The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [93]
Their appearance produced another sound—a musical jingle of the ornaments adorning the breasts and ears and hair of the women who reclined on the cushioned divan that was the room’s principal article of furniture. Wide dark eyes framed in kohl stared curiously at them, and one of the women rose, smoothing the thin fabic over her hips in a mechanical gesture of seduction. A curt word from another woman made her cringe back. The speaker stood up and came toward them. She was older than the others. Rolls of fat wobbled as she moved, and the coinlike disks that dangled from her headdress and necklace were of gold.
David cleared his throat. They had agreed it would be better for him to speak first, but he was hoarse with embarrassment. “We are looking for a woman.”
A muted chorus of laughter followed this ingenuous remark, and the proprietress chuckled. “Of course, young masters. Why else are you here?”
“It’s a good thing I came,” said a cool voice behind them. “You had better let me do the talking, David.”
Ramses spun round. She had thrown back the hood of her cloak and her hair glimmered in the streaks of sunlight that filtered through the curtained door. She was like a flower that had sprung up in the middle of a cesspool; his first impulse was to snatch her up and carry her out of the foul place. Knowing how she would react—kicking and screaming would be the least of it—he took hold of her arm. “What in the name of God are you doing here?”
“I followed you. Mrs. Vandergelt took Aunt Amelia to the shops, and I slipped away. You’re hurting me,” she added reproachfully.
“David, get her out of here.”
“Don’t you dare touch me, David!”
By that time they had a fascinated and augmented audience. Several other women had slipped into the room. They were dressed like the others, in flimsy, brightly colored garments. Their uncovered faces ranged in shade from blue-black to creamy brown, and their hands and feet were stained with henna.
Nefret addressed the gaping proprietress in her rapid, simple Arabic.
“We search for a friend, Sitt, a woman who did us a great service and who is in danger because of it. Her name is Layla. She lived in Gurneh, but she ran away from her house last night. We must find her before she comes to harm. Please help us. Have any of you seen her?”
Not a flower, Ramses thought—a ray of sunlight in a dark cell. No stain of sin or sorrow could touch the shining compassion that filled her, or dim the brightness of her presence.
For a few seconds not even the sound of a drawn breath broke the stillness. Then someone moved; he couldn’t tell which of them it was, only the soft tinkle of her ornaments betrayed the fact that movement had occurred.
The older woman folded her plump arms. “Get out,” she said harshly. “We cannot help you. What sort of men are you, to let one such as she come to this place?”
“Excellent point,” said Ramses, recovering himself. He’d been reading too damned much poetry, that was his trouble. “Nefret, it’s no good. Come away.”
She stood her ground. “You know who we are, where we live. If any of you know anything—if you want to leave this terrible life—come to us, we will help you escape—”
The old woman burst into a flood of invective and shook her fists at them. Nefret didn’t budge. She raised her voice and went on talking until Ramses and David dragged her out the door.
“That was brilliant,” Ramses said, once they had retreated to a safe distance. “Nefret, may I venture to suggest once again that you hold your tongue and control your emotions until you’ve given some little thought to what you are doing? You might have endangered yourself, and us.”
“They wouldn’t dare attack us,” Nefret muttered.
“Perhaps not. The women are another matter.”
“But I didn’t mean . . . Oh, good heavens, do you think . . .”
She looked so stricken he hadn’t the heart to continue scolding her. “All I’m saying is that we didn’t go there on a rescue expedition, admirable as that aim