He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [154]
“We need to keep up our strength.”
“Yes, of course. I am frightfully thirsty too. Can we trust the water, do you think?”
The change in her was astonishing. She had exerted her will, under the dominance of an even stronger will, and was now an ally on whom I could depend.
“I believe we can. As you see, he has left a little note.”
It read, “You probably won’t believe me, Amelia dear, but the water is not drugged. Neither are the cucumber sandwiches.”
I handed it to Nefret, who actually laughed when she read it. “He is an amazing individual. Did he . . . If you don’t mind my asking . . .”
“He did not.”
“Oh. He did kiss you, though? When he told me to turn my back?”
I did not reply. Nefret took a sandwich. “He kissed me on the brow,” she muttered. “As if I were a child! He is strong, isn’t he? And tall, and—”
“He is a spy and a traitor,” I said. “We must stop him before he leaves Cairo. If you have fully recovered, Nefret, let us get to work.”
We had a sandwich or two (they were very good, though the bread was beginning to go stale) and a sip of water, before exploring the chamber more intensively than I had done earlier. Nefret tore the place to pieces, in fact, flinging mattress and cushions onto the floor, overturning chairs and, at last, repeatedly dashing a small brass table against the wall until it broke apart. Selecting one of the metal supports, she went to the shutters and began prying at them. Her actions were vigorous but controlled; she appeared to be in a much calmer frame of mind than she had been earlier—calmer than my own. Her statement that Ramses and Emerson had not returned by the time she left had frightened me more than I dared admit even to myself. Emerson was easily distracted by ruins, but Sethos’s claim that he had known of their purpose aroused the direst of forebodings.
Nefret’s efforts succeeded at last. She let out a cry of triumph. One of the shutters had given way. I hurried to her side as she flung it back and leaned out the window.
It did not open onto the Sharia Suleiman Pasha, but onto a narrower street that had not so much traffic. However, our cries finally attracted attention; a turbaned porter, bent under a load of pots and pans, stopped and looked up. I addressed him in emphatic Arabic. When I told him what I wanted, he demanded money before he would stir a step, and we dickered for a bit before I persuaded him to accept an even larger payment upon the completion of his errand. He was gone some time, and Nefret was knotting the satin sheets into a rope when he finally returned, accompanied by a uniformed constable.
There are advantages to being notorious. As soon as I identified myself to the constable, he was ready to obey my commands. However, by the time our rescuers began banging on the door of the flat I was almost ready to take my chances with Nefret’s rope.
My cries of encouragement and impatience directed them to the bedchamber. They got that door open too, and I rushed out, searching the faces of the men who had entered the sitting room. One of them was familiar—but alas, it was not the face I had hoped to see. Mr. Assistant Commissioner Thomas Russell was in evening kit, and this annoyed me to an excessive degree. I seized him by his lapels.
“Enjoying an evening out?” I demanded. “While others risk life and the appearance of . . . Curse it, Russell, while you were lollygagging about, the Master Criminal has escaped! And where is my husband?”
Russell kept his head, which was, I admit, rather commendable of him under the circumstances. He pushed me back into the bedchamber and closed the door.
“For the love of Heaven, Mrs. Emerson, don’t tell your business to every police officer in Cairo! What is all this about master criminals?”
“He is the Count de Sevigny. Sethos is the Count. The Master Criminal is Sethos.”
“Allow me to get you some brandy, Mrs. Emerson.”
“I don’t want brandy, I want you to go after Sethos! He is probably in Alexandria or Tripoli by now—or Damascus—or Khartoum—it would not surprise me to learn that he knows how