He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [137]
“Now,” he said, reaching for a towel, “I have confided in you. It is your turn. You are up to something, Peabody, I can always tell. What is it?”
I explained my plan. I expected objections. What I got was a whoop of laughter.
“You think the Count is Sethos?”
“I didn’t say that. I said—”
“That he was a highly suspicious character. Most people strike you that way, but never mind. Nefret agreed to this preposterous—er—this interesting scheme?”
I did not return his smile. “Her mind is not at ease, Emerson. I know the signs, and I know Nefret. We cannot take her wholly into our confidence, but we can provide her with a safe outlet for that restless energy of hers.”
“Well, Peabody, you may be right.” Emerson’s broad chest expanded as he heaved a mighty sigh. “It is damned unpleasant, keeping things from Nefret. We will tell her the whole story after it’s over.”
“Of course, my dear. So you agree with my plan?”
“I accept it. I can do no more.”
From Manuscript H
When Ramses got back to the house he found his father alone in the drawing room. Emerson looked up from the paper he was holding. “Well?”
Ramses answered with another question. “Where are Mother and Nefret?”
“Out. You can speak freely. How did it go?”
“No one tried to kill me, which I suppose can be taken as a positive sign.” Ramses loosened his tie and dropped into a chair. “The lads aren’t very happy, though. Asad threw himself into my arms shrieking with relief and the others are demanding action. I had the devil of a time calming them down.”
“They had heard about Farouk?”
“Everybody in Cairo has heard about Farouk, and about his encounter with us.”
“Ah,” said Emerson. “Well, one might have expected that piece of news would get about.”
“Especially after your shouting match with Russell.” Ramses rubbed his forehead. “One of the actions Rashad suggested was assassinating you. He volunteered.”
Emerson chuckled. “I hope you dissuaded him.”
“I hope so too. That’s the trouble with these young firebrands. When they get excited they want to run about the streets attacking people. I bullied them into taking my orders this time, but I don’t know how much longer I can control them.”
“And the last delivery?”
“That’s another disturbing development. Asad picked up the message yesterday. He didn’t know what it said until I deciphered it—the code is pretty primitive, but I’m the only one who has the key. The ‘merchandise’ won’t be delivered directly to us, as before. It will be hidden somewhere and we’ll be told when and where to collect it.”
“Damnation,” Emerson said mildly. “No idea when?”
“No. I had a brief conversation with—” A soft tap at the door warned him to stop speaking. It was Fatima, offering coffee and food. He had to eat a slice of plum cake before she would leave.
“With David?” Emerson asked.
Ramses nodded. “We met on the train platform; he went one way and I the other. There wasn’t much to say.” He finished the slice of cake.
“Where’s Mother got to?”
“Following Nefret,” Emerson said. He chuckled. “In disguise.”
“What!?”
“Would you like a whiskey and soda?”
“No, thank you, sir. I’ve drunk enough over the past few weeks to turn me into a teetotaler, even if most of it did go out the window or into a potted plant.”
“Intoxication is a good excuse for many aberrations,” Emerson agreed. He sipped his own whiskey appreciatively. “As for your mother, she took it into her head to go spy-hunting. She persuaded Nefret to dine with one of her suspects.”
“The Count?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s like Mother to fix on such a theatrically suspicious-looking character. I don’t believe he’s an enemy agent, but I wouldn’t trust him alone with a woman I cared about.”
“They won’t be alone,” Emerson replied. “You don’t suppose your mother will let them out of her sight, do you?”
Ramses’s alarm was replaced by a horrible fascination, of the sort his mother’s activities often inspired in him. “What’s she disguised as?” he asked. A series of bizarre images passed through his mind.
“Well, she borrowed that yellow wig you used to wear, when