He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [180]
He had to wait until they were on their way to Giza before he had a chance to speak with his mother alone. His father had gone on ahead with Nefret, and Ramses held Risha to the plodding pace of his mother’s mare.
“I know where he’s hidden them,” he said without preamble.
“It was the man you suspected?”
“Yes. He was only trying to be helpful! A feeble excuse, but he wasn’t in a state to think clearly.”
His mother was. She was blind as a mole about some things, but every now and then she hit the nail square on the head. “The Turks are communicating directly with him. They must be, or he wouldn’t have known where the cache was located. You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“No. You’re right, of course. They know where he lives, too. The message was pushed under his door.”
“They’re having doubts of you—of Wardani.”
“They always have had. Now that they’ve lost their agent, they are trying to undermine my control another way. I doubt it means anything more than that. Time is running out for them. I collected another little missive this morning.”
She held out her hand. Ramses couldn’t help smiling. “I destroyed it. It said, ‘Be ready. Within two days.’ ”
“Then you can confiscate the weapons and put an end to this. Now, today.” She yanked on the reins.
Ramses halted Risha and reached for her hand, loosening her clenched fingers. In her present mood she was quite capable of galloping straight to Russell’s office and yelling orders at him across the desk.
“Leave it to me, Mother. Russell is waiting for word; as soon as he gets it, he’ll act. It’s all been worked out. The worst is over; don’t lose your head now.”
“I have your promise?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” They started forward. After a moment he heard a loud sniff and a muffled, “I apologize.”
“It’s all right, Mother. Oh, damnation, are you crying? What did I say?”
There were only two tears, after all. She wiped them away with her fingers and squared her shoulders. “Hurry on, your father will be waxing impatient.”
Ramses gave his father the same information shortly afterwards, while they were measuring the outer dimensions of the second burial shaft. He didn’t get off quite as easily this time. Emerson wanted to know where Rashad had put the guns, and how Ramses meant to inform Russell, and a number of other things that he was probably entitled to know. Just in case.
Having been gracious enough to approve the arrangements, Emerson turned his attention to excavation. Ramses didn’t doubt his father fully intended to round up a few revolutionaries himself, and was looking forward to it, but he had a scholar’s ability to concentrate on the task at hand.
“We may as well see what’s there,” he announced, indicating the opening of the shaft. “Get back to work on your walls, my boy, I will start the men here.”
“Selim is down there helping Nefret take photographs. They don’t need me.”
“Oh?” Emerson gave him an odd look. “As you like.”
He didn’t want to go near Nefret. It would be like showing a hungry child a table loaded with sweets and telling him he must wait until after supper. In a few days, perhaps a few hours, he could confess, beg her forgiveness, and ask her again to marry him. And if she said no he would follow his mother’s advice. The idea was so alluring it dizzied him.
They didn’t put in a full day’s work after all. His mother dragged them back to the house for an early luncheon, pointing out that it would be rude to ignore their guests. Emerson had to agree, though he hated to tear himself away; as the shaft deepened, they began to find scraps of broken pottery and, finally, a collection of small model offering vessels.
The Vandergelts had planned to spend that day and night with them, to enjoy what his mother called “the too-long-delayed pleasures of social intercourse with our dearest friends.” She’d enjoy it, at any rate, and Lord knew she