The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [170]
He was taunting me. Sethos did not fail to observe very much. He picked up the cup of beer, sniffed it, and wrinkled his nose fastidiously. “Not as pleasing to the palate as your brandy, Mrs. Emerson, or as effective, but it will have to serve. I trust you will overlook my lack of manners if I suggest Edward is more in need of it than you.”
It might have been the loathsome liquid, or the relief of rescue, or even the charismatic presence of his chief. After Sir Edward had finished the stuff, Sethos nodded with satisfaction.
“You’ll do. Go out the same way I came in. Thanks to the rain, there’s no one about. You know where to meet me.”
“Yes, sir. But don’t you want me to—”
“I will attend to Mrs. Emerson. Off with you now.”
Sir Edward rose stiffly to his feet and went to the window. Pausing only long enough to bow gracefully to me, he unfastened the shutters and climbed out into the lashing rain. I had the feeling that if Sethos had ordered him to climb into a volcano he would have obeyed as readily.
Sethos used the penknife to cut the ropes around my ankles. Then he sat coolly down on the bed next to me and examined the chain and the padlock. “Hairpins, Amelia? You will be the death of me yet. Come to think of it, you almost were. Hmmm. What have we here? A primitive lock, but impervious, I think, to hairpins. Never mind the padlock, I will just remove the handcuffs.”
I watched with considerable interest as he unscrewed the heel of his boot and examined the contents of the hollow interior.
“Ramses has developed something of the sort,” I remarked, as his deft fingers removed a narrow steel strip less than four inches long.
“Thanks to me,” Sethos muttered. He inserted the end of the steel strip into the lock of one of the handcuffs. It sprang open. “Had I but known how that young man would turn out, I would have gone to considerable lengths to prevent him from making use of my equipment. He has become . . . Ah.”
The other cuff opened. Sethos’s face darkened when he saw the marks on my wrists, but he said only, “A stage magician’s trick, my dear. If young Ramses has not turned to that source for inspiration, I recommend it to him. Now let’s be going.”
I started to ask where, but came to the conclusion that almost any alternative would be preferable to my present whereabouts. Disdaining the hand he offered, I swung my feet onto the floor and stood up. The fine effect of this gesture was spoiled by the fact that my numbed limbs would not support me. I would have fallen had he not caught me in his arms.
He was still extremely wet. The moisture in the fabric of his shirt soaked into my thin frock. For a moment he pressed me close, and I felt his chest rise in a long pent breath. My hands rested on his shoulders, but they were too weak to exert sufficient pressure against the tensed muscles of his arms and breast. I would be helpless to resist if he chose to take advantage.
He let his breath out and turned his head, pressing his lips to my bruised wrist. “You will forgive the liberty, I trust, and remember that it is the only one I have ventured to take. This way.”
With the support of his arm I made my way to the window. “I will go first,” he said, opening the shutters. “You will have to lower yourself and drop, I fear; there are footholds, but they are difficult to find in the dark. I will try to break your fall.”
Without further ado he swung himself out and disappeared into the darkness. Leaning out, I waited for his low-voiced call before I followed. His arms were waiting to catch me, but either he had underestimated my weight or his foot slipped, for we tumbled to the ground together.
Sethos scrambled to his feet and pulled me upright. I had the impression that he was laughing. The rain had slackened, but the wind still howled and it was so dark I could barely make out his outline. Like me, he was covered with a coating of slimy mud. A stream of water ran over my feet. I had no idea where I was. The darkness was almost palpable, for heavy clouds hid moon