The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [88]
“That’s a pretty ambitious program, my dear,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “Where do we start?”
It warmed my heart to hear him say “we,” but I had expected no less of him.
“In Gurneh, obviously,” said Ramses. “And, as Mrs. Vandergelt has so sensibly suggested, all together.”
I had expected the village would be abuzz with excitement, for the events of the preceding night would certainly be known by now to every inhabitant, spreading rapidly along that web of gossip that is the primary source of news in illiterate societies. However, as we rode along the winding path I saw the place was abnormally quiet. A few people greeted us; others we saw only as a flutter of skirts as the wearers thereof whisked themselves behind a wall.
“That was Ali Yussuf,” I exclaimed. “What is wrong with him?”
Emerson chuckled. “An uneasy conscience, my dear Peabody. Even if he had nothing to do with last night’s affair, he is afraid we will hold him responsible for what happened to the boys.”
“One cannot help being suspicious, Emerson. How could the miscreants have been so bold as to bring their captives here unless some of the villagers were in league with them?”
Ramses was riding ahead, but he can hear a whisper across the Nile, as the Egyptians say. He turned his head. “This was only a temporary stopover, Mother. They would have moved us under cover of darkness.”
Kadija was standing in the doorway when we rode up to Abdullah’s house. She informed us that neither Abdullah nor Daoud was at home. “Curse it,” said Emerson. “I told Daoud to keep the old rascal out of this. Where have they gone, Kadija?”
Daoud’s wife understood English though she never spoke it. Looking as mysterious as only a black veil can make one look, she gave Emerson the answer he had expected.
“Curse it,” Emerson repeated. “I suppose the whole lot of them have gone there.”
“Not all,” said Kadija in Arabic. “Some are asking questions, Father of Curses. Many questions of many people. Will you come in and drink tea and wait?”
We declined with thanks and were about to proceed when Kadija came out of the house, moving with ponderous and dignified deliberation. Her hand, large and calloused as a man’s, rested for a moment on David’s booted foot before she turned to Ramses and inspected him closely. It was not Ramses whom she addressed, however. “Will you stay for a moment, Nur Misur?”
“Yes, of course. Go on,” Nefret said to the rest of us.
She was only a moment. “Well?” I asked. “What is so funny?”
Nefret got her face under control. “She told me a very amusing story.”
“Kadija?” I said in surprise. “What sort of story?”
“Uh—never mind. What she really wanted was reassurance about the boys. She was too shy to ask them directly how they are feeling.”
We could have found the house we sought even without David’s directions. It was surrounded by a crowd of people, all gesticulating wildly and talking at the top of their lungs. The black robes of the women contrasted with the white and blue and sand-colored galabeeyahs of the men, and children darted in and out like little brown beetles. The men greeted us without self-consciousness; either their consciences were clear, or they had none.
This was not the house in which Layla had once lived. I remembered that establishment very well. This was larger and more isolated, with a few dusty tamarisk trees behind it and no other house in sight. The location was well suited to the purpose it had served; a cart loaded with, let us say, sugar cane, could drive through the gates into the walled courtyard without arousing suspicion.
When I saw who stood in the open doorway I understood why none of the men had had the temerity to attempt to enter. Daoud’s large frame filled the aperture from side to side and from lintel to threshold. He rushed at us with cries of pleasure and relief, embraced David, and was about to do the same to Ramses when Nefret got between them.
Abdullah awaited us inside. His snowy-white beard bristled with indignation, and a ferocious