The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [85]
“Stop that,” I said irritably.
“Yes, Mother.”
“You made me forget what I was going to ask next.”
“I beg your pardon, Mother.”
“I know what I was going to ask next,” said Nefret. “It is a simple question, and vitally important. What do these people want?”
“Us,” Ramses said. “Both of us, or they would have left the one they didn’t want dead in the temple.”
“That’s too simple,” Nefret snapped. “Abduction isn’t an end in itself, it is a means to an end. If you hadn’t got away, we would have received a demand for—what? Money? The papyrus? Or . . . something else?”
“Wait a minute,” Cyrus ejaculated, tugging at his goatee. “You’re getting ahead of me here. What papyrus?”
“The children picked it up in Cairo,” I explained. “From a dealer—the same fellow who turned up in the Nile a few days ago, mangled by what appeared to have been a crocodile.”
“But, Amelia,” Cyrus began.
“Yes, I know. There are no crocodiles in Luxor. I will explain it all to you later, Cyrus. Someone does seem to want the papyrus back. Do you think that was the motive behind the boys’ little misadventure, Nefret?”
“There is another possibility.”
“Well? It is getting late and—”
“I will be brief,” said Nefret. There was a note in her voice I did not like at all. “Let us suppose that the attack on Aunt Amelia in London and our subsequent encounters with Yussuf Mahmud are connected. If one person is behind all of them, that person must be the Master Criminal himself. All the clues lead back to him—the typewritten message, the possibility that the papyrus came from his private collection, even the fact that someone has discovered that Ali the Rat is Ramses. That is a tenuous lead, I admit, but Sethos is one of the few people who knows you found his private laboratory, and if, as I strongly suspect, he has been in touch with you since, he is probably familiar with our habits. Your turn, Aunt Amelia. It is time you told us everything you know about that man. And I mean everything!”
Goodness, but the child had a stare almost as forbidding as that of Emerson at his best! I daresay I could have stared her down, but I could not deny the justice of her charge.
“You are correct,” I said. “We have encountered Sethos since, and I . . . Oh dear. There is no doubt that he knows a good deal more about all of us, including Ramses, than he ought.”
•
Eight
•
Our discussion ended at that point, for Ramses’s face had turned an unpleasant shade of grayish-green, and Nefret bundled him off to bed. He went protesting, if feebly, so I assured him we would not continue without him.
“I need to collect my thoughts,” I explained. “And arrange them in a logical sequence. I do not believe I am capable of doing so at this time.”
“Small wonder,” said Emerson. “It has been a trying evening for you, my dear. Off to bed with you too. We will continue tomorrow morning.”
Katherine cleared her throat. “Amelia, would you think me rude if I asked whether Cyrus and I might join you? Curiosity killed the cat, you know. You would not want my death on your conscience.”
At that moment I would have agreed to anything in order to be left alone—to collect my thoughts, as I have said. Brief reflection assured me that affection as well as curiosity had prompted her request, and that no one could assist us better than these dear friends. Cyrus knew more of our extraordinary history than most people, and his wife’s cynical intelligence had served me well in the past. Recollecting that the following day was Friday, the Moslem holy day, when we breakfasted later and more leisurely than on workdays, I invited them to join us for that meal.
My dear Emerson tucked me into bed as tenderly as a woman might have done, and Fatima insisted on my drinking a glass of warm milk flavored with cardamom, to help me sleep.
“You are all being kinder to me than I deserve,” I said. “Come