Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [187]
“Thank you, Nasir,” Nefret said. “Do you remember what I told you about egg cups?”
Nasir scuttled off and Ramses said, “He forgot them on purpose. I refuse to eat the cracked one.”
“No one expects you to, darling.” She gave him a bright smile. “It’s a lovely day.”
They had had another argument the night before. Ramses had lost. The aftermath had been even better than usual, but he was still uneasy.
“So far,” he said. “I hate these complicated schemes of Mother’s. Something’s bound to go wrong.”
“No, it’s not. And if it does you can’t blame her; we all agreed. Can you think of anything we overlooked?”
“Well . . . ” Sensing his mood, Nasir timidly proffered an egg cup, rather in the manner of a supplicant offering to a notoriously temperamental god. Ramses took it and grunted a thank-you.
“Mother and I,” Nefret said patiently, “will stand guard with Daoud while you and Father and Selim climb all over the damned cliffs looking for Alain’s tomb of Roman mummies. I think Father’s theory about that is somewhat far-fetched, but never mind. In the meantime, Kadija will make sure no one leaves the house until after midday. At which time Jamil will head straight for the nearest coffee shop and Yusuf will tell everyone in Gurneh, in strictest confidence. Jumana thinks she is helping Kadija and Jamil thinks he is mounting guard over a dangerous prisoner. What could go wrong there?”
“If I knew, it wouldn’t go wrong.” He stood up and looked over the rail. “Selim and Daoud have left the horses and gone on.”
“Father wanted to get an early start. But we needn’t rush; we’re to meet them at Deir el Bahri, and you know Father, he’ll be perfectly happy inspecting the Metropolitan’s excavations and criticizing Mr. Lansing.”
“You’re determined to cheer me up,” Ramses grumbled. “You could, very easily, if you would agree to stay at the Castle tonight. Mubashir is a killer, Nefret. Even Sethos has avoided him.”
“I thought we’d settled that.” She went to him and he turned, his back against the rail, and put his hands on her waist, enclosing the delicate bones and soft curves in the cage of his fingers.
“I love you,” he said.
“That’s no excuse.” She laughed and stood on tiptoe, face lifted. He was about to make the obvious response when the muscles under his hands went rigid, and her eyes widened. “Good Lord. Is that—”
The person approaching the boat looked like an old woman, stooped and stumbling. By the time Ramses realized who it was Nefret was racing down the stairs. When he caught her up she had reached Jumana. The girl had fallen, but she was still conscious. She raised a face smeared with dried tears. Dust coated her long lashes.
“It was Jamil. He—”
The sense of vague apprehension that had bothered Ramses all morning coalesced into a tight knot. Nefret had removed Jumana’s head cloth. The hair on her temple was clotted and stiff with blood.
“You must listen,” Jumana gasped.
“Later. You can pick her up, Ramses, nothing seems to be broken.”
The little body was as light as a child’s and trembling with pain and fear, but she kept trying to talk as he carried her to the saloon.
“He locked me in my room. I was not asleep. I heard the key turn. But I had another key, he had done it to me before, and when I opened the door I saw him going to the stables, and I thought, He has disobeyed the Sitt Hakim, he is going to the dahabeeyah without me and—ah!”
“I’m sorry,” Ramses said. He lowered her gently onto the divan. “Is her leg broken?”
“Just a sprained ankle, I think,” Nefret said. “Get me some water. And a napkin.”
“You must listen! I followed, I was angry. But he did not come here, he went to Naga el-Tod, to the hotel—”
“Kuentz,” Ramses said, handing Nefret the dampened napkin.
“Yes, it was he. I saw them talk together and I knew I must tell you . . . What has he done? Has he done wrong?” Fresh tears slid over her dirty little face.
“Did Jamil hit you?” Ramses asked. I’ll strangle the young swine, he thought.
“No. I ran away, and I was afraid they had