Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [190]
“He may be telling the truth,” Emerson mused. “These lads are killers and criminals. Kuentz wouldn’t tell them anything more than they needed to know. Damnation! He’s probably looting the tomb at this very instant! We’ll tie this fellow up and toss him into a shed. Kadija!”
It had been Kadija who fired the gun. The recoil would have broken the shoulder of a normal person; Kadija admitted that hers felt a little sore. The others arrived before long, and while his mother was sorting things out in her usual brisk manner, Ramses asked, “Didn’t Nefret come with you?”
His mother was slapping bandages on Sethos. He’d been lucky, or very, very agile; none of the cuts were deep. “She felt obliged to stay with Jumana. The poor little thing had lost consciousness and Nefret is afraid of concussion. But do you run along, my dear; she will be worrying about you. We can take care of Mr. Kuentz and the tomb.”
Ramses knew she would be worrying and he was anxious to reassure her, but his mother’s bland self-confidence was somewhat alarming. It was possible—probable, in fact—that Kuentz was already at work, frantically trying to clear the tomb, hoping his other men could keep them occupied.
“Kuentz won’t be alone,” he warned.
“The more the merrier,” said his father, flexing his hands.
“He may be armed.”
“So are we,” said his mother. The implements hanging from her belt jangled as she stood up.
He couldn’t leave Nefret wondering and fretting. He’d done it too often. “Wait half an hour,” he said urgently. “I’ll meet you at Deir el Bahri.”
“No, no, my boy,” Emerson said. “He’ll be in a hurry. He may damage some of the artifacts.” His eyes were shining. If there was anything he enjoyed more than a fight, it was a new find. He fully expected to get both.
“I’ll come as soon as I can,” Ramses said. His mother’s peremptory voice followed him as he hurried along the corridor. “Ramses, come back here this instant. You need—”
The mare was where he had left her, browsing on the petunias in the flower boxes. He hadn’t gone far when he heard hoofbeats behind him and glanced over his shoulder. He reined the mare in and waited for the other man to come up to him.
“Why didn’t you go with them? With luck you could have rescued Mother again.”
Sethos shook his head. “She’d have ended up rescuing me. In either case, Radcliffe wouldn’t like it. I stole his horse. That should slow them down a bit.”
Ramses knew that if he asked any of the questions that bubbled in his brain they’d end up in one of those interminable discussions. It was a family failing. Without replying, he set the mare to a gallop. Sethos wasn’t much good with a knife, but he rode well, guiding the big gelding with expert hands. God help Margaret, Ramses thought. When she sees him romantically bloody and bandaged . . . Is that what he wants? What does he want? Why didn’t he stay at the house?
The gates of the Castle were open when they arrived, and Cyrus was in the courtyard, about to mount his placid mare. “Well, thank goodness,” he exclaimed. “Everybody all right? Is this—”
“Mr. Cyrus Vandergelt, allow me to introduce Sethos,” Ramses said. “Alias quite a number of other people.”
“Including me,” said Cyrus, his leathery cheeks wrinkling in a smile. “Come on in. You look as if you could use a drink.”
“I can’t stay,” Ramses said. “I only stopped long enough to tell Nefret . . . Where is she?”
“She left—can’t have been more than half an hour ago, maybe less. The little girl is going to be fine, so Nefret and Miss Minton went charging out of here, heading for the house. They wouldn’t wait for me.” His smile faded. “You didn’t run into them?”
“No.” Ramses turned on his uncle. “You expected this!”
“I was afraid of it. Your wife’s impulsive habits are well known, and if Kuentz could get hold of a hostage he’d have us right where he wants us. He’s obviously got more manpower than we thought. One of them must have been watching the dahabeeyah—”
Ramses snatched the mare’s reins from the groom and swung himself into the saddle. Tight-lipped and no longer loquacious, his uncle mounted