The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [9]
Zaal only grinned more broadly.
“That is not courteous, my young friend. Shakir, give him a lesson in manners.”
Two of them held him while Shakir obliged. After a few blows he decided he had made his point, and went limp, a little too late; he was only vaguely aware of being dragged out of the room and up a flight of stairs. The chamber into which they propelled him did not resemble a prison cell; through half-closed eyes he saw sunlight and a carpeted floor—and his cousin, sprawled comfortably on a pile of cushions. Then his captors tossed him facedown across a divan and he concluded he might as well stay there.
It was a wise decision. The ensuing dialogue between Percy and Zaal was illuminating.
“Who the devil is that?” was his cousin’s first question.
“A young man who will, I hope, become a great friend of mine.”
“What about the ransom?” Percy demanded. “Have you heard?”
“No. It is early days. What are you complaining about? You are living like a pasha. Do you want more brandy? Hashish? A woman? You have only to ask.”
“Yes, well …”
“Be kind to my new friend,” Zaal purred. “Tell him how comfortable he can be if he is as cooperative as you.”
After Zaal had gone out Percy paced and muttered for a while. Then Ramses heard liquid gurgle. He rolled over and sat up. Percy studied him sourly over the glass from which he was drinking.
“Brandy,” he explained. “D’you want some?”
Ramses shook his head. “It is forbidden.”
“Your loss.” Percy tossed down the rest of the brandy.
It was obvious he had not recognized Ramses. The latter rose and went to the window, which was open and unbarred. It faced the courtyard, and six feet under it was the roof of another structure.
However, Percy did not respond enthusiastically to “Feisal’s” plan for escape. “Why the devil should I take the chance? My loving relations will send the ransom.”
“So will my father. But I do not mean to sit here like a girl or an infant till he does.”
They were speaking English, of necessity, since Percy’s Arabic was virtually non-existent. Percy hadn’t even enough interest in his companion to ask where he had learned the language. He remained sullenly resistant to Ramses’s suggestions, and the latter was beginning to believe he would have to knock Percy unconscious and carry him out when Fate, in the unpleasant person of Zaal, intervened.
It was getting dark. Percy had lit one of the lamps and was sitting on a pile of cushions, grumbling because they were late bringing his dinner. When the door opened, he looked up with a scowl.
Zaal rolled in. He was very drunk and in a very amorous mood, but he wasn’t stupid enough to have come alone. Two of his sturdiest men were with him. When he put his interesting proposition to the prisoners, Percy let out a bleat of protest.
“Leave me alone! Oh, God—please—take him!” He flung out an arm to indicate his companion and retreated to the farthest corner of the room.
“With pleasure,” said Zaal. “I included you only out of courtesy to a guest.”
He held out his arms and sidled toward Ramses, weaving from side to side. Ramses eluded him without difficulty and shook his head. “No.”
“No?” Zaal sounded rather pleased than otherwise. “Defiance becomes you, my dear, but it would not be wise to resist.”
“Embrace one of your own kind,” Ramses suggested, employing a more explicit verb. “Surely there are dogs around the dung heaps.”
The guards converged on him, while Zaal sputtered and swayed. Glancing at his cousin, Ramses realized with disgust that he wasn’t going to get any help from that quarter. If Percy had had the courage to fight back, the two of them could have dealt with the guards and Zaal, and the way to escape would have been open, with Zaal as their hostage.
The best he could do was to keep Zaal from damaging his cousin, and minimizing the damage to himself. The first part wasn’t difficult; obviously Zaal had not been interested in Percy until