Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [190]
I will say this for the members of my family that they know when argument is inexpedient. Everyone moved as quickly as if they had rehearsed the procedure. Bertie was grinning, oblivious of the spreading bloodstain on his side; he had always wanted to take part in one of our little adventures. I sincerely hoped that he would survive this one.
I pushed Matilda out of my way and sat down, holding Maryam, who appeared to be in a state of shock; her eyes were blank and unfocused, her body limp. Bertie and Sethos snatched up the oars, and Emerson untied the rope. As we moved away from the doomed vessel, aided by the current, I saw Ramses and David treading water and looking back at Emerson, who was leaning over the rail.
“Who the devil do you think you are, the captain?” I shrieked. “Get off there this minute.”
Emerson climbed up on the rail and dived. The boys converged on him, but he was not in need of their assistance, as his vigorous strokes made evident.
Ten feet . . . twenty . . . My eyes were glued on the Isis. She looked so peaceful riding there at anchor, her decks deserted. Thirty feet. Swimming strongly, the men had almost caught us. Bertie held out an oar and was royally cursed by both Sethos and Emerson. “Keep rowing,” the latter bellowed. Forty feet.
The Isis blew. The roar of the explosion deafened me. Bits of wood and rail, metal fittings and miscellaneous debris were hurled into the air. The boat rocked wildly as the shock waves reached us. When they finally subsided I realized we were still afloat and that the dahabeeyah was ablaze. She burned quietly and beautifully, the bright flames swaying above her like a curtain.
We sat transfixed and, in my case at least, filled with profound and humbling thoughts. I believe I was the only one to have seen, among the floating debris, a mutilated but recognizable shape. If she had meant to escape the boat before the dynamite exploded, she had waited too long.
I bowed my head and murmured a little prayer—for our faith offers hope of redemption for even the worst of sinners. I added a brief prayer of thanks for our survival, and then looked up to make sure I had not been premature. Yes, they were all there, safe and more or less sound. And beyond them, coming toward us at full speed, was the Amelia.
They took us on board and even Reis Hassan abandoned his post to join in the congratulations and questions. Cyrus clasped his son in an impetuous embrace, to Bertie’s great embarrassment; Nefret ran to Ramses, and Selim embraced everyone in turn.
I was about to suggest that we defer further celebration until the wounded had been attended to when I saw something that caused me to call out and point. Bruised and battered, dripping with water and blood, the survivors of that incredible adventure stood gazing in silence as the government steamer sailed sublimely past, on its way to Cairo and safety.
OUR UNEXPECTED AND, NEED I say, welcome arrival in Luxor several hours later evoked considerable excitement. No one had known precisely where we were, and everyone was in a fever of anxiety about us. A triumphal procession gathered as we made our way from the dock to the house, where we underwent another round of embraces. Having allowed Evelyn and Lia—and Gargery—to vent their emotions, I put an end to the flood of questions.
“We will tell you all about it at teatime. We are all in need of a bath and change of clothing, and some of us are in need of medical attention. Cyrus, go home and bring Katherine back with you for tea. Daoud, take that woman to the storage shed and lock her in—with the necessary comforts, of course. Selim, Bertie, off to the clinic with Nefret.”
“Sethos, too,” said Nefret. “I want to get that bullet out of him.”
He had not let go his hold on his daughter since Emerson told him that he owed his survival to her—and, in fact, the success of the entire enterprise, since we could not have prevailed while he was in danger. What she