Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [39]
Newbold’s complacent grin filled Ramses with impotent fury. Slavery was against the law, but there was no interfering with the old tribal customs, which included arranged marriages and the sale of women by the men who owned them. The girl took this for granted, he reminded himself; perhaps she had gone uncomplaining to the effendi who had loaded her with ornaments.
And perhaps the compliant father had been one of Newbold’s fabrications. Her origins might have been less innocent. There was something about the way she moved, hips swaying and little feet stepping daintily…And she certainly knew how to use those wide dark eyes.
It took the rest of the day to load our boxes, so we were not able to get off until the following morning. By that time Nefret and I and two of the crewmen whom I had commandeered had cleaned out the worst of the dirt in the three minuscule cabins that had been assigned to us. Our fellows would have to sleep on deck with the crewmen, but Selim assured me they did not mind.
That evening we dined on board, in what Farah proudly referred to as the saloon. It was spacious enough, though the windows had obviously not been washed for months. I got out the serviettes I had brought, since I assumed (correctly) that Farah would not think of supplying them.
Most of our fellow passengers were present. One was a youngish fellow in uniform, who was not, for a change, an old friend of Emerson’s. He knew us, though, and after he had introduced himself as Captain Moroney, returning to his post at Berber after a few weeks’ leave in Cairo, he reminded me that we had met once before.
“No reason why you should remember me, ma’am,” he said modestly. “I was assistant to the veterinary surgeon at Sanam Abu Dom, back in ’98. You were good enough to advise him about treating the camels. Quite a coincidence that we should meet again in the Sudan.”
“Isn’t it,” I said, and left him to Emerson.
Four of the others, two married couples, were tourists, though they would have disdained that description. Male and female alike, they were amusingly similar in their looks: the ladies had shoulders almost as massive as those of their husbands’, and all four faces were wrinkled and brown from frequent exposure to the sun. Frau Bergenstein merrily informed me that they called themselves the wild birds, for they “flew” to the farther reaches of the world. They had climbed Mount Kenya, crossed the Negev by camel, paddled dugout canoes down the Niger to the Atlantic, and searched for the tomb of the Queen of Sheba in Ethiopia. I fully expected she would mention Zerzura, but she did not, so I left her to Ramses, at whom she had been rolling her rather protuberant eyes.
We were about to settle down to the meal when another passenger entered. He had a neatly trimmed grizzled beard and a frame almost as muscular as Emerson’s, though he was not so tall. Emerson let out an oath at the sight of him, and Ramses turned rudely away from Frau Bergenstein.
He came straight to me and bowed. “I have not had the privilege of meeting you, Mrs. Emerson, but I am acquainted with your husband and son. Newbold is my name.”
“I have heard of you, sir,” I said stiffly.
“I don’t doubt you have.” He smiled, the lines at the corners of his eyes multiplying. “But I hope you will not be prejudiced against me by anything your son may have told you. Mr. Emerson, I am happy to have this opportunity to express my regrets for my ill-chosen words at our meeting in Cairo. I had—I am ashamed to admit it—I had taken too much to drink. Intoxication is not usual with me; in my profession, it is a danger one cannot afford; but when I return to civilization after months of privation, I occasionally celebrate too well. Accept my profound apologies.”
“That depends on what the devil you are doing here,” said Emerson. It was the same thing I had wondered about, but Emerson does not always have the sense to keep his thoughts to himself. The statement was, in my opinion, unnecessarily provocative, and I attempted to mitigate its effect.
“He is on his way back