Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [66]
They were all speaking Arabic, except for an occasional aside in English from Emerson to Ramses, or vice versa. “Who hired you?” Emerson demanded.
“A man of honor does not betray his employer” was the smooth reply. “Secrecy was part of the agreement.”
“It seems an unnecessary part,” said Emerson, equally bland. “If your aim is to leave none alive to tell the tale.”
“But no, Father of Curses, that was never our aim.” He widened his eyes and shook his head. “We were told you had money—many camels—weapons…Other treasures.”
He looked toward the tents—the only places of concealment. Ramses stiffened, and Emerson said in English, “Don’t look round.” To Kemal, he said, “So you were to have these…treasures as your reward for—what? For massacring the lot of us?”
“But I said it, Father of Curses—I did not know it was you.” He grinned. “If I had known, I would have asked for payment in advance.”
“And now?”
Holding his glass as delicately as a lady might hold her cup, Kemal finished his tea before he replied.
“We would overwhelm you in the end, but you would kill many of us first.” He pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. “I ask myself whether the cost would be too high.”
“This is becoming tiresome,” said Emerson to Ramses. “And time is passing. Have you any suggestions?”
“He wants a bribe.”
“Naturally. The question is, will he stay bribed?”
He turned back to his guest and shook his head. “My son is young and hot-tempered. He tells me that if your men attack, you will be the first to die. In the name of our old friendship, I would regret that.”
“So would I,” said Kemal, with admirable candor. His eyes shifted sideways, toward Ramses, who stared stonily back at him. “Hmmm. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”
After some discussion, a barbaric little ceremony ensued. At Emerson’s request, Ramses handed over his knife. Emerson drew the blade across his palm and handed the knife to Kemal, who did the same. They clasped each other’s hand and maintained the grasp for several long seconds, while their mingled blood dripped down onto the sand. Then Kemal offered the knife to Ramses. It was clear that he was not simply returning the weapon, but proposing a similar ceremony. Eyebrows raised, Ramses looked at his father. Emerson, who was (confound the man) wiping his bleeding hand on his trousers, nodded and watched benignly while Ramses and the bandit also became blood brothers. The look of barely concealed distaste on my son’s face would have been amusing if the situation had been less grave.
“In the name of God the Great,” said the marauder piously. He made another leisurely survey of the camp. I could almost hear him counting to himself. A dozen armed men—and Daoud, who had not taken his eyes off Kemal and who looked willing and able to murder him with his bare hands. “So,” he said. “It only remains to seal our friendship with an exchange of gifts.”
After further discussion and the presentation of a heavy leather bag, Emerson escorted his dear old friend to his camel, and Nefret and I emerged from our hiding place.
“Is it safe to come out now?” I inquired—somewhat belatedly, since we were already out.
“He’s riding off,” said Ramses, who had been watching them. “But you might have waited until I told you it was all right.”
“Bah,” said Nefret, brushing sand off her front.
Emerson came back, looking somewhat pensive.
“Well?” I demanded. “I didn’t understand everything that was said, you were both talking so rapidly toward the end, but I saw you hand over what appeared to be most of our remaining money. How are you going to pay the drivers? Shouldn’t we move on at once instead of waiting for nightfall? Why didn’t you insist he tell you who hired him? How do you know you can trust him to stay bribed?”
Emerson sat down, his back against the nearest camel, and took out his pipe. “I beg you will keep quiet for a while, Peabody, while I explain the subtler nuances of our encounter.”
“I saw nothing subtle about it. His meaning was clear; he had been