He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [62]
“She had a spare key, of course,” said Emerson, while I was trying to think of a way of evading the question. “You might have known she would. Now then, my boy, lie down and rest.”
He put the tray on a table and David offered Ramses a supporting arm. Ramses waved it away. “I’m all right. David, we’ll get you something to eat after Fatima has gone to bed. Where—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” I exclaimed irritably. “At least sit down, if you won’t lie down, and stop trying to distract me. I have a great many questions for all of you.”
“I’m sure you do,” Ramses said. He lowered himself carefully into an armchair. “Where is—ah, there you are.”
This remark was directed at the cat, who entered the room by way of the window. After giving his boots a thorough inspection she jumped onto the arm of the chair and settled down, paws folded under her chest.
“She’s been keeping watch on the balcony,” David said seriously. “But she must have thought I looked hungry, because she brought me a nice fat rat about an hour ago.”
I glanced involuntarily round the room, and David laughed. “Don’t worry, Aunt Amelia, I got rid of it. Tactfully, of course. Where is Nefret?”
“Gone out for the evening. I only wish to goodness I knew where, and with whom.” The boys exchanged glances, and I said, “Do you know?”
“No,” Ramses said.
“Leave that for now,” Emerson ordered. He had poured coffee for us; David brought a cup to me and one to Ramses, and Emerson went on, “David has told me—and you too, I presume, Peabody—about the scheme to supply arms to Wardani’s revolutionaries. There is no need to emphasize the seriousness of the matter. Your plan to prevent it was well worked out. What I want to know is: first, how many more deliveries are planned; second, how much progress have you made in discovering how the weapons are brought into Cairo; and third, what went wrong last night.”
“Well reasoned, Emerson,” I said approvingly. “I would only add—”
“Excuse me, Mother, but I think that is quite enough to start with,” Ramses said. “To take Father’s questions in order: There are two more deliveries scheduled, but I haven’t yet been informed of the dates. By the end of January we will have stockpiled over a thousand rifles and a hundred Luger pistols, with ample ammunition for both. The Lugers are the 08 model, with an eight-shot magazine.”
“Good Lord,” Emerson muttered. “Yes, but how many of your—er—Wardani’s ragtag army know how to use a firearm?”
“It doesn’t require much practice to throw a grenade into a crowd,” David said soberly. “And some of the rank and file are former army.”
“As for your second question,” Ramses went on, “unfortunately the answer is: not much. Last night’s delivery point was east of the city, in an abandoned village on the outskirts of Kubbeh. The fellow in charge is a Turk who is approximately as trustworthy as a pariah dog, so I made a point of checking the inventory. He didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it except call me rude names.”
“Was it he who shot you?” Emerson asked.
“I don’t know. It may have been. Farouk—one of my lieutenants—is another candidate. He’s an ambitious little rascal. It happened just after I left them; they were supposed to take the weapons on to Cairo. . . .” He picked up his cup. The coffee spilled over, and he quickly replaced it in the saucer. Emerson took his pipe from his mouth.
“Do you want to rest awhile? This can wait.”
“No, it can’t.” Ramses rubbed his eyes. “David needs to know this, and so do you. In case . . .”
“David, there is a bottle of brandy in that cupboard,” I said. “Go on, Ramses.”
“Yes, all right. Where had I got to?”
He sounded drowsy and bewildered, like a lost child. I couldn’t stand it