Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [132]
“He lied,” grunted Emerson.
“I don’t think so. Someone else has lied to him. I learned something of much greater importance. I am only surprised I didn’t think of it before.”
Emerson was not going to give me the satisfaction of asking what it was. He turned to Selim. “Anything of interest to report, Selim?”
“The captain has much admiration for you, Emerson.”
“Especially after the lies you and Daoud told him,” said Emerson, who had apparently kept an eye on the proceedings.
Selim grinned. “Not lies, Emerson, and not told. Daoud is as good a teller of stories without words as he is with them.”
Daoud smiled modestly.
“I think,” Selim went on, “that the captain would be your man if you asked him.”
“It would take more than asking, Selim, I would have to do something that…Hmmm. I say, Peabody—”
“No, Emerson. I strictly forbid it.”
Emerson’s eyes narrowed.
“How did you know what I was going to say?”
“I know you. You were thinking of fighting the king—and, of course, winning. This isn’t the Middle Ages, Emerson, and even at that time notions of chivalry were honored in theory more than in practice. Furthermore, he is probably a better sword fighter than you.”
Fatigue had loosened my tongue, or I would have been more tactful. Emerson squared his mighty shoulders and glared at me. “It may come to that, Peabody, and if it does I will act as I see fit. Now come to bed, you have had more wine than is good for you.”
“It isn’t the wine,” I murmured, passing my hand over my brow. “I have felt it coming on all evening. Dizziness, fever…”
I swayed slowly forward, giving Emerson plenty of time to catch hold of me. I felt a touch of shame when I saw his alarmed expression, but only a touch. It was his own fault for not listening to me.
From Manuscript H
Ramses didn’t believe in supernatural signs. Luckily, Harsetef did.
“If the goddess has spoken to you, you must obey,” Harsetef agreed, after Ramses had explained what he meant to do. “It is a plan worthy of her, a clever plan.”
“I thought so,” Ramses said modestly.
“It will be dangerous. But with Her help you will succeed.”
Inshallah, Ramses thought. God willing. And a tip of the hat to Saint Jude, patron of hopeless causes. He would need all the divine help he could get to pull this one off.
Ramses could not have explained, even to himself, why his tumbling thoughts had suddenly come into focus. Now that he had made the decision, he was able to justify it. The situation hadn’t changed, but his understanding of it had. Their original plans had not taken all the facts into account. The facts of faith. If the High Priestess were to vanish without a trace from her rooms, and reappear in Tarek’s camp, proclaiming her support for him, it would be a crushing blow to the usurper—and it might be enough to win without war.
It might also put his parents in greater danger. He told himself he couldn’t worry about that. The girls were vulnerable, the intrepid foursome was not; his parents had always been able to talk or fight their way out of most situations, and they had Daoud and Selim with them.
“I may not be able to bring her away with me tonight,” Ramses said.
“You must scout first,” Harsetef agreed with an approving nod. “I will watch for you tonight and tomorrow and the next night, and I will warn the other scouts. You can find your way back to this place?”
“Yes,” Ramses said with more confidence than he felt. “You will send word to Tarek? Tell him we are working for his cause and will join him soon. Tell him to do nothing until we come.”
Harsetef went with him part of the way and left him wedged uncomfortably but safely in a crevice twenty feet or so above the Great Road. After he had gone, Ramses took careful note of his location. He could understand why the rekkit paths came this way—not many of the houses on the eastern side were inhabited—but it was confounded inconvenient for him, since the temple and palace area was on the other side of the valley. He would have to