Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [174]
“The good doctor isn’t dining?” Nefret asked, settling into the chair the waiter held for her.
“He’s no doctor, he’s a cheap abortionist who worked for me in Cairo,” Justin replied with careless contempt. “Hardly a social equal.”
Khattab’s shoulder blades twitched. He left the room without replying and slammed the door.
“Not that you are a suitable dinner companion,” Justin went on, inspecting Nefret critically. “Was that the best you could do?”
“Under the circumstances, yes.” Nefret was past caring about the woman’s taunts. “If you find my presence so offensive, why am I here?”
“Two reasons. We hadn’t finished our little chat. I enjoyed watching your reactions. You have such an open, uncontrolled face. And there is still such a lot you don’t know.”
“And the other reason?” She didn’t turn her head to look at the windows. The draperies had been drawn, but she could hear sounds of activity outside, on the deck.
“To join us in our celebration,” Justin said. She pulled off the heavy wig and tossed it to François. “Tomorrow—or next day, at the latest—we will complete our mission. It has been a year in the making, but it will be worth the wait.”
The only thing Nefret could think of was the family—her children, Ramses, her mother-in-law—all the others, friends and kin—caught up in the same web that had entangled Emerson and her. She told herself it was impossible to strike at all of them at once. Some of them, then. Which? And how?
Involuntarily she looked toward the windows. Some heavy object had fallen, thudding onto the deck; a round Arabic curse burst out, followed by a hissing adjuration to silence.
Justin laughed gleefully and clapped her hands. “Plain as print, that face of yours. Why don’t you just ask what they’re doing? I don’t mind telling you.”
“What?” Nefret asked.
“By morning the Isis will be a different boat—fresh paint, a new name, the Stars and Stripes waving bravely at the stern.”
Nefret nodded. “Clever, but not good enough. Where are we?”
“I don’t mind telling you that either. We’re at anchor near an island just south of Qena.”
Only a few hours downstream from Luxor. He was only a few hours away. She tried to imagine what he—and the others—might be doing, how long it had taken them to realize what had happened to her—and Emerson. Then she remembered her mother-in-law’s complacent statement: “I do not expect that such an eventuality will occur,” and icy fingers traced a path down her spine. If they had been detained, by force or accident, at that obscure village, Ramses might not yet know she was missing.
“You are thinking of him, aren’t you?” Justin cooed. “I can tell. So far as I know, he’s in no danger, dear, and I feel certain he will rush nobly to your rescue. But don’t get your hopes up. They will have to follow by water, and they can’t have put two and two together before dark. We are far ahead and they will have to be very clever to find us before we’ve accomplished our aim. Even if they do, they won’t dare interfere so long as we hold two hostages. You are also hostages for each other. If you don’t behave yourself, the punishment will fall on him.”
“Is he hurt?” Nefret asked. “May I see him?”
Justin’s lips curled into a tight-lipped smile, as enigmatic as that of an archaic statue. “Say ‘please.’ “
“Please.”
“Later. Perhaps. He’s not seriously injured, but he isn’t very comfortable.”
Maryam hadn’t moved a muscle or uttered a sound until then; the movement was slight, only a jerk of her slim shoulders.
“Then I take it he won’t be joining us,” Nefret said. She too had flinched at the gloating malice in Justin’s voice but she was trying to live up to Emerson’s standards. “Who is the fourth? Someone I know?”
“Yes and no,” Justin said. “I wonder what’s keeping her. Waiting to make a grand entrance, I suppose. François, go and tell—ah. Finally!”
The woman who entered was tall and thin. Her wrinkled face and white hair bore the uncompromising marks of time, but her step was firm and her shoulders were straight. She had abandoned her veils and widow’s weeds; her black