Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [110]
Emerson stopped pacing and gave him a piercing stare. “How?”
“I have an idea.”
I had several ideas of my own, and I did not at all like the one Ramses proposed. He was the only one of us who stood a chance of passing as a native of the Lost Oasis, and the clothing with which we had been provided was appropriate for the role he hoped to assume. But…
“How do you plan to get out of here unobserved?” I demanded.
“You’ll have to distract the guards while I slip past them,” Ramses said coolly.
“I expect I could do that,” said Emerson, flexing his hands. “Then what?”
“Then I’ll find the temple Mother described. There’s a good chance the High Priestess’s living quarters are connected with it. If I can’t find a way in, there’s another possibility—the subterranean passages behind the house we occupied before. I can get into the house with no trouble, it’s been deserted, and I remember where the entrance is located. If I can find the underground chamber where Nefret first met us, there’s got to be a way into her rooms from there.”
“Too many ifs,” I exclaimed. “Good Gad, Ramses, your scheme is foolhardy in the extreme. Nefret’s rooms are certainly closely guarded, you will be caught or killed if you try to reach them by way of the temple. As for going down into the subterranean passages, I strictly forbid it. You could lose your way in that endless maze! And how do you plan to get back into this house?”
“I don’t mean to come back.” He saw my stricken face; kneeling beside me, he took my hands in his. “Mother, you are a realist, or so you claim. Face the facts. One of us must be on the loose. Cooped up like this, our every movement watched, we cannot count on seeing Nefret or communicating with Tarek. And what about your mysterious visitor, who is now missing a shirt button? We need to know who he is and what role he is playing. I may be able to track him down.”
Emerson cleared his throat noisily. “Don’t argue with him, Peabody. He is in the right. It will require some careful planning, however.”
“Yes.” Ramses squeezed my limp hands and rose. “We’ll aim for tomorrow night. Mother, don’t look at me like that. This isn’t as foolhardy as it sounds. The worst that can happen is that I’ll be caught in the act—some act or other—and locked up. The king won’t be well pleased with you four either, but if he wants our cooperation he won’t do anything violent.”
“Inshallah,” I said.
“Yes, it is in his hands,” remarked Daoud. “I will go with you when you go, Ramses, wherever you go.”
“And I,” said Selim.
It required some argument to convince them that their presence would only constitute a greater danger to Ramses. Daoud was slightly consoled by Emerson’s promise that he could help “distract” the guards. Ashamed at my brief relapse, I put on a brave face and began one of my little lists. After all, I told myself, it might prove unnecessary. Tomorrow was another day. Something might yet turn up.
It was Merasen who turned up, bright and early next morning.
We were finishing breakfast and making plans for another excursion when he strolled in, looking as much at home as he had when he visited us in Kent, and garbed with extravagant elegance, from his diadem to his gold-inlaid sandals. Exclaiming with pleasure, he shook hands with Ramses and Emerson—who allowed the liberty, but with the look of a man who had taken hold of a rotten fish.
“So, are you pleased with your rooms?” he inquired solicitously. “Is there anything you require?”
“Yes, there is,” said Ramses, before his father could voice a ruder response. “Some straight talk, Merasen. Do you know that expression?”
“Yes, I heard it often in England,” said Merasen, grinning. He selected a date from the plate of fruit.
“It obviously didn’t make much of an impression,” Emerson muttered. “We received you as an honored guest, and you lied to us and deceived us. You also betrayed Tarek. Wasn’t it from him