Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [111]
“I was one of the children of the palace, taught with the royal children,” Merasen admitted. “Tarek himself favored me because I was clever and quick to learn. Others were not. My brothers…” He laughed and shrugged. “You have seen them. Worthy and brave, but not clever. He told us stories about you, like the stories of the gods—about the beauty of the High Priestess, and the strength of the Father of Curses, and about the Sitt Hakim, who could fight like a man and smile like a woman. How could I say no when there came the chance to see you for myself?”
The sheer brazenness of the excuse left all of us without words for a moment. Then Emerson said, “What of your loyalty to Tarek?”
“I am loyal to my father. I could not be loyal to both.”
“Outflanked again,” Emerson muttered.
“I have done nothing wrong,” Merasen insisted. “You wanted to come back to the Holy Mountain. For years you wanted to come back, I heard you say so. And now that you are here you are honored, and my father will reward you with rich gifts.”
Emerson waved his hand in front of his face, as if brushing away a persistent fly. “Now see here,” he began.
“Let me ask a few questions, Father,” Ramses cut in.
“Go ahead, my boy. I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
“You say you have done nothing wrong,” Ramses addressed Merasen. “What’s your excuse for murdering Ali?”
“Ali dead? My friend Ali?” Merasen’s eyes opened wide. “How? I grieve for him.”
“It wasn’t you who cut his throat?” Ramses persisted.
“He was alive when I left him. But very drunk.” Merasen’s grief had been short-lived. He gave Ramses a man-to-man smile.
“You stole the map from Nefret.”
“No, that was not I. Why do you speak of the past? It is finished. Let us speak of the future, and what I can do for you and you can do for me.”
“You know what you can do for us,” Ramses said through tight lips. Even his controlled temper was beginning to fray. “Make it possible for us to leave the Holy Mountain, with Nefret. What do you want in return?”
“Guns,” said Merasen promptly and unexpectedly.
“You stole ours,” Ramses said, visibly taken aback.
“Not enough.” Merasen reached for the last date, but Daoud got it first. Merasen scowled. “Send these servants away so we may talk in private.”
“They are not servants, but friends,” Emerson said. “We have no secrets from them. Say what you have to say.”
As Emerson later remarked, the ensuing conversation was illuminating.
“My father still believes in the old ways, the edge of the sword and the skill of the archer,” said Merasen. “But I saw the guns when the soldiers attacked the slavers, and I knew that fifty men with guns could conquer a kingdom such as this. I could not carry so many back with me, even if I had had gold enough to buy them. So…” He shrugged and smiled his engaging smile.
“So you lured us here with the lie about Tarek,” I said. “But your original purpose was not to acquire weapons, was it? That was an afterthought.”
“A good thought,” Merasen said complacently. “I was sent to bring the High Priestess back to the Temple of Isis. The people are restless. When they see her take her rightful place, in the temple and in the palace, they will submit.” He shrugged again. “So my father believes. As for me, I believe in guns. Fifty at least.”
“It will take months for us to go and return,” Emerson said. “By that time Tarek may have reconquered the city.”
A flash of some quickly overcome emotion brightened the boy’s dark eyes. He waved a negligent hand. “It is what you call stalemate. Tarek has enough men to hold his own territory, but he is a weakling, he will not risk their lives to retake the city.”
“And your father has not enough men to force the pass and conquer Tarek?” I asked. “Is that it?”
Merasen shrugged, and Ramses said, “Your brothers—your older brothers—are strong, able men. Why is it that you, the youngest, have been raised over them?”
This was apparently not a tactful question. Merasen jumped to his feet. “We have talked enough. What is your decision?”
“We will think it over,” Ramses said. “You