The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [52]
Percy threw his shoulders back and stuck out his chin. “I would obey your slightest wish, Nefret, but this puts me in an impossible position. Ramses deliberately deceived me—-for the best of motives, I am sure—but now that I know the truth I must give him the credit he deserves. An officer and a gentleman could not act otherwise.”
I cringe when I remember the hackneyed clichés in which I begged him not to act like an officer and a gentleman. Yes, I had to beg. Whether he would actually have humiliated himself I don’t know; that sort of thing is not his style; but I didn’t dare take the chance. I knew Ramses would be furious if he found out I had given him away. Finally Percy reluctantly agreed—as a favor to me.
After he had gone I was trembling so hard I had to sit down. You know my frightful temper, Lia; I lose it too quickly, and when I’ve got my wits back, I feel guilty and ashamed. Not of embarrassing Percy—he deserved it, though I admit he behaved surprisingly well. I would have expected him to storm and shout and deny everything. But I can’t forgive myself for betraying Ramses. The promise was unspoken, but it should have bound me. You won’t say anything, will you? Not even to David.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
It was almost midnight when Ramses left the dahabeeyah, wearing only a pair of cotton drawers. After he had lowered himself into the water he waited for a moment; hearing no challenge from the guard on the opposite side of the boat, next to the dock, he struck out toward the spot several hundred yards downstream where he had left his clothes. The abandoned hut, hardly more than a pile of tumbled mud-brick, was one he and David had used for a similar purpose when they prowled the suks and coffee shops in various disguises. Ramses still regretted having to abandon his persona as Ali the Rat; it had served him well for several years, until one of their more unpleasant adversaries had discovered Ali’s true identity.
That night he would be himself. A disguise would negate the purpose for which he was going through this tedious performance. Since he had known he would have to swim ashore, he had left a change of clothing at the ruin. It was a confounded nuisance but he couldn’t risk the possibility that the night watchman, who was one of Selim’s innumerable cousins, might tell his father he had gone ashore when he was supposed to be sound asleep in bed. Achmed would as soon cut his own throat as lie to the Father of Curses.
Pulling the bundle of clothing from a crevice in the wall, he rubbed himself dry and dressed, wondering wearily why he had the misfortune to belong to a family of such boundless energy and amiable inquisitiveness. It was almost impossible for him to get away from them without interminable explanations. If he didn’t show up at the dig his father would demand to know where the devil he had been; if he didn’t turn up for meals his mother would subject him to one of her endless inquisitions; if he wasn’t available whenever she wanted him, Nefret would assume he had gone off on some mysterious, possibly dangerous, mission without telling her. That would have been a violation of their First Law, which David had invented and insisted upon; it was a sensible precaution, considering the situations they often got into, and Ramses took pains to conform to it because if he didn’t, Nefret wouldn’t. She probably would not consider the note he had left for her a legitimate substitute for verbal notification, but there was some consolation in the knowledge that if he didn’t get back in time to retrieve it before she found it, he would probably be dead.
In the note he had told her where he was going, but not why. He hated admitting his reasons even to himself; they were unfounded, disloyal, and unfair, but they made an unpleasantly convincing syllogism. David was dedicated to the nationalist cause. Causes need money. David had indicated that he wouldn’t touch the money Lia’s parents had settled on