Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [119]
Modern weapons would make the difference, Ramses thought. But even if they could get such weapons to Tarek, had they the right to bring the curse of modern warfare to this place? Did the end justify the means? There had to be another, better way—one that did not involve a band of peasants armed only with sticks and stones.
“I can find my way from here,” he said. “Go back to your parents.”
The boy let out a hiss of alarm. “I see them, through the—the tool. Climbing, searching. Lie flat and be still.”
Ramses snatched the binoculars and focused them. The pursuers were some distance away and still far below, but they seemed to be following a path of some sort. Had someone in the village told them of the secret ways? The rekkit were loyal to Tarek, but there were potential traitors in any group, susceptible to threats or bribes.
He shoved the binoculars into his pack and slung it on his back. “We must move on,” he said urgently. “Go back. Do you know another way?”
“Oh, yes,” the boy said calmly. “But I will not go until one comes for you.”
Ramses was about to reply when he heard the rattle of rock overhead. He turned, pushing the boy behind him, as a man dropped down onto the ledge. His head was bare, but he carried a soldier’s weapons, bow and quiver and short sword.
He was as tall as Ramses, lean as a panther, and his dark face wore a broad grin of pleasure. Ramses drew his knife, knowing he had only a split second in which to prevent a cry of discovery. Then he saw what the man held in his outstretched hand. His arm fell.
In the turmoil following Ramses’s departure we made our way to the terrace in front of the palace, where we stood for several hours watching the proceedings. No one tried to make us retire to our rooms, though two of the guards, belatedly aware of their orders, took up positions at the head of the staircase that led down to the road. Daoud and Selim had remained to look after our possessions, though goodness knows there was not much left to interest our hosts. I had, of course, brought my parasol with me.
The search, I was pleased to observe, was somewhat disorganized. It took the guards quite a while to descend into the village. They remained there some time; when the torchlit march wended its way back up the stairs, I suggested to Emerson that we retire.
“Quite a busy night,” I remarked when we reached our sleeping chamber.
“We certainly stirred things up,” Emerson agreed, removing his garments and tossing them around the room in his usual fashion. “Do you suppose they believed us?”
“They know they were not responsible for Ramses’s disappearance. That leaves only two possibilities: that he left of his own accord, or that Tarek somehow managed to get to him.”
“I expect his illegitimate majesty is in quite a state of confusion,” Emerson agreed. “Serves the bastard right.”
He threw himself down on the bed. After assuming a night robe, I joined him.
“If Ramses should be caught,” I began, unable to refrain from voicing my greatest fear.
“They have already searched the village.” Emerson took me in his arms. “If they had discovered him, we would have heard, be sure of that. He must have finished his business there and got away before they came.”
“I hope to heaven he was right about the woman—that she was the one whose life you saved all those years ago and that she indicated she was willing to help us.”
“What other reason would she have for making that little speech?” Emerson demanded. “Carefully composed in order to avoid offense, but including the key word: friend. Try to rest, my love. The usurper will have a good deal to say to us in the morning, and if you cannot spread a bit more confusion and alarm you are not the woman I take you for.”
Needless to say, I did not sleep. It was a relief when morning came to allow action. As we sipped our coffee, Emerson said, “Hurry and finish your breakfast, Peabody. We are going out.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Hither and yon. It is time we paid courtesy calls on the High Priests of Aminreh and Isis. They were rivals before,