The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [84]
He was waiting for me in the place we both loved best, the top of the cliff above Deir el Bahri, where the path went on to the Valley of the Kings; and the sun was rising over the eastern mountains. As I mounted the last steep slope, I wondered why I was beginning to find the ascent as difficult as I would have done in waking life. If it was a touch of realism, it was one I could have done without. I was extremely short of breath when Abdullah gave me his hand and assisted me to attain the summit.
“They are all well in England,” he said. “My next grandchild grows strong in the womb of her mother.”
“A girl this time?” I panted.
Abdullah nodded. “Sit down, Sitt, and rest. Yes, it is a girl; that is already determined.”
“Er—speaking of grandchildren, Abdullah . . .”
He threw his head back and laughed heartily. As always in these dreams, he was youthfully handsome, without a single gray thread in his beard; his laughter was as merry as Selim’s.
“What about them, Sitt?”
“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
“There is a time for all things, Sitt Hakim. When that time comes you will be among the first to know. How could it be otherwise?”
Annoyed as I was at his teasing, I could not help smiling a little. He had said “when,” not “if”! That was hopeful. “I expect I will,” I said. “How could it be otherwise?”
“There are other things I will tell you: The boy who is in France is safe still, but David is troubled because he feels he should be here with you. Do not let him come. The underwater boats will sink many ships this winter. You are wise to stay in Egypt until that danger is over.”
Having recovered my breath, I rose from the extremely lumpy rock on which I had been sitting and stood beside him, watching the slow spread of sunlight across the landscape. Below us the columns of Hatshepsut’s temple were ivory-pale in the morning shadows.
“I know better than to press you when you are determined to keep silent,” I grumbled. “But you haven’t said anything about our current plans. Where is that cursed boy, Abdullah, and what are we going to do about him?”
“It is a matter of shame to me that Jamil is a member of my family.” Abdullah’s face was as stern as a bronze mask. “He will be punished, Sitt, but not by you. Leave him to me. Do not take foolish chances, here or elsewhere.”
“Where else would I be? If you are referring to the submarine menace, we have already decided . . . Curse it, Abdullah, you are trying to get me off the track again. Where is the confounded tomb?”
“It would be tangling the web of the future to tell you that,” Abdullah said dreamily. “Now, Sitt, do not swear. It will come right in the end, though not, perhaps, as you expect.”
He took my hand and held it for a moment. Then he turned away.
“Wait,” I said. “Please.”
“No more questions, Sitt. I have told you all I am allowed.”
“I only wondered how you liked your new tomb.”
Abdullah turned back to face me. “It is well enough.”
“Is that all you can say? David designed the structure, you know, and Selim got the men to work as soon as you asked me for it.”
“I should not have had to ask,” said Abdullah, sounding as sulky as Sennia.
It was so like him—so human—so like a man! Laughing, I threw my arms around him in an impetuous embrace. It was the first time I had ever done so, and for the first time he held me close—only for a moment, before he gently loosened my hands and stepped back.
“Is there anything else you would like?” I asked.
“No.” The corners of his mouth twitched, and he said, “It is a very fine tomb, Sitt. Fine enough for a pasha.”
I did not follow him. I never had. Something held me back; perhaps it was the sure knowledge that I would see him again, or the comfort I always gained from speaking with him, even when he was at his most irritatingly vague.
“Good-bye for now,” I called. “Maassalameh, my friend.”
I had, of course, arrived at the logical