He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [202]
“Nefret, don’t. He cannot—”
“He can. He must. David!”
His eyelids lifted. Pain and weakness and the effects of the injection she had given him dulled his eyes—but not for long. His gaze focused on her face. “Nefret. Go after him. They—”
“I know. Where?”
“Palace.” His voice was so faint I could scarcely make out the word. “Ruin. On the road to . . .”
“Yes, all right, I’ve got it. Don’t talk anymore.”
“Hurry. Took me . . . too long . . .”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll get him back.”
He did not hear. His eyes were closed and his head rested heavy in her hands. Nefret kissed his white lips and rose. She looked as if she had been in a slaughterhouse, skirts dripping, hands wet, face streaked with blood—but not with tears. Her eyes were dry, and as hard as turquoise.
“I’m going with you,” I said.
She looked me over, coolly appraising, as she would have inspected a weapon to make certain it was functional. “Yes. Change. Riding kit.”
Leaving Fatima with David, we hastened up the stairs. “Will he live?” I asked.
“David? I think so.” She went into her room.
I exchanged my tea gown for trousers and boots and shirt and buckled on my belt of tools. Nefret seemed to know where we were going. How, I wondered? David had not given us precise directions. I felt torn apart leaving him, even though he was in good hands. How much harder had it been for Nefret, who loved him like a brother and who had the medical skill he needed? There was only one thing on her mind now, however; I did not doubt she would have passed my bleeding form without a second glance if she had to make the choice.
When I hastened to her room I found her lacing her boots. “Not your belt, Aunt Amelia,” she said, without looking up. “It makes too much noise.”
“Very well,” I said meekly, and distributed various useful articles about my person. “Shouldn’t we try to reach Emerson?”
“Write him a note. Tell him where we have gone.”
“But I don’t know—”
“I’ll do it.” She rose and snatched a sheet of writing paper from the desk. “Send Ali or Yussuf after him. Russell’s headquarters first. If he isn’t there, they must track him down. I’ll make a copy and leave it with Fatima in case the Professor comes back here before they find him.”
She had thought of everything. I had seen her in this state before, and knew she would hold up until she had accomplished her aim . . . or had seen it fail. A shiver ran through my frame. What in God’s name would become of her if she were unable to save him?
What would become of me, and his father?
We paused in the drawing room long enough to give Fatima her final instructions. David lay where we had left him, covered with blankets and so still my heart skipped a beat. Nefret bent over him and took his pulse.
“Holding steady,” she said coolly.
“I have sent for Daoud and Kadija,” Fatima whispered. “I hope I did right.”
“Exactly right. She has a healer’s hands, and Daoud is always a tower of strength. Don’t forget, Fatima, if the Professor rings instead of coming, read him that note.”
“Yes.” She smiled a little. “It was good that I learned to read, Nur Misur.”
Nefret hugged her. “Take care of him. Come, Aunt Amelia.”
The horses were ready—Nefret’s Moonlight, and another of the Arabs. As Nefret swung herself into the saddle I said urgently, “Shan’t we take some of the men? Daoud will be here soon, and Ali is—”
“No.” She had taken the reins in her hands and was so anxious to be off she was quivering like a hound at the traces; but she spared enough time to explain. “He’s not dead—not yet—I would know—but if the place were to be attacked openly, they would kill him at once. We must get into the house without being discovered, and find him before help arrives—if it does.”
“And if it does not,” I said, “we will do the job ourselves!”
I had heard of the place but I could never have found it without a guide, nor indeed would I have had any reason to seek