The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [59]
Ramses put his mouth to Nefret’s ear. “I’m going round the back. I doubt he’s armed, but if he is, don’t get in his way.”
He squeezed her shoulder and slid away. A jackal howled in the hills, and the village dogs answered it. Cautiously Nefret shifted one foot and then the other. She could see them now, dark shapes near one of the standing sections of wall. Jamil skulked in the shadow; he was wearing a robe of some muted color, dark blue or brown, but his headcloth showed palely against the mud brick. Jumana’s small form was faintly lit by starlight. She was still arguing with him, trying to convince him to turn himself in, but she was wavering. Jamil no longer made demands, he pleaded and wheedled. He put his arm round her, and she embraced him.
The ground was a bewildering jumble of stone and masonry, of shadow and pallid light, but Nefret could see a path of sorts, winding its narrow and tortuous way from the opening where she stood toward the wall. It was the quickest and easiest way out of the area, but surely not the only one.
“Come again tomorrow night,” Jamil begged. “Even if you cannot bring the money, just so I can see you again. I have missed you.”
“I’ll try,” Jumana whispered. “I have missed you, too, and worried about you. Jamil, please, won’t you—”
“We will talk about it tomorrow.” He freed himself from her clinging arms and moved away, along the path Nefret had seen, toward her.
“Jamil!” Ramses had waited until Jamil was some distance away from his sister. Now he rose into view from behind one of the fallen sections of wall. Even though Nefret had known he was somewhere about, his sudden appearance and clear hail startled her into an involuntary cry. Jamil stopped as if he had been struck, spun round, and let out a much louder cry when he saw Ramses poised atop the rubble, looking—Nefret could not help thinking—like one of the more attractive djinn.
“Don’t move,” Ramses ordered. “We only want to talk to you.”
The boy’s paralysis lasted no more than a second or two. He bolted, with Ramses after him; but he had a clear run, and Ramses had to scramble over the debris that separated him from the path. Nefret stepped out into the open.
“Jamil, stop!” she called. “We won’t hurt you.”
He was ten feet away, close enough for her to see the scarf he had drawn over the lower part of his face. He dropped down, as if he were kneeling, and she thought exultantly, we’ve got him now.
She had no warning. Jamil straightened, and the missile came hurtling toward her. There was only time enough to turn, her arms clasped protectively around her body, so that the stone struck her shoulder instead of her breast. She fell sideways, her other shoulder and hip smashing against the hard unevenness of the ground. The fall knocked the breath out of her and she curled herself up like a hedgehog as Jamil ran past. Ramses must have been hot on his heels; a moment later she felt a touch she could never have mistaken for that of anyone else. She rolled over, into the curve of his arm.
“Go after him,” she panted.
“The hell with him. Lie still. Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere.” She managed a smile. “It’s all right, darling, nothing is broken.”
His answering smile was forced. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“Not about a broken leg.” She let out a yelp of pain as his hand explored her arms and shoulders. “Ow! I’ll have some spectacular bruises, but that’s all.”
She realized then that his were not the only hands she felt. Kneeling, her eyes like dark holes in the small oval of her face, Jumana was straightening her skirt, smoothing it carefully over her calves. It was a useless gesture, but the girl seemed to be in a state of shock.
Not so shocked she couldn’t speak, though. “It was my fault. You might have been struck in the face. He didn