Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [186]
And at that moment she was the least of my concerns. “We will have to get onboard the Isis,” I said. “Unseen and undetected.”
“That is right,” said Daoud, nodding approvingly.
The others reserved their commendations. “What a good plan,” said Sethos. “How do you propose we go about it?”
“I have a few ideas . . .”
Ramses did not return until close to midnight. He had had to wait at the telegraph office for replies to his urgent telegrams. (He did not explain how he had persuaded the clerk to remain on duty past his usual hour, and I did not ask.) Lacau was still in Luxor, but he had finished loading the treasure and was expected to depart in the morning.
That was not all he and Reis Hassan had accomplished. Ramses had had a few ideas of his own. Runners—donkey riders, to be more precise—had been dispatched south from Qena and northward from Luxor. Scouts would be in position by morning, and the same signal system would be used. Any private dahabeeyah would be reported.
“You seem to have thought of everything,” Sethos said grudgingly. “Except how we can get to Emerson without being seen. The Amelia is somewhat conspicuous.”
My warning shake of the head stopped Ramses on the verge of a hot retort. He swallowed and looked at Nefret. She had awoken instantly when he entered and was curled up on the divan, watching him as he paced to and fro. “I have thought of that too, sir. We’re taking a small boat in tow. She’s a miserable-looking craft, so the crew of the Isis won’t be surprised when we appear with our sail trailing. While the rest of you entertain the observers by screaming poignant appeals for rescue—which you are not likely to get—I’ll swim to the Isis.”
“And I with you,” said Sethos.
“How far can you swim underwater?” Ramses inquired gently.
“Far enough.”
“No. I,” said Ramses in the same quiet voice, “am running this show. Anyone who won’t accept that can damn well stay here. The boat will hold four. It will be the job of the others to distract the crew while David and I get to the dahabeeyah. After that . . . well, it will depend on what transpires, and that is likely to be unpleasant.”
Naturally they all wanted to go. Daoud rumbled hopefully. Ramses smiled and shook his head.
“Impossible to disguise you, Daoud—or you, Cyrus. Selim isn’t fit enough. The rest of us will wear the usual rags. Myself, David, Bertie—and you, Sethos, if you promise to follow my orders.”
I sat very quietly in the corner, my hands folded in my lap. Ramses said, without looking in my direction, “No, Mother. Not a chance. Did you hear what I said?”
“Certainly, my dear. I heard every word.”
“THERE SHE IS, RIDING AT anchor near the West Bank.” Ramses raised one arm and gave the signal to Reis Hassan.
The sun was still low over the eastern cliffs and the lovely flush of sunrise had not completely faded. We were south of Qena, approaching the stretch where, according to Reis Hassan’s deductions, the Isis was most likely to be lurking. There were only a few villages in that area and traffic on the river was minimal.
“Has she seen us?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. Thank God for Reis Hassan,” he added, as the Amelia came to a grinding halt and began to reverse. “He can make the Amelia jump through hoops. Time to go.”
Our anchor went over the side and the small boat was drawn up. It was a pitiful craft, the sails patched on patches, and we were an equally hapless-looking crew. Ramses and David wore a minimum of clothing, in preparation for swimming. The rest of us were attired in ragged galabeeyahs.
When I appeared on deck in my hastily assembled disguise Ramses was rude enough to shout at me. Naturally I forgave him, since I knew he was under something of a strain.
“Don’t talk to her as if she were a woman, Ramses,” Nefret said.
“She