Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [30]
“No, Father of Curses.” Mahmud rolled his eyes. “But someone else is.”
Two others were, in fact. Daoud had dropped by; he had become fond of the English custom of tea and appreciated Fatima’s sandwiches and biscuits. In his courteous fashion he was attempting to carry on a conversation with Merasen, while Ramses watched them both in silence. Emerson let out an exclamation of surprise and relief when he saw Merasen. The boy at once got to his feet and began bowing. Ramses was somewhat slower to rise. “Good afternoon, Mother. Good afternoon—”
“Where did you find him?” Emerson demanded.
“He did not find me. I found him,” said Merasen complacently.
Ramses’s lips tightened infinitesimally. I had observed he was still wearing his coat, which he generally removed as soon as he was in private. The clues were sufficient. “Very well, Ramses,” I said. “Take off your coat. I see you have already damaged it. What happened? And where is Nefret?”
“Gone on with Selim to her appointment.” Ramses shrugged out of the garment. “We—er—ran into Merasen along the way, and I brought him back with me. Sorry about the coat, Mother. Perhaps it can be mended.”
“Not your shirt, though.” The left sleeve was stiff with dried blood. “What happened?”
“I did it,” Merasen admitted. “I did not mean to. It was only a game. He put his arm in the way.”
“Careless of me,” said Ramses.
Daoud’s broad brow wrinkled. “We do not use knives here unless we mean to kill,” he said severely. “Be careful, boy, or I will show you how we play such games.”
“It’s all right, Daoud,” Ramses said. Merasen gave Daoud a hostile stare.
The cut was shallow. I cleaned and bandaged it while Ramses gave us a brief account of the encounter. Emerson listened in silence, his gaze moving from one young face to the other. Merasen began to squirm under that keen regard.
“It was the wrong thing to do? In the city of the Holy Mountain—”
“We don’t do that sort of thing here,” said Emerson mildly. “Why are you still in Cairo?”
“I have no more money, Father of Curses. The ticket for the train costs much money.” He gave Emerson a broad, innocent smile.
“You had ample funds for the entire journey to Wadi Halfa,” said Emerson, in the same quiet voice. “What did you spend it on?”
“I did not spend it! I was robbed. Here, in Cairo. There are many thieves here.”
He was certainly right about that. However, this statement was in the same category as others he had made: reasonable, but not susceptible to proof. Under interrogation he said that he had just recently discovered that we were on the Amelia and had been about to present himself when he saw Ramses and Nefret leave the boat. He followed them—meaning, as he explained earnestly, to give them a little surprise. While he was explaining, Nefret and Selim came in. She acknowledged Merasen’s bows with a rather curt nod and Daoud’s greeting with a hug, then took the pins from her hat and tossed it onto a chair.
“I deduce there was no trouble, or Merasen wouldn’t be waving his arms so energetically,” she said. “I told Mahmud to serve tea. Ramses, are you all right?”
“Flaunting my bandages for the purpose of inspiring sympathy,” said Ramses. “It was my fault, for getting my arm in the way.”
“Huh,” said Selim. Modestly turning his back, he flipped up the skirts of his robe and removed an object which he handed to Emerson. Someone, presumably Nefret, had wound bandages round the blade, but the shape and design of the hilt were familiar to me.
As they were to Emerson. “Why didn’t you tell me you had this, Merasen?” he inquired.
“It was not your affair, Father of Curses,” said Merasen, repeating a phrase he had probably heard from me (addressed to Gargery).
Emerson ignored this bit of impertinence. “How did it escape the attention of the slavers who robbed you?”
“I stole it back before I escaped. It is sacred to me.”
Mahmud came in with the tea tray, which he placed on the table in front of me. He stared curiously at Merasen. I could understand why. On the surface, Merasen could have passed as an Egyptian; Egypt