The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [99]
A younger man, his beard just beginning to show, plucked at Selim’s sleeve. “My father only thinks of baksheesh and sleep, Selim, but I can tell you what happened. The Father of Curses took his galabeeyah, and the Sitt took mine. It was because they saw someone. She said ‘Look there,’ and he looked and swore and then they took our clothes and went hurrying away, behind the tombs and around the hill.”
“Your clothes?” Nefret repeated.
“Our galabeeyahs, my father’s and mine. The Father of Curses paid well; but when the Sitt Hakim has finished with mine, I would like to have it back. I have only—”
“Did you see the person they were following?” Ramses interrupted.
“Oh, yes.” The boy pointed. “It was she.”
Jumana froze, her eyes focusing on the pointing finger. “He lies,” she gasped.
“I do not lie. She wore the same clothing, boots and coat and a skirt, that blew out as she ran. Not trousers, as men wear. What other woman would wear such garments?”
“Several of us,” Nefret said, catching hold of Jumana, who appeared ready to fly at her accuser. “We know it wasn’t you, Jumana, you couldn’t have got from here to Deir el Medina before we arrived.”
Ramses rewarded the observant youth extravagantly and went after Selim, who was already running along the path the boy had indicated. It turned and rose, and there before them lay the length of the desert plain, covered with hillocks and hills, houses and villages and ruins—almost two miles long from Medinet Habu to the slopes of Drah abu’l Naga on the north. The sun was low over the western cliffs.
“Wait,” Ramses called. Selim stopped, and the others came up to him.
“What can we do?” the reis asked, for the hopelessness of pursuit was evident to him as well. “It was hours ago that they were here. Even if one saw them—”
“He wouldn’t be here either,” Ramses cut in. “Or remember them. Father and his damned disguises!”
“The Father of Curses,” said Daoud, his calm unshaken, “cannot be mistaken for any other man.”
“That’s true,” Nefret agreed. “Not to mention Mother trotting along holding up the skirts of somebody else’s galabeeyah. Ramses—Selim—let’s just keep calm, shall we? We will spread the word, asking anyone who may have seen them to report to us; but that may take a while. Perhaps we can deduce where they might have gone.” She turned to Jumana. “You know whom they were following, don’t you?”
The girl’s eyes fell. “Jamil?”
“It couldn’t have been anyone else,” Nefret said. “He’s taller than you, but otherwise the resemblance between you is strong. Somehow he got hold of clothes like yours. He must have sent the message. I don’t believe your father knew anything about it.”
If it was meant as consolation, Jumana remained indifferent. “Why?” she demanded. “Why would Jamil do this?”
“Not to lead them to his tomb,” Ramses said. He was too worried now to be considerate of her feelings. “Face the facts, Jumana. He meant to do them harm—and he must have succeeded, God knows how, or they would have been back before this. Can you think of anything—anything at all—that might help us to find them?”
“How could Jamil harm the Father of Curses?” She flinched back from Ramses and her eyes filled with tears. “No—wait—don’t be angry. I am trying to think, trying to help. And I think there are only a few things he could do. He is not very strong, Jamil, or very brave; the Father of Curses could break him in two with one hand, and the Sitt Hakim is as fierce as a man. He would lead them to some place where he can play a dangerous trick on them with no danger to himself.”
The sun was sinking. It would be dark in a few hours. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Ramses said, trying to keep his voice level. “There are too many places like that. If he’s got in the habit of pushing people off cliffs, as Mother put it . . .”
“Can you visualize Jamil pushing Father?” Nefret demanded. “He’d have to back off twenty feet and run at Father—and then have another go at Mother, who would be peppering him with bullets while he ran.”
Jumana gave her a look of surprise and reproach,