Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [174]
“Get back or you will fall out, curse it!”
How could I do less than obey? I withdrew, for I wanted to make sure everything was in order before he joined me. Nefret seemed almost herself again; she had flung off the hated veils and was trying to persuade Ramses to let her bandage his cuts. Moroney was conversing with Daoud, and Selim was brandishing a sword which he had acquired from someone, “just in case.” It would not be needed. All resistance had been overcome. The only casualty—aside from Merasen, whose body had been carried off by two of the soldiers—was Sethos. Someone had knocked him down, or he had knocked himself out falling to avoid the spear; I had seen him lying on the floor, but had not had time to attend to him, what with one thing and another. When I knelt beside him I saw that he was breathing steadily and that his ear had fallen off.
Snatching one of Nefret’s discarded veils, I wound it round his face and head, hiding the disfigured member. There was no response from Sethos, even when the hastily wound cloth covered his mouth.
“Lie still and don’t move,” I whispered. “Emerson will be here momentarily.”
I waited, my hands pressed to my pounding heart and my gaze fixed on the doorway, and the seconds seemed to drag. At last I heard him; there was no mistaking those footsteps. He charged through the opening and came directly to me.
“Everything under control?” he inquired.
“Oh, Emerson, can’t you at least say…”
He could not; he never can, in public. But the glow in his sapphirine eyes was as eloquent as words, and his subsequent action was even more eloquent. Seizing me by the waist, he threw me up in the air, caught me, and gave me a bruising hug. “Another triumph, eh, Peabody? Er—all right, are you, my dear? Ramses, my boy, what the devil have you been up to? Selim—Daoud—well done, my friends! Nefret…”
She ran to him and he took her into the shelter of his strong arm. “All right, are you?” he asked.
Tarek’s entrance was something of an anticlimax after our tender reunion. He embraced us all in turn, even Daoud, who did not like it very much but submitted after I had explained how his prompt action and skillful marksmanship had probably saved Ramses’s life.
“Well, well,” said Emerson. “It was nip and tuck for a while, but all’s well that ends well, eh?” Realizing that he had uttered two aphorisms in a row, he went on hastily, “If you will excuse us, Tarek, we will…Who the devil is that?”
“Mr. MacFerguson fought bravely with us,” I said, exaggerating a trifle. “I will see that he is cared for, Emerson, leave it to me.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “By Gad, there are our missing rifles! We didn’t hear gunfire, though. Did Merasen have a change of heart?”
I explained my little ruse. Emerson let out a bellow of laughter. “Peabody, you really are the most…”
“Thank you, my dear. We should retire and leave Tarek to the duties of kingship, I believe; but first—shall we perform the ceremony?”
When Tarek showed himself at the Window of Appearance, the cheers were deafening—or so I thought, until Emerson appeared beside him holding the crown in his hands, and the voices rose to an even louder pitch. Emerson wanted to make a speech, but he could not get them to keep quiet, so after we had all waved and bowed, we carried out our intention of withdrawing. Goodness knows we were entitled to some rest, and I for one was ready for a stiff whiskey.
“What about him?” Emerson demanded, scowling at the recumbent form of Sethos.
“I will have him taken