Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [105]
“Damnation, that’s right. I forgot about her.”
However, she was waiting when they reached the dock. Jamil was nowhere to be seen. When Ramses asked for him, his sister shrugged slim shoulders. “In the coffee shop, where do you think? I told him to come but he would not. Shall I go now and tell him again?”
“I’ll fetch him,” Ramses said. The length of his stride and his formidable scowl told Nefret that the unfortunate Jamil was in for a lecture. It wasn’t really fair, since they had not told him when they would return, but they would not have had to go searching for Selim or Daoud or any of their other men. Nefret turned to the girl, who was sitting on the edge of the dock. “Did you have something to eat?” she asked.
“Yes. They gave me food at the school.”
The brief answer and the downcast eyes were so unlike her that Nefret asked, “Is something wrong?”
“They would not let me have a book!” She raised an indignant face. “I wanted to read about the God’s Wives. I would have taken care of it.”
Nefret sat down and put her arm round Jumana’s shoulders. “I have books you can borrow.”
“Do you? Will you? I will wrap them in cloth and take veeery good care of them!”
The child’s face was radiant. She was no child, though; in Egyptian terms she was a grown woman and ripe for marriage, and with a face like hers she probably had dozens of suitors panting after her. It would be a crime to let enthusiasm and intelligence like that be lost to a traditional marriage, though. The girl deserved a chance—and I haven’t done much to help her, Nefret thought guiltily. Lending books was the least she could do. That pitiful stub of a pencil and tattered notebook—why hadn’t she thought of supplying something better?
When Ramses came back, Jamil was trotting at his heels, mumbling excuses and looking more resentful than chastened. He took them across to the dahabeeyah, and Nefret made them all wait while she put together a parcel for Jumana: the first volume of Emerson’s classic History of Ancient Egypt, pencils and pens and a bottle of ink, a pristine book of blank paper. With that treasure clasped to her bosom, Jumana did not object to being dismissed for the day. They mounted the horses that had been left in Ashraf’s care, and headed toward the western cliffs. Jumana left them at the point where the track divided. Her face shone.
“First time I’ve seen her struck dumb,” Ramses said. “That was a nice thought, dear.”
“I didn’t do it to be nice.”
“So you say. My God, she’s a beautiful little creature. If she ever looks at a man like that—”
“If she ever looks at you like that—”
“She probably thinks I’m as old as Methuselah,” Ramses said wryly.
“You aren’t as old as the man Yusuf will select for her. No young man could pay the bride price he will ask. I won’t let that happen, Ramses.”
He didn’t ask what she meant to do to prevent it. She’d manage it somehow. Her jaw was set. He took her hand. “She’ll get her chance, I promise.”
“I thought Mr. Lansing said the tomb was behind the Ptolemaic temple,” Nefret said, when they reached the Asasif.
“He was mistaken. Kuentz said it’s closer to Deir el Bahri. The easiest approach is by way of Hatshepsut’s causeway.”
It was after three o’clock. The sun was in their eyes when they headed west, and heat rose from the baked bare ground. There were few people about; the tourists had retreated to their hotels, the guards were napping in the shade, and like all sensible excavators (except Emerson), Lansing had stopped for the day. The site was not completely deserted, however; as they passed, a man stood up and ran toward them, his arms waving wildly.
“It’s Mr. Barton,” Nefret said, bringing the mare to a halt. “I wonder what he wants.”
“Another look at you, I expect.”
“Don’t be absurd. He reminds one of Don Quixote, doesn’t he, or perhaps one of the windmills . . . Good afternoon, Mr. Barton.”
Barton rocked to a stop. “Good afternoon. Are you looking for me—us—Lansing?”
His eyes were fixed on Nefret, like those of a dog who is hoping for a pat on the head, so Ramses left it to her to answer