The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [181]
Shuddering, I rose to my knees. Had I been a lesser woman I might have remained in that position to render thanks to the Almighty, but I do not waste time in prayer when there are more urgent matters to be attended to. I hastened to Emerson. Blood oozed from his side, but he was on his feet, with Nefret attempting to support him. He pushed her gently away.
“Only a scratch, Peabody. Knocked me down, though, curse it. Is Ramses—”
“Unharmed,” Ramses replied. He and David had joined us. Both were pale, but not so pale as Nefret. She swayed, and would have fallen at Emerson’s feet had he not caught her in his arms. “Fainted,” he said, as her golden head came to rest against his breast. “Small wonder.”
I glanced back at the scene of the tragedy and saw Selim running toward the entrance to the pyramid. I knew what he was doing, and blessed him for doing it on his own initiative, but someone must make additional arrangements for the disposal of the remains, and Jack was still unconscious, and Ramses looked as if he were about to be sick, and Emerson’s shirt was sticky with blood, and—and in short, the situation was bad enough to tax even my powers. The only other person present who comprehended the nature of the latest emergency was Lia; bending over Nefret, she exclaimed, “Aunt Amelia! She—”
“Yes, Lia, I know. Daoud, carry Nefret back to the house, as quickly and as gently as possible. Lia, go with them. Find Kadija, she will know what to do. Emerson, remove your shirt and let me have a look at you.”
But he would allow no other to take his daughter from him. The urgency in my voice had betrayed my concern for her; he knew there was something wrong. Without delaying to ask questions he strode away, the vigor of his movements assuring me that his injury was not serious.
“What do you want me to do, Aunt Amelia?” David asked.
“Go with them,” Ramses said, before I could reply. “Tell Father to take Risha.”
It was a sensible suggestion; the great stallion’s strength and speed were the greatest and his gait the easiest. David hesitated, torn between conflicting duties. Ramses said impatiently, “Hurry, damn it. I’ll bring Mother with me on Moonlight.”
David ran off, with a last pleading look at me, which I did not at all need. I unhooked the flask of brandy from my belt.
“I don’t want any brandy,” said Ramses.
“I hadn’t meant for you to drink it. Hold out your hands. There is nothing as dirty as human fingernails unless it is human teeth.”
“Christ, Mother!”
“Swearing I must accept at times, but blasphemy I do not permit,” I said sternly. “Hold out your hands.”
“Father was hit,” Ramses muttered. He did not flinch when the alcohol touched the raw lines across the backs of his hands. “I thought there was only one shot. What is wrong with Nefret?”
“Nothing that cannot be mended,” I said, hoping I was right. “Let me speak a few words to Selim and Daoud, and then we must hurry on.”
It came as no surprise when Selim told me Geoffrey was dead. I trust I will not be accused of callousness when I say I had hoped that was the case. I gave him the necessary instructions and then went to have a look at Jack, who had recovered consciousness. Nefret had done a neat job of bandaging the wound, but in my opinion he was too weak to mount a horse, so I gave him a little sip of brandy and told him to stay where he was until Selim could find some means of transportation. Hastening back to Ramses, I found him standing in the exact same spot where I had left him, staring blankly toward the north. For once he did as he was told without arguing, lifting me onto Moonlight and mounting Geoffrey’s horse. We set out at the quickest possible pace for home.
When I came into the sitting room they were waiting—Emerson and Ramses and David. I was too tired and distressed