The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [171]
The wind was from the north, strong enough to make one stagger, cold enough to chill one’s bones. Even the level ground was slippery with mud, and very little of the ground was level. We splashed through a dozen small streams, fought our way up slopes that ran with water, fell and rose and fell again. However, I did not regret leaving the dry, sheltered room I had been in.
By the time we reached our destination I had identified my surroundings. We had passed scattered houses and seen lighted windows; the very contours of the landscape had begun to be familiar. I marveled at the woman’s audacity. She had taken me back to Gurneh, to the very house that had been her original headquarters in the village. Not so audacious, perhaps; it had been thoroughly searched before, and was now believed to be abandoned. If I had been able to locate myself earlier, I would have broken away from my companion and headed for Selim’s house, which was near the other. Where was he taking me? We had been walking—crawling and scrambling, rather—for what seemed an eternity.
Sethos slithered to a stop and took me by the shoulders. His face was so close to mine I was able to make out the words he uttered, though he had to shout. “You are as slippery as a fish, my dear, and as cold as a block of ice, so I won’t linger over my farewells. There is the door—do you see it? Don’t try to follow after me. Good night.”
Following was beyond even my powers. My teeth were chattering violently and my wet garments felt like a skin of ice. I wanted to be warm and dry and clean, to see light and friendly faces. All that and more awaited me within. The house was that of Abdullah. I squelched and staggered to the door and pressed the latch.
The light, from a pair of smoking oil lamps, was so bright after the utter darkness without that I had to shade my eyes. My sudden appearance—and such an appearance!—shocked them into temporary immobility. They were both there—Daoud and Abdullah—sitting on the divan drinking coffee and smoking. The stem of the water-pipe fell from Abdullah’s hand. As for Daoud, he must have taken me for a night demon, for he shrank back with a cry.
“I must apologize for my appearance,” I said.
I had begun to feel a trifle light-headed or I would not have made such an absurd remark. Abdullah cried out, and Daoud jumped up and ran toward me. I put up my hand to keep him away. “Don’t touch me, Daoud, I am covered with mud.”
Unheeding, he snatched me up and pressed me to his breast. “Oh, Sitt, it is you! God be thanked, God be thanked!”
Abdullah came slowly toward us. His face was impassive, but the hand he put on my shoulder trembled a little. “So, you are here. It is good. I was not afraid for you. But I am—I am glad you are here.”
They handed me over to Kadija, who fell on me with the loving ferocity of a lioness who has recovered a missing cub. She stripped off my filthy soaked garments and bathed me and wrapped me in blankets and put me to bed and fed me hot broth. At my request she admitted Abdullah after I was properly covered, and between spoonfuls of broth I told him what I felt he should know.
“So it was she,” Abdullah said, tugging at his beard. “She told us you had gone from the school, she did not know where. We had no reason then to doubt her. We have been searching for you ever since, Sitt. Emerson thought it was Sir Edward who had taken you.”
“Emerson must be warned,” I said urgently. “At once. He doesn’t know that female fiend is still alive. Abdullah, she murdered that woman in cold blood—drugged her, dressed her in her own clothing, and waited until Emerson was actually outside the door before she . . . I must get back to the house at once. Perhaps Kadija will be good enough to lend me something to wear.”
Abdullah’s lips had tightened. Now they relaxed and he shook his head. “Kadija’s robe would wrap twice around you, Sitt Hakim. Daoud has gone to find Emerson. I do not know