Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [180]
“I’ve got it,” she reported. “As soon as I get out of here I’ll come to your window and—”
“As soon as you get out of there you will go over the side. I don’t know how far we are from land. Are you willing to risk it?”
“Risk be damned. I won’t leave you here.”
Their faces were close together. She felt his breath warm on her cheek. “You can’t get me out. Even if you could, I would find it a trifle difficult to swim with fifty pounds of ironmongery attached to me. Are you crying? Don’t cry, curse it! Do you know what they’re planning?”
“Yes. That horrible old woman told me, at dinner. But I can’t . . .” She knew he was right, though. She couldn’t free him, and she was no good to him as a fellow prisoner.
“She told me, too. Or rather,” said Emerson complacently, “she confirmed my deductions. I could have dropped—if I hadn’t already been recumbent—when she told me who she was. It just goes to show that one should never leave old enemies lying carelessly about. Go on, now. Er—”
“À bientôt, Father.”
“Er—yes. My dear.”
She was afraid to speak again, for she knew her voice would betray her. The faint slits of light at the shutters guided her. It took all her strength to force the blunt end of the bracket into the crack between shutter and window frame, and for a while she didn’t think she could exert enough pressure to force the bar up. It gave all at once, and Nefret’s heart stopped as it swung free, striking the shutter with a sound that seemed to her as loud as a pistol shot. Emerson heard it; he began to yell and bang on the door, making enough racket to drown out louder sounds than the ones she made climbing out the window. There was no one in sight on the narrow stretch of deck.
She felt as if some other entity had taken control of her body, blocking off emotions she couldn’t afford to feel. Smoothly and quickly, she closed the shutters and replaced the bar before she climbed over the rail and lowered herself into the water.
The shock of immersion took her breath away. Clinging to the side she looked round, trying to get her bearings. The moon was on the wane, a thin sliver of silver, but the stars were the bright stars of Egypt. Behind her, not far away, a low, dark bulk blotted out a section of sky. An island, and not a very big one—just long enough to hide the Isis from one direction.
Bare feet thumped on the deck, only a few inches over her head. Emerson’s outburst must have drawn some of them away from their posts temporarily. They had silenced him now.
Nefret drew in a deep breath and pushed herself away from the boat in a long glide. When she was forced to come up for air she turned onto her back and paddled gently with her hands. Now she could see the ghostly outlines of the cliffs of the high plateau. They looked awfully far away. West bank or east? She floated, letting the current carry her for a few yards downstream. The cliffs were those of the West Bank, then. Maybe the eastern shore was closer. Something bumped into her, something squashy and vile-smelling. Nefret fended it off, fighting revulsion. There were always dead animals in the Nile. She didn’t want to see what this one was. Turning over again, onto her front, she started swimming toward the island.
It was only a sandbank, less than sixty feet long and a few yards wide, but reeds had rooted themselves and weedy plants struggled for sustenance. Nefret pulled herself out of the water and looked round. The eastern shore looked just as far distant. If there was a village on either bank, it showed no lights. The villagers couldn’t afford to waste oil. She looked in vain for a familiar landmark. Emerson would have found one—he knew every foot of the river—but to her the cliffs looked all alike. To her left—north, downstream—she could see what appeared to be other small islands.
One thing was certain. She couldn’t stay here. Once her absence was discovered they would look for her, and the reeds offered no concealment. She sat down and began struggling with the wet laces of her boots. It cost her a fingernail before she