Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [71]
“This isn’t my kind of country,” Newbold said. “Thank you, Mrs. Emerson. Now may I lie down and get some sleep? I’ve been on that camel for almost twenty-four hours.”
Ramses had to admire the man’s nerve; he was behaving as if he were an invited guest. His nonchalance had no effect on Selim and Daoud, who stood over him like prison guards. Emerson’s scowl grew even darker.
“So was the—er—young lady, I presume. How is she, Ramses?”
“Just tired and thirsty, I think. Nefret is looking after her.”
“Very well, Newbold, start talking,” Emerson said. “You can rest after you’ve told us what you are doing here. It will probably be a pack of lies, but I believe I can winnow the truth out of it.”
“There’s no point in trying to lie about why I’m here,” Newbold said coolly. “I’ve been on your trail ever since Cairo, where I heard a number of things that made me believe you were after something more lucrative than a wrecked archaeological site. Your sudden departure from the train at Abu Hamed caught me unawares—but it also confirmed my suspicions. You wouldn’t have lied about your destination if your purpose had been what you claimed.” His voice had grown hoarse. “Mrs. Emerson, may I trouble you for another sip of water?”
Face grim, she provided it. “Go on, Mr. Newbold.”
“We left the train at Berber and hired camels and drivers. You had left Nuri by the time we arrived there, but the obliging villagers told me which way you’d gone, and it wasn’t difficult to follow your trail, since you were only a few hours ahead. Then we ran into the trouble I mentioned—a band of raiders. They killed my men—shot some of them in cold blood after they had surrendered. Their camp is a day’s ride to the southwest—there’s a well, which they keep cleared.”
Again his voice failed. He took another sip of water. “They intended to hold me and Daria for ransom, or so they said. I thought it wiser not to take that for granted. Early yesterday morning, several hours before dawn, most of the men rode away, and I saw my chance. Stole back one of my camels and Daria, and made my escape.”
“Daring escape, don’t you mean?” Emerson inquired. “Why didn’t you head back to the river instead of trying to locate us—a needle in a haystack, so to speak?”
Newbold looked back at him without expression. “Followed the raiders’ trail, I suppose,” said Emerson. “Lucky you were able to elude them when they were on their way back, eh? Oh, the devil with it. Find him a blanket and a bit of shade, Daoud, and stand guard over him until I relieve you.”
Already the sun was high enough to make the ground shimmer. Ramses heard his mother humming to herself. The melody was one of her favorite Gilbert and Sullivan songs: “Here’s a state of things—here’s a pretty mess.”
“You’ve got that right, Mother,” he said. “What shall we do with the bastard?”
“Tie him up and leave him here,” Selim said promptly. “We can make the knots so he can free himself after we have gone, and we will leave one of the camels and enough water for him to reach the Nile.”
“The girl too?” Ramses inquired.
His mother gave him a look of mild surprise, and he realized she had been about to ask the same question. She hadn’t expected him to make it first. Neither had he. To cover his confusion he took out a cigarette. It was an indulgence he seldom permitted himself, since his supply was limited, and smoking dried the throat.
“I fear that idea is not feasible, Selim,” Emerson said, filling his pipe. “In addition to the objection Ramses has raised, supposing he wasn’t able to free himself? He would die horribly and slowly of dehydration. Much as I despise the fellow, I don’t want his death on my hands. And if he were able to free himself soon enough, he would be right back on our trail.” He shook his head regretfully. “I can only think of two alternatives. Either we take them along