Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [165]
“It would be a help if you could get rid of a few of the servants,” Emerson admitted.
Nefret spoke for the first time in quite a while. “Tell them you don’t like any of the clothes they brought. Send them to get others.”
“Excellent idea,” I said. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“Yes, Aunt Amelia. I am worried about Ramses.”
“No need to worry, dear girl. I am sure my plan will succeed. Amenislo understood my hints perfectly.” I spoke with more confidence than I felt. Ramses had told me Amenislo was a secret supporter of Tarek’s, but I hadn’t much faith in the count’s physical courage. “Hang on a minute, Emerson. Nefret, go into the bath chamber.”
I gathered up an armful of garments more or less at random, thrust the curtain aside, and shoved the clothing into the arms of one of the women who stood outside.
“Take them away, they are not good enough. Bring better.”
“You must be ready,” one of them began.
“We will be ready, if you hurry. Go at once.”
That got rid of two of them. I stood with my back against the curtain, effectively barring the door to my room, wondering if there was anything else I could do to minimize the risk. Emerson was right, curse him, he was the only one who might be able to avert a bloody battle—but at what cost to him? All the while my ears were pricked (figuratively speaking), hoping for some sign that my scheme with Amenislo had succeeded. Ramses’s escape would certainly raise the alarm.
The sign was not the one I had expected. It was the sight of Ramses himself, emerging from the door that led to the back rooms. “Thank God!” I cried.
“Good afternoon, Mother,” said Ramses. “Excuse me for a moment…Do not cry out,” he went on in Meroitic, addressing the gaping servants. “Through that door, all of you. Go.”
Ramses shoved a few of the ladies as politely as possible. The man who had followed Ramses, carrying a long spear in one hand and a scissor blade in the other, helped herd the bewildered attendants into their quarters.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Emerson,” said Captain Moroney.
He looked dreadful, unshaven, dirty, and rumpled. Ramses was not in much better case. His linen kilt was ripped and bloodstained, and the bits of bandages I had applied did not improve his appearance.
Emerson plunged through the curtain and ran into me. With his usual quickness he caught me round the waist before I fell.
“Good afternoon, Father,” said Ramses. “I hope I have not kept you waiting.”
“No,” Emerson mumbled. “No. Er—all right, are you, my boy? Good Gad!”
Ramses’s reunion with the others was warm, but necessarily brief. The sight of Nefret stopped him in his tracks for a moment. “How—” he began.
“We will explain later,” said Emerson. “Now that you are here—and we will have to wait for an account of that too—we must act at once.”
He proceeded to explain his scheme to Ramses.
“It is our best hope of averting bloodshed,” Ramses said. “But the risk to you, Father—”
“It’s no more of a risk than they will face here,” said Emerson, with a betraying look at me and Nefret. “I beg you will not underestimate me, my boy. I am confident I can carry it off.”
“Very well, sir,” Ramses said. “I will accompany you.”
“Yes, you had better. I was wondering whether I could get my point across without a translator,” Emerson added. “The rest of you will stay here. No, confound it, Selim, no argument, I don’t like this any better than you do, but the Sitt Hakim and I have talked it over, and she agrees that this is our only chance.”
“Emerson’s plan depends on speed and secrecy,” I said, for Selim’s expression was still mutinous. “We would only slow him down. He is the one who will be in greatest danger. It is a great relief to know you will be with him, Ramses.”
“Yes, Mother. Don’t glower at me, Selim, you and Daoud may have to fight after all. Some of the royal guards will remain loyal to Zekare. Merasen’s private guard too. I hope to God you still have our weapons.”
Daoud produced them. In silence we surveyed