of venal cutthroats. There is at least one other individual involved, a hardened criminal with the same motive as Maryam’s. Maryam is not Bertha’s only child.”
For almost the first time since I had known him, Sethos lost his composure. His face went white. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No. Not another of my . . . Who told you that?”
“El-Gharbi,” Ramses said. “That was where we went today, to his village, where he had been exiled. Mother remembered something he had said—about the young serpent also having poisoned fangs. Why she didn’t see fit to mention this to anyone else—”
“I forgot,” I admitted. “It was so vague, like one of those Nostradamus predictions that can be interpreted in many different ways. We were at that time involved with that vicious boy Jamil, who could certainly have been described in those terms. Emerson also knew, but like myself he forgot or dismissed the warning. Not until last night, when I finally began to see the pattern we had been seeking, did I realize el-Gharbi might have information we did not.”
“You ought to have told us,” Evelyn said accusingly.
“It is easy to see what one ought to have done after the event,” David said quietly. “I want to know more about this second child.”
Lia let out a cry. “Justin. Is it Justin? But he’s even younger than Maryam, he cannot be more than fourteen. He—”
“He,” I said, “is a young woman. The short stature, the beardless face, the high-pitched voice should have alerted us. She was in her late teens when el-Gharbi knew her in Cairo. One of the more—er—exclusive, I suppose I should say—houses of prostitution was owned by an older woman, a European, who also had a hand in various illegal operations. She and el-Gharbi were never in competition; they operated, so to speak, on different levels, but he was familiar with her activities. Her customers included the highest officials and the wealthiest, most fastidious tourists. Justin was her protégé, and her able assistant in every criminal activity, from drugs to murder.”
“Not mine, then,” Sethos said in a ragged whisper. “Not mine.”
I understood his feelings. If the information gave him any comfort, I was ready to give it.
“According to el-Gharbi’s sources, her father was an Englishman named Vincey, the man with whom Bertha lived for several years before we exterminated Vincey and Bertha went to you. No. You are not her father. She and Maryam are half sisters. How they met and when I do not know, but Justin is unquestionably the ringleader. She is the elder, and unlike Maryam she has lived all her life with criminals.”
“That doesn’t absolve Maryam,” Sethos said. Except for the perspiration that beaded his forehead, he might have been talking about a stranger. “She was a willing participant from the start. The attack on her was staged; the result was that Ramses ‘rescued’ her and brought her to you—with well-feigned reluctance that gained your sympathy and support. She’s been spying on you and reporting back to the others.”
“She may be under duress,” Evelyn said.
“Give it up, Evelyn,” Sethos said. “She is a true child of her mother—and God help us, of me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
The boy wasn’t ill. She ought to have known it had been a ruse. He stood lightly poised, swaying with the motion of the vessel, and his face was as pretty and bland as a wax doll’s.
“Were you lapping the water like a dog?” Justin