He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [146]
“I see someone is,” he said coolly. “Better switch that off, old boy. The fellow who was firing at you has probably taken to his heels, but one ought not take chances.”
Emerson was on his feet. Injured, sick, or half-dead, he could move as silently as a snake, and he had obviously not been asleep.
“Looking for us, were you?” he inquired.
“Yes, sir. You are Professor Emerson? One of the Camel Corps chaps heard gunfire earlier and since you had not turned up, some of us went out looking for you.”
“You aren’t alone?”
“Three of my lads are waiting for me at the mouth of the wadi, where I left my horse. A spot of scouting seemed to be in order. Is your son with you?”
Pressed against the wall, Ramses held himself still. He could see the man’s insignia now—a lieutenant’s paired stars and the patch of the Lancashire Forty-second. His hands were empty and the holster at his belt was fastened. The impersonation was almost perfect—but it was damned unlikely that the military would send a patrol at this hour of the night to search for mislaid travelers, and although his accent was irreproachable, the intonations were just a bit off. Ramses had to admire the man’s nerve. The ambush had failed and he was hoping to settle the business before daylight brought someone out looking for them.
Emerson was rambling on, asking questions and answering them, like a man whose tongue has been loosened by relief. He kept the torch pointed straight at the newcomer’s eyes, though, and he had not answered the question about Ramses’s whereabouts.
“Afraid I’ll have to ask the loan of one of your horses,” he said apologetically. “Banged myself up a bit, you see. If you could give me your arm . . .”
For a second or two Ramses thought it was going to work. The officer nodded affably and took a step forward.
The pistol wasn’t in his holster. He had stuck it through his belt, behind his back. Ramses had a quick, unpleasant glimpse of the barrel swinging in his direction, and aimed his own weapon, but before he could fire Emerson dropped the torch and launched himself at the German.
They fell at Ramses’s feet. By some miracle the torch had not gone out; Ramses saw that the slighter man was pinned to the ground by Emerson’s weight, but his arms were free and he was trying to use both of them at once. His fist connected with Emerson’s jaw as Ramses kicked the gun out of his other hand. Emerson let out a yell of pure outrage and reached one-handed for the German’s throat. Ramses swung his foot again and the flailing body went limp.
Emerson sat up, straddling the man’s thighs, and rubbed his jaw.
“Sorry for being so slow, sir,” Ramses said.
Emerson grinned and looked up. “Two good arms between the two of us. Not so bad, eh?”
“You saved my life. Again.”
“I’d say the score was even. I tried to blind him but his night vision must be almost as good as yours. He went for you first because he took me to be unarmed and incapacitated. Now what shall we do with him?”
Ramses lowered himself to a sitting position, wondering if he would ever be able to match his father’s coolness. “Tie him up, I suppose. I’ll be damned if I know what with, though.”
“Yards of good solid cloth in those puttees. Here—I think he’s waking up. Stick that pistol of yours in his ear. He’s a feisty lad, and I’d rather not have to argue with him again.”
It struck Ramses as a good idea, so he complied. Emerson got the torch and positioned it more effectively before he began unwinding the strips of cloth from round the fellow’s legs. Ramses studied the man’s face curiously. It was a hard face, narrow across the forehead and broadening to a heavy jaw and protruding chin, but the mouth, relaxed in unconsciousness, was almost delicate in outline. He was younger than he had appeared. Hair, mustache, and scanty brows were fair, bleached almost to whiteness by the sun. His lips moved, and his eyes opened. They were blue.
“Sind Sie ruhig,” Ramses said. “Rühren Sie sich und ich schiesse. Verstehen Sie?”
“I understand.”
“You prefer English?” inquired Emerson, wrapping strips