He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [131]
“Have you no poetry in your soul?” he inquired.
“Not at the moment.” David pulled himself to a sitting position. “I heard.”
“I feared you would.” He told David what had happened, or failed to happen, the night before. “How they got wind of his intentions I don’t know, unless he tried to blackmail them.”
David nodded. “So that’s the end of that. What do we do now?”
“Back to the original plan. What else can we do?”
There was no answer from David, who was leaning forward, his head bowed.
“I’m sorry,” Ramses said. He decided they could risk speaking English; the narrator’s voice was sonorous and no one was paying attention to them.
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Never mind the compliments. There’s one thing we haven’t tried.”
“Trailing the Turk?”
“Yes. The first time I encountered him I was—er—prevented from doing so. The second time, you were prevented by your concern for me. There will be at least one more opportunity, and this time we’ll have to do more than follow him. As you cogently pointed out, we need to learn not where he’s going but where he came from. He’s only a hired driver and he is probably amenable to bribery or persuasion. But that means we’ll have to take him alive, which won’t be easy.”
“The Professor would be delighted to lend a hand,” David murmured. “Are you going to let him in on it?”
“Not if I can help it. You and I can manage him.”
“One more delivery.”
“So I was told. It has to be soon, you know. At least Farouk is out of the picture. If they try to replace him we’ll know who the spy is.”
“Are you trying to cheer me up?”
“Apparently I’m not succeeding.”
“One can’t help wondering,” David said evenly, “what he told them. The kurbash is a potent inducement to confession.”
“What could he tell them, except that the great and powerful Father of Curses had tried to bribe him? He didn’t know about you or—or the rest of it.”
“He knew about the house in Maadi.”
Ramses swore under his breath. It had been a forlorn hope, that David’s quick mind would overlook that interesting fact—a fact whose significance had apparently eluded his father. Not that one could ever be sure, with Emerson . . .
“Listen to me,” he said urgently. “Father’s private arrangement with Farouk was a diversion that had nothing to do with our purpose. We didn’t sign on to smash a spy apparatus, we’re only trying to prevent an ugly little revolution. If we can do that and come out of it with whole skins, we’ll be damned lucky. I refuse to get involved in anything else. They can’t expect it of us.”
“You had better lower your voice.”
Ramses took a long, steadying breath. “And you had better go. I meant what I said, David.”
“Of course.” David rose and moved noiselessly toward the doorway. Then he pulled back with a muffled exclamation.
Ramses joined him and looked out. There was no mistaking the massive form that occupied a seat of honor in the center of the audience. Emerson was smoking his pipe and listening attentively.
“What’s he doing here?” David whispered.
“Playing nursemaid,” Ramses muttered. “I wish he wouldn’t treat me like—”
“You did the same for him last night.”
“Oh.”
David let out a soundless breath of laughter. “He’s saved me the trouble of following you home. Till tomorrow.”
Bowing his head to conceal his height, he began working his way slowly through the men who stood nearby. Ramses moved forward a step and leaned against the wooden frame, as if he had been standing there all along.
He knew his father had seen him. Emerson had probably spotted David too, but he made no move to intercept him. He waited politely until the wail of the viol indicated the end of another chapter, and then rose and went to meet Ramses. They took their leave of the other patrons and started on the homeward path.
“Anything new?” Emerson inquired.
“No. There was no need for you to come after me.”
Emerson ignored this churlish remark, but he did change the subject. “I’m worried about your