Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [161]
“No, surely not!” I exclaimed. “Tomorrow is the day.”
“You must have miscalculated, Peabody,” said Emerson, fingering his chin. “I told you they don’t reckon time as we do.”
I don’t believe my brain has ever worked as rapidly as it did then. This was an official and religious event, and there was no hope of demanding it be postponed, any more than there would have been to change the date of Christmas. We had only half a day in which to revise our plans or be forced to the last expedient, which in my opinion had never been very satisfactory.
“What of my son?” I demanded. “Does the king know he lies wounded and suffering in Merasen’s cell?”
“He knows,” Amenislo said. “After the ceremony—”
“Ha,” exclaimed Emerson. “Not after the ceremony. Now.”
“The king will not agree to that.” The count wrung his hands. “The Brother of Demons cannot be with you. He must remain a prisoner.”
“But not in that nasty dark cell,” I exclaimed. “If he could be moved to a more comfortable place, still under guard, but with someone to tend his injuries…”
A light—the light of hope, perhaps—shone in Amenislo’s eyes. I said, “You can order this, Amenislo. You are high in the king’s favor. If he questions your act, tell him you had to agree in order to win our cooperation.”
Amenislo’s expression indicated that he had no intention of being available to answer questions. “I will try,” he muttered.
“I feel sure you will. It must be done soon,” I added. “So that my mind will be at ease before the ceremony. I presume we will be supplied with proper garments and ornaments and instructed in what we are to do?”
“Attendants will come to you later.”
“When? At what hour does the ceremony take place?”
“When the moon rises. They will come before that. Now I go.”
Amenislo hurried out. “Confound it,” said Emerson. “I thought we had more time. Tarek is probably gathering his men at this very moment. We must get word to the rekkit immediately. Give me a sheet of paper, I will write the note myself. Come with us, Daoud and Selim. From now on we stick together.”
But we got no farther than the Great Temple. The guards had gathered round a shaven-headed priest who was waving his hands and shouting. Emerson stopped. “What’s going on?”
“He keeps saying ‘The king, the king must be told!’ And…Good Gad!”
“What? What?” Emerson bellowed.
“ ‘She is gone. She has vanished.’ ”
Emerson whirled round and pelted back toward the stairs to our rooms. None of the guards seemed anxious to break the news to the king; they gave way before Emerson, and the rest of us followed in his wake. Selim forged ahead, leaving me to Daoud, who assisted me with such zeal that my feet seldom touched the ground. Emerson and Selim were not in sight when Daoud and I dashed into the sitting room of our suite. Of course I knew where they had gone.
“Put me down, Daoud,” I gasped. “Get the servants out of here, I don’t care how, then close the door and don’t let anyone in.”
I stopped only long enough to snatch up a lamp before I ran toward the dark chamber at the rear of our quarters. I was pleased to discover that one of them had had sense enough to do the same—Selim, probably, since Emerson was in such a state he could not even find the concealed catch. He was tugging at the slab and swearing when I came in. I pushed him out of the way and pressed the indentation that released the spring. The slab lifted. Below, at the foot of the stairs, was a pale crumpled shape. It raised a white face.
As Nefret stumbled up the stairs Emerson reached down and pulled her up into his arms, narrowly avoiding braining her on the raised stone slab. I took the lamp from Selim’s shaking hand; he was laughing and praying and, I think, crying, all at the same time.
“There, there,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “Emerson, take her into our sleeping chamber. I expect she could do with a restorative sip of whiskey. If there is any left.”
Emerson picked her up. “Air,” she gasped. “Air and light, that’s