Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [132]
Nefret soon joined them, carrying her medical bag. She hadn’t taken the time to change, and her filmy frock contrasted oddly with her brisk, professional manner. “Get some water,” she ordered. “Margaret, sit over there and keep out of the way.”
When Ramses came back from the bathroom she looked up. “Temperature a hundred and three, pulse rapid. Lift him up, Ramses, and let’s see if we can get these pills down him.”
“What are they?” Margaret asked.
“Quinine. I think he’s got malaria.”
“You think? Can’t you tell?”
“Oh, certainly,” Nefret said sarcastically. “Just give me a microscope and a few slides and the chemicals to fix them, and I’ll give you a firm diagnosis—assuming I can remember from my lectures on tropical medicine what the bloody parasite looks like. Damn it, he’s dribbling into his beard. Hang on a minute.”
She got her fingers under one corner of the beard and ripped it off with ruthless efficiency. Her patient reacted with a querulous mutter and a louder comment. “Damned women.”
“Open your mouth,” Nefret ordered. “Now swallow. Well done! He can lie back now, Ramses.”
Ramses lowered him down onto the pillow. With those curiously colored eyes closed and the mocking mouth relaxed, the resemblance to his brother was even stronger.
“That’s all we can do now,” Nefret said. “Except make him comfortable. When the fever breaks he’ll start to sweat and then he’ll sleep till morning.”
“And then?” Margaret demanded.
“Then he’ll feel reasonably well and we’ll have to keep him here, by force if necessary, because if it is the commonest form of malaria the apyrexia will only last for a few hours. The next paroxysm will hit tomorrow—the same pattern, chills and fever. In other forms of the disease the interval is forty-eight hours or seventy-two.”
“You keep quinine on hand?”
“Yes. Thanks to Mother, we have a well-stocked medicine chest, including laudanum and arsenic.” Margaret’s expression seemed to amuse her. She went on, “Some researchers believe that prophylactic doses of arsenic prevent malaria. I don’t. He’ll get a grain of quinine three times a day for three days, and half a grain for another five days. Have I convinced you that I know what I’m talking about, Margaret, or would you care to question me further?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Never mind.” Nefret inspected her. “Ramses, take her to the saloon and give her a glass of brandy.”
“I want to stay here with—”
“You can relieve me later. Do as I say.”
“What about Nasir?” Ramses asked.
“I sent him to bed. You’ll have to wait on yourselves. Now get out of here, both of you.”
She wrung out a cloth and began wiping away the perspiration that was now running freely down Sethos’s face. Margaret accepted Ramses’s hand and let him lead her out.
“Your wife is a remarkable woman,” she said. “I had underestimated her. People do, don’t they? She’s so young and pretty.”
“They seldom make that mistake twice.”
The lamps in the saloon were still lit. He settled Margaret onto the divan and got out the brandy. He had intended to question her, but when he got his first good look at her he decided he had better give her a little time to recover. Her face was streaked with dirt and pinched with strain, and her stockings were in shreds. She wasn’t wearing a coat. The once white shirtwaist was the color of mud.
“Were you hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head. A few sips of brandy brought some of the color back to her face. “I suppose you want to know what happened.”
“Well, yes, I do. Take your time.”
“But not too much time?” Her mouth curved and widened. “I won’t lie or equivocate. Just tell me one thing before I begin. You knew he was still alive, didn’t you? You weren’t surprised, or uncertain as to his identity.”
“Yes.” After a moment he added, “Mother doesn’t know. She told you what she honestly believed to be the truth.”
“Ah.” She leaned back against the cushions. “It would appear I did her an injustice. I hope you won’t think me rude if I say that I think your mother capable of lying if it would serve her ends.”
“Wouldn’t most people?