The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [80]
“Foot’s caught. I can’t . . .”
“All right, I’m coming,” Ramses called. He slipped off the knapsack, removed his coat, and picked up one of the coils of rope. “No, Jumana, you stay here. Hang on to her, Father.”
“If she tries to follow you, I’ll tie her up with the rest of the rope,” Emerson said coolly. “Be careful.”
Ramses nodded. It was an easy ascent, with lots of hand- and footholds, and a slight inward slope. The crevice narrowed and appeared to end about fifteen feet above him; he went on up, at an angle, till he reached a point where the opening was wide enough for him to swing himself into it. The floor of the cleft was almost horizontal here, and several feet deep, like a small natural platform.
“Down here,” Bertie said.
Ramses switched on his pocket torch and shone it down. All he could see was Bertie’s face. His body was jammed into the narrowest part of the crevice, like a cork in a bottle. “My God,” he said. “How did you do that?”
Bertie’s face was smeared with dust and sweat and streaked with blood, but he summoned up a rueful grin. “I slipped. It wasn’t at all difficult; I could do it again anytime.”
Ramses laughed. It wasn’t going to be easy getting Bertie out, but it was a relief to find him alive and relatively undamaged, and cool as ice. “If I lower a rope, can you grab hold of it?”
“I’ve got one arm free,” Bertie said, raising it in a flippant wave. “The other one’s stuck. And one of my boots is caught.”
“Let’s try this.” Ramses tied a loop in the end of the rope and let it down. Bertie slid his arm through the noose and Ramses pulled on the rope till the slipknot tightened. “Ready?”
“Slacken the rope a bit so I can get hold of it. Here, wait a minute. Are you hanging on to something? If I come popping out of here you may lose your balance.”
There was nothing he could hang on to, no protuberance round which to tie the rope. He looped a section round his waist and knotted it. “I’m fine. Here we go.”
He’d had to put the torch back in his pocket to use both hands for the rope. He couldn’t see Bertie now, but he could hear his hard, difficult breathing. There was resistance at first, and a gasp of pain from the man below, but Ramses didn’t dare stop, he could feel upward movement. He transferred his grip farther along the rope and heaved.
“That’s done it,” Bertie gasped. “Both hands out . . .”
“Good,” Ramses said, recovering his balance. He’d almost fallen over, the release of resistance had been so sudden. Bertie’s hands came into view. He was trying to pull himself up. His knuckles and the back of one hand were scraped raw.
Ramses helped him up onto the relatively level section and then leaned out. His father’s requests for information and reassurance were reaching an ear-splitting pitch. They harmonized with Jumana’s piercing soprano.
“It’s all right. We’re coming down,” Ramses called.
“Thanks,” Bertie said.
“What for?”
Bertie had unfastened the slipknot. He dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and passed it over his filthy face. “Well, for pulling me out. And for not saying something like ‘I’m about to lower the poor idiot down.’ ”
“You aren’t that. But I am going to lower you, unless you have violent objections.”
“No. I’ve played the bloody fool once today, I won’t do it again. How did you know I was here?”
He wanted a little more time. Holding the end of the rope, Ramses decided he had better break it to him at once. “Jumana. She noticed you were missing and figured you’d come this way. Father and I heard her calling you, and we joined forces.”
“Oh.” He added bitterly, “Kind of her to rush to my rescue.”
“This could have happened to anyone,” Ramses said. “All right, let’s get it over.”
“Wait a minute. I don’t want you to think I’m a complete fool. I wouldn’t have risked climbing alone—I know I’m not much good at it—if I hadn’t seen him. Just about here, leaning out and looking down at me. He didn’t push me,” Bertie added quickly,