He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [191]
“I don’t know.” Emerson stroked his chin reflectively. “We cannot assume it will coincide with the hour of the uprising. They may want their little insurrection to get underway before they strike at the Canal. If it’s bloody enough, it will tie down the troops stationed in Cairo and perhaps necessitate sending reinforcements from the Canal defenses. Oh, the devil with it, Peabody! There won’t be an insurrection, and if those idiots on the staff don’t know an attack is imminent they haven’t been paying attention.”
“If you say so, my dear.”
“Hmph.”
“Your turn now. What was it you wanted to tell me?”
He replied with a question. “When is Lia’s child due?”
“March. Unless grief and worry induce premature birth.”
“You’d like to be with her, wouldn’t you? And with Evelyn.”
“Of course.”
“They say the steamers are fully booked, but I have some influence. We will sail early next week.”
“Emerson! Do you mean—”
“Well, curse it, Peabody, I want to be with them too. I want Ramses out of Egypt for a while. And I want to see the look on Lia’s face when David walks in the door.”
“You would actually close down the dig?”
“Er, hmph. I thought I might return for a brief season at the end of March. No need for you to come with me if you don’t want to.”
“Stop for a moment, Emerson.”
Embraces between two persons mounted on horseback are not as romantic as they sound. We managed it nicely, though. After Emerson had returned me to my saddle, I said, “You mean David to go with us next week. Can it be done, Emerson?”
“It will be done.” Emerson’s jaw was set. “Since I am not to be allowed to arrest revolutionaries, I will call on Maxwell this afternoon and order—er—request him to start the legal proceedings. David will need official clearance and papers.”
“But in the meantime, is there any reason why he cannot be here with us? Ramses saw him last night and told him about Johnny. He will be in deep distress. We could keep him hidden and feed and comfort him. Fatima wouldn’t breathe a word.”
“You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” Emerson grinned at me. “Let me hear what Maxwell has to say. If he won’t cooperate we will do it your way, and smuggle David out of the country in a packing case labeled ‘pottery sherds.’ ”
“Or disguised as Selim, with Selim’s papers,” I mused. “A packing case would be very uncomfortable. Selim could then go into hiding until—”
“Control your rampageous imagination, Peabody,” Emerson said fondly. “For the time being, at any rate. One way or another it will be done.”
A ray of sunlight touched his resolute smiling face. The sky was clearing. I hoped that could be regarded as another omen.
Our efforts to distract ourselves with work failed miserably. Not even Emerson could concentrate, and Nefret and Ramses got into a violent argument about one of the photographs she had taken of the false door.
“The lighting’s all wrong,” Ramses insisted. “What were you thinking of? I need more shadow. The lower part of the left-hand inscription—”
“Do it yourself then!”
“I will!”
“No, you won’t. Give me that camera!”
I was about to intervene when Nefret let loose her hold on the camera and passed a trembling hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t think I am in a fit state to work today.”
“It is quite understandable, my dear,” I said soothingly. “Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all. I will tell Emerson we had better stop.”
Fatima had prepared a large lunch, which no one ate much of. We were still at table when she brought in the post. She handed it to Emerson, who distributed the various messages. As usual, the bulk of them were for Nefret. She sorted rapidly through them, and then excused herself.
Her desire for privacy was suspicious. I followed her.
So had Fatima. As I approached I heard her say, “Do you know now, Nur Misur, whether you will be here for dinner?”
“Yes,” Nefret said abstractedly. “Yes, it appears that I will be here after all.”
She had opened one of the envelopes and was holding a sheet of paper. She started