Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [107]
A louder, deeper sound followed, drowning out her voice, but he had already reacted, flinging himself to one side, his feet and hands groping for holds. The boulder passed within inches of his right hand, accompanied by a shower of smaller stones, and struck the ground with a force that sent splintered fragments fountaining upward. They rained down on the two bodies huddled against the cliff.
Ramses couldn’t remember how he got down. The rents in the front of his shirt suggested he had slid most of the way. Of the three of them, Nefret had come off best, thanks to Barton’s prompt action. When Ramses reached them, the young man was still holding her, his long arms wrapped tightly around her body and his head bowed over hers. Ramses removed him with rather more force than was necessary and bent over his wife. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and let out a cry of relief.
“Thank God. The last thing I saw was that rock coming straight at you. Help me up.”
“Are you sure you—”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks to Mr. Barton.”
Ramses let go her hands and turned apologetically to Barton.
“I’m frightfully sorry.”
Sprawled on the ground with his arms and legs at odd angles like a four-legged spider, Barton grinned feebly. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t see . . . I should have . . . I was almost too slow. Did I hurt her? I didn’t mean . . .”
“Yes, all right,” Ramses said, interpreting the incoherent comments. Barton had been gaping at Nefret and hadn’t noticed anything amiss until she cried out.
Nefret was on her feet, a little pale but steady. “There was someone up there.” She pointed. “I saw his head and shoulders, and then . . . oh, my God! Look out!”
The figure seemed to float rather than fall, full sleeves and flowing garments billowing gracefully, like the wings of a giant bird, but it hit the ground with a solid and sickening thud. Ramses was not conscious of having moved until a pained grunt from Nefret brought him to the realization that he had pushed her down and was lying on top of her.
“Get up,” she gasped, shoving at him. “Is he dead?”
The body had landed practically at Barton’s feet. It was facedown, and as far as Ramses was concerned it could stay that way. The fellow had to be dead, there was blood spattered all over the ground and on Barton’s boots. He knew his wife wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d made sure, though. She turned the body over.
The face was unrecognizable, a ruin of broken bone and raw flesh. Barton spun round, covering his mouth with his hand, and Ramses patted him absently on the back while he watched Nefret go through the ritual and, in his opinion, unnecessary motions. She looked up at him and shook her head. Her hair was coming down, long strands of gold curling over her shoulders. She’s so beautiful, he thought. Aloud he said gruffly, “Find something to cover his face or Barton will throw up.”
“No. Listen, I am really sorry . . .” The young man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said pathetically, “I never saw a dead person before. Not a fresh one.”
“This one is bad,” Ramses admitted. “Never mind covering him, Nefret, take Barton away from here.”
“Yes, of course.” She slipped her arm through the young man’s. “Don’t be embarrassed, Mr. Barton. I’m a doctor, you know, and we’re used to this sort of thing.”
“So I’ve heard.” Barton managed to summon a feeble smile. “Uh—do you think . . . Do you think you could call me George?”
Ramses waited until “George” and his wife were out of sight before he bent over the body. He had to clean his hands with sand after he had finished.
When he joined Nefret and Barton she was kneeling beside the young man, inspecting him for injuries. Her hair fell over her shoulders, framing a face becomingly flushed with heat and excitement. Her lips were slightly parted and the tip of her tongue