He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [116]
“It still seems to me—”
“One more thing.” Ramses fixed intent black eyes on me. His face was very grave. “We are counting on you to keep Nefret out of this. She will want to go with us, and she mustn’t. If she were present, Father would be worrying about her instead of thinking of his own safety.”
“And so would you,” I said.
Emerson had listened without attempting to interrupt; now he glanced at his son, and said, “Ramses is right. In all fairness I must point out that he acted as impulsively as Nefret, and he was lucky to get away with only a knock on the head.”
Ramses’s high cheekbones darkened. “All right, it was stupid of me! But if she had let me enter that room first, you can be damned sure Farouk would never have laid a hand on her. I’d probably do something equally stupid if he threatened her again, and so would you, Father. Supposing there is a scrap—wouldn’t she wade right in, trying to help us, and wouldn’t you fall over your own feet trying to get her out of it?”
“I have heard of such things happening,” said Emerson. He looked at me. “No doubt you will accuse us of being patronizing and overly protective—”
“I do. You are. You always have been. But . . .”
Emerson heard the note of hesitation in my voice, and for once he had the good sense to keep quiet. His blue eyes were steady, his lean brown face resolute. I looked from him to Ramses, whose unruly black hair curled over his temples and whose well-cut features were so like his father’s. They were very dear to me. Would I put them at even greater risk by insisting on playing my part in the night’s adventure?
I was forced to admit that I might. I was also forced to admit that Ramses’s analysis of Nefret’s character was not entirely inaccurate. Initially it had struck me as being unjust and prejudiced; but I had had time to think about it, and incident after confirmatory incident came back to me. Some of her early escapades might be excused as the result of youthful overconfidence, such as the time she had deliberately allowed herself to be captured by one of our most vindictive opponents, in the hope of rescuing her brother; but maturity had not changed her very much. She had been a full-grown woman when she entered a Luxor bordello and tried to persuade the girls to leave. Then there was the time she had blackmailed Ramses into letting her go with him and David into one of the vilest parts of Cairo in order to retrieve a stolen antiquity—and the time she had single-handedly attacked a thief armed with a knife . . . The list went on and on. Emerson’s description of Ramses might equally have been applied to Nefret; she was as brave as a lion and as cunning as a cat, and as stubborn as a camel, and when her passions were aroused she was as quick to strike as a snake. Even her hasty, ill-advised marriage . . .
“Very well,” I said. “I still think you are being a trifle unjust to Nefret; she’s got you and David out of a few nasty situations, you know.”
“I know what I owe her,” Ramses said quietly.
“However,” I continued, “I agree to your proposal—not because I believe she cannot be trusted to behave sensibly but because I know you and your father cannot.”
Ramses’s tight lips relaxed. “Fair enough.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson.
We scattered to our various tasks.
It was after midday when Nefret turned up. I had been sifting a particularly unproductive lot of rubble for several hours, and was not unwilling to be interrupted. I rose to my feet and stretched. She had changed to her working clothes and I could tell by her brisk stride that she was in a happier state of mind than she had been that morning. She was carrying a covered basket, which she lowered to the ground beside me.
“Not more food?” I exclaimed. “We brought a luncheon basket.”
“You know Fatima,” Nefret said. “She thinks none of us eat enough. While I was bathing and changing she made kunafeh especially for Ramses; she says he is all bones and skin, and needs to be fattened. Where is he? If he balks, we