The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [160]
Since the comment was now irrelevant, Ramses ignored it. “What’s going on?”
“I have been requesting permission to search the place. Thus far the lady has been reluctant to give it.”
Ramses stared at his father in mingled consternation and amusement. It was like him to politely request permission of the old harridan, and just as like him to contemplate searching a rabbit’s warren like this without someone to watch his back. Even if they hadn’t expected him, they had had ample time to gather their forces.
The old woman’s kohl-smeared eyes darted from his father to him and back again. Gold tinkled as she lifted her shoulders and arms in a shrug.
“Go, then,” she whined. “Do as you will. A poor weak woman cannot stop you.”
Emerson thanked her in impeccable Arabic.
“For God’s sake, Father,” Ramses exclaimed. “If you are determined on this, let’s do it.”
“Certainly, certainly, my boy. This is the way, I believe.”
The horrible little cubicles behind the main room, each barely large enough to contain a thin mattress and a few utensils, were unoccupied. Emerson indicated the narrow stairs at the end of the passage.
“The more pretentious apartments are up above, I expect,” he said dryly.
“Be careful, Father. Wait at the top for me. Don’t go—”
“Certainly, my boy, certainly.”
He took the stairs two at a time. Ramses followed, looking over his shoulder. The hair on the back of his neck was practically standing straight up. To his surprise, his father did wait for him. There was more light here, from window apertures at either end of a short corridor, and only four curtained doorways. The place was utterly silent except for the inevitable chorus of flies. The air was still and hot. Dust motes swam in the sunlight.
“Hmph,” said Emerson, not bothering to lower his voice. “This is beginning to look like a waste of time. We may as well finish, though. I will take this side of the hall, you take the other.”
“Excuse me, sir, but that is not necessarily the wisest procedure.” Ramses’s skin prickled. It was too quiet. The house couldn’t be completely deserted.
“Perhaps not,” his father conceded graciously. “Follow me, then.”
He started for the nearest door, his boots thumping on the bare floor. Walking boldly through a curtained doorway wasn’t what Ramses would have done, but obviously it was his father’s intention. Ramses caught hold of his sleeve and managed to get in front of him. “At least let me go first.”
His father gave him a hard shove. It struck him as an excessively violent reaction until he heard the first shot. The second followed before his body hit the floor. Then his father landed heavily on him. The last of his breath went out in a cry of alarm.
“God! Father—”
“Don’t get up,” said Emerson calmly.
“I—I can’t. You’re lying on top of me. Damn it, are you—”
“Dead? Obviously not.” He rolled off Ramses and raised himself cautiously to his hands and knees. A third shot rang out.
“Get down,” Ramses gasped. “Please get down, sir!”
“Hmm,” said Emerson. “Something odd about that, you know. No bullet.”
“What?”
“That’s where the first two hit.” Emerson gestured at the splintered holes in the plastered wall. “Where did the last go?”
“Through the curtain opposite?”
“It isn’t opposite,” Emerson pointed out. “Her aim doesn’t appear to be that bad. We’ll just wait a bit, I think.”
They waited, Ramses still prone, his father leaning negligently against the wall. When Emerson suddenly straightened and whipped through the doorway, he caught Ramses completely by surprise. He had forgot how quickly his father could move, like a cat or a panther, as his mother said. Scrambling to his feet he followed, thinking unfilial thoughts.
But no shot, no outcry, no sound of any kind followed his father’s abrupt entrance into the “more pretentious apartment.” It was a little larger than the rooms downstairs, and it contained an actual bed instead of a hard pallet, a table, and two chairs. Emerson stood by the bed looking down at something that lay on it. The window over the bed was open and uncurtained.