Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [186]
“When did it start?” Nefret asked. I reminded myself that she was the doctor, and stepped away as she approached. She made a quick examination and asked a few more questions, and then said, “He’s better. The first stage lasted less than an hour and the fever isn’t as high. I’ll stay with him tonight.”
“No, you will not,” said Sethos, galvanized into speech. “I refuse to go through another session with you and your Hippocratic oath. What the devil is this—a medical consultation, or a council of war, or possibly a social gathering? Do sit down, all of you, and make yourselves comfortable. I’m sure Kadija will serve coffee.”
So much for the brotherly greetings, I thought. The atmosphere was marginally more cordial, however. Emerson’s fists had unclenched and Ramses was smiling.
“I’ll keep Nefret away from you,” he offered. “If you tell us what we want to know.”
“Yes, let’s get down to business,” said Emerson gruffly. “No more beating about the bush. We believe Kuentz is the man we’re after. We intend to follow him until he leads us to the tomb.”
“There’s a simpler way,” Sethos said. “Pass the word that I’m here. He thinks I know the location of the tomb, that’s why he has been so hell-bent on killing me.”
“Ha,” I exclaimed. “I thought so.”
Emerson gave me a forbidding scowl. “Where is the damned tomb, then?”
“I don’t know. That,” said Sethos, with a fair imitation of his infuriating smile, “is what comes of having a reputation for omniscience. ‘The Master knows all.’ But I’ve wondered lately whether he has firmer grounds for his suspicions. He may not be the only one who knows the location. If the original finder was a local man—a man who once worked for me—old loyalties or higher baksheesh might induce him to seek me out.”
“No such devoted former follower has approached you, I take it,” Emerson said.
“There aren’t that many of them left, and the Luxor lads are so bloody confused they run for cover at the very mention of the Master.”
“Then Kuentz—if it is Kuentz—has only three men on whom he can rely,” Ramses said.
“Yes, well, even if it’s true that’s not such good news. You encountered one of them. The other two are almost as deadly.”
Kadija knocked and entered, to announce that the meal was ready. “Shall I bring his food here?” she asked.
“Later,” I said. “He’s not feeling well enough now. We will be with you shortly, Kadija. Let us finish making our plans. Tomorrow we will allow the word to get out that there is a mysterious prisoner in the house. He will attack tomorrow night, or at the latest, the night following. We will be ready for him.”
“Them,” Sethos corrected. “If he’s determined to make an end of me he won’t come alone. And who the hell do you mean by ‘we’?”
“The four of us and Daoud and Selim,” I said. “That should be sufficient.”
“Not Margaret and the Vandergelts?” Sethos demanded. His face was slick with perspiration. “For the love of God, Radcliffe, you can’t let her—”
“Er—yes,” said Emerson. “Leave it to me.”
“The fever is breaking,” I announced, wiping Sethos’s brow with my kerchief. “That’s good. Rest now, you will be perfectly safe tonight. It might be a good idea, though—just as a precaution—if you were armed. Take my pistol.”
“I don’t want your damned pistol,” Sethos said violently. “Shoot someone yourself. Radcliffe—”
“Yes, yes,” said Emerson. “Er—it will be all right.” He came toward the bed, his feet dragging, and stood looking down at his brother. “Well. Uh—good night.”
“You might at least say you are glad to see one another,” I said with a sniff.
“I’m not glad to see him,” Sethos declared. “I meant never to see him again.”
Emerson’s tight lips relaxed. “That is probably the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He took Sethos’s hand and shook it. “À demain,” he said, in his execrable French accent.
“Dieu aidant,” said Sethos. His accent was perfect.
“Men!” I said.
From Manuscript H
With a flourish, Nasir placed a plate of boiled eggs in front of Nefret. The plate was flat and the eggs rolled wildly from side to side. One of them must have fallen