The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [57]
Like the other bedchambers his opened onto a walled courtyard. Nothing moved in the starlight; a spindly palm tree and the potted plants his mother nurtured cast dim, oddly shaped shadows. No lights showed at the windows. His parents’ room was at the far end of the wing, then David’s, then his, with Nefret’s at this end. Like his parents’ room, hers had windows on an outer wall as well as the courtyard.
He took in the peaceful scene without pausing, drawn on by the same indefinable sense of uneasiness that had waked him. He had reached Nefret’s door before he heard her cry out—not a scream, a soft, muffled sound that would have been inaudible a few feet away.
She hadn’t locked her door. It would not have mattered; the hinges gave way when his shoulder hit the panel, and he pushed the door aside. The room was as dark as his had been; something was blocking the outer window, cutting off the starlight. Then the obstruction disappeared and he saw the glimmer of Nefret’s white nightdress, motionless on the floor between the bed and the window.
“Curse it!” she gasped, raising herself to a sitting position. “He got away! Go after him!”
The full sleeve of her gown fell back as she flung out her arm. It had been slit from elbow to wrist, and the fabric was no longer white.
“Too late,” Ramses said. At least that was what he intended to say. His heart was pounding, trying to compensate for the beats it had skipped before she moved and spoke, and the words caught in his throat. She was wriggling around, trying to stand up, but her movements were slow and unsteady and her long skirts were twisted around her legs. He dropped to his knees and took her by the shoulders. “Stay still. He’s long gone, whoever he was, and you’re going to faint.”
Nefret said indignantly, “I’ve never fainted in my . . .” Her head fell back, and he gathered her limp body into his arms.
He was still holding her when a light appeared in the doorway and he looked up to see David, a lamp in one hand, his knife in the other.
“Good Lord! Is she—”
“Half-smothered,” said Nefret in a muffled voice.
She probably was at that, Ramses thought. He relaxed his grip enough for her to turn her head away from his shoulder, and she gave him a cheerful grin. “That’s better. Close the door, David, and bring the lamp over here. Put me down, Ramses. No, not on the bed, there’s no sense in getting blood on the sheets.”
Wordlessly Ramses lowered her onto the rug.
“You look as if you are about to faint,” she remarked. “Sit down and put your head between your knees.”
Ramses sat down. He did not put his head between his knees, but he left it to David to clean and bandage the cut. By the time the job was done, his hands and his voice were fairly steady.
“All right,” he said harshly. “What happened?”
Nefret let David help her to her feet and lead her to a chair. “A man climbed in through the window,” she explained. “I didn’t wake up until he was already in the room. He was after the papyrus.”
“How do you know?” Ramses demanded.
“Because that was when I woke up, when he dragged the case out from under the bed. He let out a sort of hiss, and—”
“And you tried to stop him?” Fury roughened his voice, and Nefret glared back at him.
“I did stop him. He didn’t get it. I’d have caught him, too, if you hadn’t burst in.”
“Oh, yes, right,” Ramses said. “What with, a hair ribbon?”
“I had my knife. I always sleep with it under my pillow.” She gestured at the puddle of blood on the floor. “That’s not all mine. I slashed at his arm, to keep him from picking up the case, you know—I was afraid he’d drop it once we got to fighting—and then he backed away, and I got out of bed and went after him, and he—”
“Got to fighting?” David stared at her in horror. “Went after him? For the love of heaven, Nefret! Ramses is right, you are too damned impulsive. Why didn’t you call for help?”
“There wasn’t time. I blocked