Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [68]
“Do you share your father’s belief that we can trust in that scoundrel’s word?”
Ramses lowered the rifle and turned, leaning against the camel. “You didn’t hear what he said just before he left?”
“I heard, but I did not understand all of it.”
“It was a warning. The word has spread among the Bedouin that a group of Inglizi are heading west with a rich caravan. Some of them consider infidels fair game.”
“That is very comforting, I must say.”
“You would not accept a comforting lie.”
“No.” I cleared my throat. “Er—I have a little favor to ask.”
“Of course, Mother.” He spoke absently, without looking at me.
“If we are attacked and overrun, and all hope is lost, will you be obliging enough to shoot me?”
That got his full attention. He whirled round, the orbs that were usually half veiled by lowered lids and long lashes wide with consternation. “For the love of God, Mother!”
“Don’t tell me the possibility of some such contingency arising had not occurred to you. I saw how you looked at Nefret this morning. Nefret too, of course,” I added.
“Nefret too,” Ramses muttered. He passed his hand over his mouth. “Do you mind which I do first?”
“I know it is asking a great deal of you, my dear,” I said, undeceived by his attempt at insouciance. “But I cannot depend on your father to do it. He is such a confounded optimist that he might wait too long. I feel sure I can count on you to assess the situation accurately. Premature action would be equally ill advised.”
“That is certainly one way of putting it.” Ramses rubbed his bristly chin. He had neglected to shave that morning. I reminded myself to keep closer tabs on him and his father. Emerson would certainly grow his confounded beard again if I let him.
“You realize, don’t you,” Ramses said, “that if I miscalculated with—with you and Nefret—and escaped death at the hands of the bandits, I would have to turn the gun on myself? Assuming Father didn’t shoot me.” His voice was uneven, and his mouth was twitching.
“Ramses, are you laughing?”
“No! Well…” He got his mouth under control. “It was such an appalling suggestion that I couldn’t…I couldn’t take it seriously.”
“Laughter can be a defense mechanism,” I explained. “I was quite serious, of course, but perhaps I was asking too much. Never mind, I will just do it myself.”
“I’ll try, Mother.” If I had not known better, I would have said there was a trace of moisture in his black eyes. “I can’t promise more. But it won’t come to that.”
“I don’t suppose for a moment that it will. It is only that I believe in planning for all contingencies.”
“Yes, I know.” His hand rested on my shoulder in a grip as hard as it was brief. “There’s Father.”
“Say nothing of this to him.”
Emerson came striding toward us. The sun was sinking westward. After a comprehensive survey of the terrain he nodded with satisfaction. “You can relax now, Ramses. Come along, Peabody, don’t stand here chatting, we must be on our way as soon as the moon rises.”
Our rather nasty meal of tinned tomatoes and rice was enlivened by a discussion with Masud. He was so terrified of Emerson that his voice kept breaking into falsetto, but he persisted in his complaints, which were, I was bound to admit, legitimate. He and his men had seen Emerson hand over a bag of money—their money. How were they to be paid? They deserved more than they had been promised. They had agreed to drive camels, not fight raiders.
“Well, you didn’t have to fight, did you?” Emerson demanded. “The power of the Father of Curses saved you, as it will continue to do. You knew and accepted the dangers of desert travel. You will get your money—more than you were promised, if you are faithful. And if you should fall, I will be a husband to your widows and a father to your children.”
“I’m not sure that was the right thing to say, Emerson,” I murmured.
Daoud cleared his throat, like a small rumble of thunder. “The word of the Father of Curses has never been broken.”
“Aywa,” the wretched man mumbled. “Yes.”
“And,” said Daoud, “the curse of the Father of Curses will follow a man to his death.