• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Another of your little jokes, I presume. Time is passing, Emerson, and we must be up and doing. Do you want to hear about Sethos?”

“No. I suppose you had better tell me, though.”

The narrative took longer than it ought to have done because Emerson kept interrupting with muttered expletives and expressions of annoyance. When I finished he permitted himself a final vehement “Curse the swine!” before making a sensible remark.

“Who do you suppose he is—was—has been masquerading as?”

“A tourist, I expect. There are hundreds of them in Luxor. His disguise last night was one of his little jokes, I think. He was the image of Sir Edward, except for the mustache.”

Emerson went to the window and threw open the shutters. “The rain has stopped. I came last night, as soon as Daoud told me you were here, but the others ought to be along soon. We are rather in need of a council of war.”

“It is foolish for them to come here. Why don’t we go back to the house?”

“I doubt the children will wait much longer. They were very anxious about you, my dear. I admit it is difficult to tell with Ramses, but he blinked quite a lot. Nefret was beside herself; she kept saying she had been unkind and unfair to you and that she ought to have gone with you to the school.”

“Nonsense,” I said—but I confess I was touched and pleased.

“Anyhow,” Emerson said, returning to my side, “Kadija informed me that frivolous frock you wore yesterday is beyond repair. You can’t ride wrapped in a blanket. I could carry you across my saddle, I suppose, like a sheikh fetching home a new acquisition for his harem, but you wouldn’t find it comfortable.”

He stood smiling down at me. His blue eyes shone with sapphirine intensity, his black hair waved over his brow. “I do love you so much, Emerson,” I said.

“Hmmm,” said Emerson. “They won’t be here for a while yet, I think . . .”

They came only too soon for me. There was barely time for Emerson to rearrange the blanket before Nefret burst into the room and flung herself at me. Ramses and David stood in the doorway. David’s face broke into a smile, and Ramses blinked twice before Emerson pushed them out and pulled the curtain.

Nefret had brought clean clothing for me. Only another woman would have thought of that! She had even brought my belt of tools, and as I buckled it round my waist I swore I would never go out again without it. Then my story had to be retold. Some of it was new to Abdullah and Daoud as well, and so it was long in the telling. Before I finished the sun broke through the clouds, casting a watery light into the room.

“That man again!” Abdullah burst out. “Will we never be rid of him?”

“It is just as well we weren’t rid of him,” Ramses said. “Forget about Sethos, at least for now. Bertha is the real danger.”

“That may no longer be the case,” I said soberly. “Sethos knows her present identity, and so does Sir Edward. I cannot believe they have failed to take steps to apprehend her.”

“We had better make certain,” Ramses said.

“Yes, quite,” Emerson agreed. “She has eluded Sethos, and us, too often. This time . . .”

His teeth snapped together. There was no need for him to say more. One should temper justice with mercy, but in this case I could find no pity in my heart for Bertha. She would kill as ruthlessly and remorselessly as a hunter dispatching a harmless deer.

It was decided that we should cross at once to Luxor. Daoud and Abdullah were determined to accompany us, and when we emerged from the house we saw a half dozen of our other men waiting, obviously with the same intention. Selim was there; he hailed us with a shout and a smile and fell in step with David as we started down the path.

I was distressed to see what devastation the storm had left in its wake. The ground was drying rapidly but the rain had dug deep trenches into the hillside, and several of the poorer houses, built of reeds and sun-dried brick, had subsided into heaps of mud. The residents of Gurneh were out in full force, surveying the damage