Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [195]
“Alone?” I gasped.
“Sethos wasn’t in any condition to help him,” Cyrus said heavily. “He fell out of the saddle as soon as we got to the Castle. Anyhow, if she’s where Ramses thinks she is, he’ll have to sneak into the place and pull some cute stunt to get to her without being spotted. If she’s not there . . . Well, folks, there’s only one alternative that I can see.”
“Quite,” I agreed. “We must capture Kuentz alive—alive, Daoud, did you hear—and force him to tell us where she is. How shall we go about it? I have my knife and my pistol, and Daoud and Selim are armed, and there is Cyrus’s rifle, and—”
Emerson had not spoken. His broad forehead was furrowed, his eyes glittered like sapphires. “Control yourself, Peabody,” he said, in the purring voice that betokened the Wrath of the Father of Curses (to quote Daoud). “Let me talk to the bastard.”
He rose slowly to his feet, hands spread and empty. “Kuentz!” he shouted.
The risk of movement was not as great as it seemed. Our vile opponent knew that a fusillade of gunfire would draw attention, and if he killed one of us, the others—especially Daoud—would run amok. Kuentz came back to the mouth of the bay.
“Don’t try anything, Professor.”
“Just stretching a bit,” said Emerson, suiting the action to the words. “The cards are all in your hands, to continue your unimaginative metaphor. You will release Nefret after you have got your prize safely away?”
“Of course. I bear her no ill will. I loved her once, you know.”
“Then the sooner your aim is accomplished, the sooner we will have her back,” Emerson said. “How can we help you?”
“A rather disingenuous offer, Professor,” Kuentz said.
“Your life is dearer to me than my own at this moment,” Emerson assured him. “You are the only one who can save her from the Syrian.”
“True.” Kuentz stroked his beard. “I am tempted to let you have a look. It’s a sight you have never seen, and will never see again, and you are among the few who can appreciate it. I will let Selim and Daoud help my workmen finish clearing the shaft. Then you can go down, one by one, before I have it out.”
“Agreed,” Emerson said.
Kuentz made me unfasten my belt of tools, and told Cyrus and me to remove our coats before he let us proceed in single file, Daoud and Selim first. The workmen stopped and stared when we entered the bay. Quickly I assessed them. They were local men, some of whom had worked for us at various times, and I had the distinct impression that they were not at all happy. Kuentz had hired them for what appeared to be an ordinary excavation, but when he pointed a gun at the Father of Curses and the Sitt Hakim, the unfortunate fellows realized something unpleasant was about to happen. I knew we could not expect help from them, however; if they got the chance they would run like rabbits, and none of them was courageous enough to attack an armed man.
Kuentz ordered Cyrus and Emerson and me to stand against the rock face and took up a position far enough away so that even Emerson could not have reached him in a single bound. “All right, Selim,” he said. “Get to work. One false move and I fire.”
Selim’s tight lips parted. “I obey the Father of Curses. We will clear the shaft for him. Come, Daoud.”
“Yes. Get out of my way,” Daoud added, pushing assorted Gurnawis back from the opening.
There was not much left to do. They must have started work before daylight, and the shaft was not deep. I could see the top of Daoud’s head when he stood at the bottom. Lying flat on the ground beside the opening, Selim shone his torch down while Daoud filled one basket after another and handed them up. It took two of the workers to lift the basket he had raised with one hand.
“It is open.” His voice echoed up the shaft. “There is a chamber beyond—”
“Come up,” Kuentz