Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [33]
Perry put a manly arm around my shoulders and squeezed. ‘Ow,’ I said again.
‘I’ll carry you to the infirmary,’ Perry aunounced.
‘No, you won’t. I don’t have a concussion.’ I indicated John, who was still nursing his arm. ‘Carry him. I’ll take his feet. We can drop him, heavily, several times along the way.’
The corner of John’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing. I saw Mary, pressed up against the rail, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and horrified. I saw the spattered dirt and fragments of pottery and the broken remains of the jasmine that had been in the pot. It had hit the deck in the exact spot where I would have been standing if someone hadn’t knocked me out of the way.
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Vicky, don’t be angry with him.’ Mary knelt beside me and put her arm around me, from the other side. A pretty tableau we must have made. ‘It was my fault, I saw the flowerpot tottering on the edge and cried out. John acted instinctively, as any gentleman would.’
I glowered at John. His eyelids fell, but not in time to hide the fury that had darkened his eyes to sapphire. I wasn’t moved to apologize; at that point I wouldn’t have given him credit for good intentions if the testimonial had come from the pope. ‘Oh, right,’ I snarled. ‘Thanks a lot. My head hurts worse than it would have done if that little bitty pot had landed on it and I’ve got a bruise on my bum the size of a soup tureen.’
‘It might have hurt you badly, Vicky,’ Mary insisted.
I staggered to my feet, assisted by Perry. ‘Worse than this? Oh, well. I guess I’ll live. Excuse me. I’ve got to shower and change and find out who tried to brain me.’
‘You aren’t implying that it was deliberate, I hope,’ Perry exclaimed.
‘An unfortunate accident,’ said John. ‘Or a warning.’
‘Warning?’ Perry repeated, staring.
‘To enjoy life to the full while one can,’ John said sententiously. ‘“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” This is a world fraught with peril; one never knows when the axe will fall. Life is at best – ’
‘Darling, please.’ Mary abandoned me and hurried to take his arm. ‘Vicky will think you’re making fun of her.’
‘Oh, she’d never be mistaken about that,’ John said.
‘Never,’ I agreed, and let Perry lead me away.
Chapter Four
I
TERRORISTS, LOW WATER, or whatever, the change in schedule couldn’t have been more welcome. It would give me a chance to collect my wits and nurse my bruises. I had exaggerated a trifle; the one on my butt was only the size of a salad plate. As I lowered myself very gently into a hot tub filled with bubbles I tried to look on the bright side.
The flowerpot wasn’t a lethal weapon; even if it had landed square on the top of my head it wouldn’t have done lasting damage. As John had uunecessarily and condescendingly emphasized, it had been meant as a warning. Not that there were certain individuals on the ship who wanted me off the ship – I had already known that – or even that they were willing to use violence to achieve that end. It was a little more subtle: a reminder that I wasn’t safe anywhere on the boat, that ‘they’ had access even to my room. That was where I had been standing when the pot fell – under my own balcony.
Too damn many people had access to my room. I let my toes float up to the surface of the water and studied them pensively, remembering the agitated faces of the staff members who had been interrogated. Perry had insisted I report the incident immediately, and Hamid, the purser, had hauled the obvious suspects into his office.
Hamid was in charge of the domestic arrangements on the boat, the civilian equivalent of the captain. A slim, handsome man of indeterminate age, he radiated an air of calm competence. I had already wondered if he might be Burckhardt’s mysterious agent; he had keys to all the rooms and a perfect excuse to enter them. He could always claim he was checking up on his staff.
If he was in disguise, the disguise was excellent. In his crisp,