The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [58]
“Damn,” said Nefret under her breath. She’d lost an additional few seconds gaping after him like a lovestruck girl. It was his fault for being so bloody beautiful on horseback.
And if she couldn’t catch him up she wouldn’t be there to help if, as seemed likely, Jumana was on her way to meet Jamil. What other reason could she have for stealing out at this hour of the night?
Moonlight stretched an inquiring head over the door of her stall; she was accustomed to go where Risha went, and wondered what was happening at this strange hour. Nefret led her out of the stall.
No acrobatics for her tonight, not in a long robe with nothing under it. She used the mounting block, grimacing as her bare thighs gripped Moonlight’s hide, and tucking part of the robe under her.
Moonlight was too adult and well-behaved to prance with anticipation, but as soon as Nefret gave her the word she was off. Hands twisted in the mare’s mane, Nefret let her have her head, knowing she would follow her sire.
The road was in fair enough condition the first part of the way, rising and falling and curving round the hills that rose out of the plain. She was nearing the edge of the cultivation, and the ruined temples that fringed it, before she saw Risha. Ramses had dismounted and was waiting for her. He greeted her with a grin.
“I hate to think what Mother would say about that ensemble, but I rather like the effect of the boots and the bare—”
“Where is Jumana?”
“Gone ahead, on foot.” He gestured, and she saw another horse, the mare that had been assigned to Jumana. “We’d better leave the horses here, too.”
“Thank you for waiting for me.”
“If I hadn’t, you’d have gone thundering by in hot pursuit,” said her husband, lifting her off Moonlight and politely adjusting her skirts. “She doesn’t seem to be aware that she is being followed, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Catch him and put an end to this nonsense once and for all so we can get on with our work. Let’s see if we can get close enough to overhear their conversation.”
The walls of the Rameseum raised shadowy outlines ahead and to their right. The temple was half ruined, but it was in better condition than the tumbled piles of stone and mud brick stretching off to the north—all that remained of the once-proud mortuary temples of other pharaohs. West of Ramses’s temple the ground was broken by extensive brickwork, probably the former storage areas of the temple.
“How are we going to find them in this maze?” Nefret breathed, trying to step lightly.
“Sssh.” Ramses stopped and listened, his head raised. He must have heard something, for he took her arm and led her on, toward one of the piles of rubble. They had almost reached it before Nefret heard the voices.
“You’re late,” Jumana whispered. “Are you well?”
“Did you bring the money?”
“All I could. It isn’t much.”
“It is not enough. I need more. Get it from the Inglizi and bring it to me tomorrow night.”
“Steal from them? No, I will not do that. Jamil, the Father of Curses has said he will help you. Go to him, tell him you—”
“What will the Father of Curses do for me—make me a basket carrier? Why are they at Deir el Medina?”
“Excavating—what do you suppose? They trust me. They are teaching me what I want to know.”
“But they were in the Cemetery of the Monkeys. I thought they meant to work there.”
“You have been spying on them!”
“Watching them,” Jamil corrected. “What is wrong with that?”
“Nothing . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Jamil, they found the body of Abdul Hassan in the tomb. Did you . . . It was not you who killed him, was it?”
“It was an accident. He fell.” Jumana’s gasp was loud enough to reach Nefret’s ears, and Jamil realized he had made a mistake. His voice became soft and caressing. “Jumana, I didn’t mean it when I threatened to kill the Brother of Demons. I was frightened and hungry and lonely. I mean no harm to anyone! Dear sister—I know