The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [165]
“What happened to Ramses’s hands?” “His hands?” David’s look of surprise would not have deceived a child. “They were green.”
“Oh, Lord. I thought we’d got the stuff off!”
“I have seen Kadija’s ointment often enough to recognize it, even on a cloudy morning when the individual in question is doing his best to hide his palms. It is not easy to remove with soap and water. What happened?”
“Just rope burns,” David said. “He was hanging on to the rope and had to descend in something of a hurry.”
“Because people were shooting at him?”
“Goodness no.” David essayed to chuckle. “They were only—um—about to cut the rope. It was rather a long drop, you see. Onto a stone paving.”
He was beginning to sound a little rattled, so I continued to press him. “When was this?” “Night before last.”
“That is why he kept out of my way yesterday,” I mused. “Did they get a good look at him?” “He doesn’t think so.”
“He doesn’t think so,” I repeated. “What about you?”
“No. I was down below.”
“And what happened last night?”
“Nothing.” David took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Something went wrong. Oh, the deuce. I may as well tell you.”
“You may as well.”
“Well, you see, one of the things Ramses overheard before someone took a notion to approach the window was that Failani was to meet the—er—the effendi last night. Unfortunately the place of the meeting was not mentioned. The only thing we could do was trail Failani, which we did—for six bloody—excuse me, Aunt Amelia!—six hours. He visited a number of interesting places, but if a meeting took place we missed it. We might have done. We couldn’t follow him into … into certain of the places.”
I decided not to press him on that issue. “You said Ramses’s presence was observed the previous night, even if he was not recognized. Has it occurred to you that Failani may have anticipated he would be followed? That he led you on a wild-goose chase instead of keeping his appointment? That he arranged to have someone follow you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” David said wretchedly. “It did occur to us. Eventually.”
“David, this has become too dangerous. You must stop it.”
“It’s not up to me,” David said gently but firmly. “Where my brother goes, I go.”
Emerson arrived at the site soon after us and looked surprised when I asked what Mr. Reisner had said. “He said nothing. What was there to say?” He inspected David from head to foot and back again, and scowled. “David, I won’t need you for a few hours. Go round to the south side and get me a series of photographs of the area at the base of the pyramid. There’s got to be some trace of a casing, curse it. Selim? Where the devil are … Oh. Let’s get back to the shaft.”
“Do you want me to help David with the photography?” Nefret asked.
“No, Lia can give him a hand.” He avoided looking at her, and a wave of sadness washed over me. Emerson and I had sometimes kept the children in the dark about certain of our schemes, but never before had all of us treated Nefret like an outsider. In a sense she was, though. Her chief allegiance was now to another, and although I knew Geoffrey could not be the villain we sought, we could not be certain of his discretion or his understanding. The delicacy of the situation was particularly acute with regard to the activities of Ramses and David.
This realization brought home to me how closely knit and united our little band had grown over the years. In time Geoffrey might become part of it. No doubt he would. It took normal people a while to get used to us.
Lia and David went off, not to photograph but to snatch a few hours’ sleep, and the rest of us returned to the shaft. The dimensions