Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [47]
“No, Mr. Nemo, you are not,” I said.
His lips twisted. “How do you propose to stop me?”
“By force, if necessary.” I leaned against the wall and folded my arms. “A shout from me would bring ten sturdy men who are sworn to obey my slightest command. I do not include Emerson, since, although his strength and devotion exceed all the others, he is rather disoriented when he is suddenly roused from sleep, and you might well elude him before he gets his wits in order. I doubt, however, that you could fight off Abdullah and his sons. No,” I went on calmly, as he took a step toward me, his fists clenched. “Don’t try to intimidate me, for I know you are incapable of laying violent hands on a woman.
“You are not leaving my employ, Mr. Nemo. What—do you suppose that, having once placed my shoulder to the wheel and my nose to the grindstone, I will leave the furrow unplowed? I have sworn to redeem you and redeem you I will, with your cooperation or without it. In principle, I am in full sympathy with the right of every Englishman—or woman—or, come to that, any man or woman of any nation . . . What was I about to say?”
Nemo’s frown had been replaced by a blank, almost imbecile stare. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” he mumbled.
“Oh, yes. I believe firmly in the right of the individual to seek or leave employment whenever he or she chooses. Any infringement of that choice constitutes serfdom, and liberty is the inalienable right of humankind. However, in this case your right to liberty must be laid aside temporarily in favor of a higher good.
“Having made that plain, Mr. Nemo, I will proceed to the next point. Pay close attention, if you please. My determination to lift you out of the gutter was reinforced last night when I discovered you in the loathsome clutches of the devil’s weed. It is not what you think,” I went on, more gently, as he turned his head away, a flush of shame mantling his bristled cheeks. “That discovery proved to me that I had been mistaken in another, more important assumption. I am not often mistaken. In this case there was some excuse for me, since the circumstances were suspicious in the extreme.
“I knew full well that the man whose confederate I suspected you of being would never choose as a trusted aide any man whose loyalty or efficiency could be weakened by opium. You had said you were addicted, but in fact I had never seen you indulging in drugs. It makes a neat syllogism, you see. You are, as I know firsthand, a user of drugs. The Master Criminal does not admit drug addicts into his inner circle. (I make that assumption because only a fool would commit that error, and the Master Criminal is not a fool.) Therefore you are not—”
“The—who?” Nemo stammered.
“The Master Criminal. The mysterious individual who controls the illicit antiquities trade in Egypt. Don’t tell me that during your sojourn in the underworld of Cairo you never heard of him.”
“A beggar and drug addict is not taken into the confidence of a professional criminal,” Nemo said thoughtfully. “But what you say is true; there is such a man. I have heard rumors of him. It was—er—the name you used that surprised me. I certainly never heard him called that.”
“He has a name, then? What is it?”
“He has no name, only a variety of appellations. Those in his employ, I believe, refer to him as the Master. To others, less intimately associated with him, he is known as Sethos.”
“Sethos! A curious name. You know nothing more?”
Nemo shook his head. “The men who work for the Master are the cream of the criminal crop. To be chosen by him is a mark of honor. Even those who are not in his employ are in deadly terror of him, and it is said that his revenge on a traitor is swift