Death Comes as End - Agatha Christie [58]
Ipy looked at her with an air of contemptuous mockery.
‘And I suppose you think he will get quite well again?’
‘Why not?’
Ipy laughed.
‘Why not? Well, let us say simply that I disagree with you. Yahmose is finished, done for–he may crawl about for a little and sit and moan in the sun. But he is no longer a man. He has recovered from the first effects of the poison, but you can see, yourself, he makes no further headway.’
‘Then why doesn’t he?’ Renisenb demanded. ‘The physician said it would only take a little time before he was quite strong and himself again.’
Ipy shrugged his shoulders.
‘Physicians do not know everything. They talk wisely and use long words. Blame the wicked Nofret if you like–but Yahmose, your dear brother Yahmose, is doomed.’
‘And have you no fear yourself, Ipy?’
‘Fear? I?’ The boy laughed, throwing back his handsome head.
‘Nofret did not love you overwell, Ipy.’
‘Nothing can harm me, Renisenb, unless I choose to let it! I am young still, but I am one of those people who are born to succeed. As for you, Renisenb, you would do well to be on my side, do you hear? You treat me, often, as an irresponsible boy. But I am more than that now. Every month will show a difference. Soon there will be no will but mine in this place. My father may give the orders, but though his voice speaks them, the brain that conceives them will be mine!’
He took a step or two, paused, and said over his shoulder: ‘So be careful, Renisenb, that I do not become displeased with you.’
As Renisenb stood staring after him, she heard a footstep and turned to see Kait standing beside her.
‘What was Ipy saying, Renisenb?’
Renisenb said slowly:
‘He says that he will be master here soon.’
‘Does he?’ said Kait. ‘I think otherwise.’
V
Ipy ran lightly up the steps of the porch and into the house.
The sight of Yahmose lying on a couch seemed to please him. He said gaily:
‘Well, how goes it, brother? Are we never to see you back on the cultivation? I cannot understand why everything has not gone to pieces without you!’
Yahmose said fretfully in a weak voice:
‘I do not understand it at all. The poison is now climinated. Why do I not regain my strength? I tried to walk this morning and my legs would not support me. I am weak–weak–and what is worse, I seem to grow weaker every day.’
Ipy shook his head with facile commiseration.
‘That is indeed bad. And the physicians give no help?’
‘Mersu’s assistant comes every day. He cannot understand my condition. I drink strong decoctions of herbs. The daily incantations are made to the goddess. Special food full of nourishment is prepared for me. There is no reason, so the physician assures me, why I should not rapidly grow strong. Yet instead, I seem to waste away.’
‘That is too bad,’ said Ipy.
He went on, singing softly under his breath till he came upon his father and Hori engaged with a sheet of accounts. Imhotep’s face, anxious and careworn, lightened at the sight of his much-loved youngest son.
‘Here is my Ipy. What have you to report from the estate?’
‘All goes well, father. We have been reaping the barley. A good crop.’
‘Yes, thanks to Ra all goes well outside. Would it went as well inside. Still I must have faith in Ashayet–she will not refuse to aid us in our distress. I am worried about Yahmose. I cannot understand this lassitude–the unaccountable weakness.’
Ipy smiled scornfully.
‘Yahmose was always a weakling,’ he said.
‘That is not so,’ said Hori mildly. ‘His health has always been good.’
Ipy said assertively:
‘Health depends on the spirit of a man. Yahmose never had any spirit. He was afraid, even, to give orders.’
‘That is not so lately,’ said Imhotep. ‘Yahmose has shown himself to be full of authority in these last months. I have been surprised. But this weakness in the limbs worries me. Mersu assured me that once the effects of the poison had worn off, recovery should be swift.’
Hori moved some of the papyrus aside.
‘There are other poisons,’ he said quietly.
‘What do you mean?’ Imhotep wheeled round.
Hori spoke in a gentle,