The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [164]
We were on the last stretch of corridor, with the desired door only ten feet distant, when it opened. I think I would have screamed if I had had breath enough. David, ahead of me, dropped Ramses’ feet and reached for the knife he had stuck in the band of the loose drawers that were his sole remaining garment.
There was just enough light from the stairwell to save Walter’s skin. David could not have recognized his face, but the European boots and trousers warned him in time. He returned the knife to his belt and Walter scooped Ramses up.
‘They are coming,’ he said. ‘Hurry.’
We never knew what aroused the suspicions of the men below – the thud of Ramses’ heels on the floor, or some sound from without? It must have been just enough to alert but not alarm them, for they came slowly, and I heard one make a joking remark about hearing afreets.
Evelyn was waiting behind the door; she closed it as soon as we were all inside. ‘How –’ I began.
‘Secure the door,’ Walter cut in. ‘Bolt it and shove the furniture up against it.’ Carrying Ramses, he went out onto the balcony.
Evelyn slammed the bolt in place; it was a flimsy thing, only a hinged strip of wood, but it would hold for a while. I left her and David moving furniture, and followed Walter.
He was leaning over the edge of the balcony; I was in time to see him drop Ramses into the upraised arms of Daoud.
‘Now you, Sitt,’ Daoud called.
I would have chanced it had I been alone, but there was not time for all of us to get out that way. Our adversaries had discovered us; they were shouting, and pounding on the door of the chamber. Sooner or later it would occur to one of them that the balcony was our only means of escape.
Walter ran back inside and I said to Daoud, ‘No, it is too late. Run – get Ramses to safety and bring help. Go now, before they come out of the house!’
Even as I spoke, I heard the rattle of chains and bolts inside the front door. Daoud stood gaping up at me.
I called him the worst Arabic name I knew. Between Ramses and Emerson, I knew quite a lot of them. He jumped as if I had struck him and then ran, with Ramses draped over one shoulder. They were still in sight when – as I had feared and anticipated – the front door opened. One of the thugs burst out, pistol in hand, and started in pursuit.
I shot him in the back. It was not a sporting thing to do, but the alternative would have been less acceptable. He fell, dropping the pistol, but I knew I had not killed him because he screamed a good deal. Finally someone dragged him back inside. I did not want to waste any more bullets, so I fetched a pot (smelling strongly of the remains of someone’s dinner), and when the door opened again and another head appeared, I dropped the pot on it.
‘That should hold them for a while,’ I said, returning to my companions. ‘But I fear that exit is now unusable. They can cover us from the doorway. How are things going?’
I could see the answer for myself, and a discouraging one it was. The door reverberated under the pounding of hard blows; they must have been using a heavy article of furniture as a battering ram. Every cot and table had been piled against the portal, but they were flimsy things and could not hold long once the door yielded, as it soon must.
‘Did they get away?’ Evelyn gasped.
A truthful answer would have been ‘I hope so,’ but it was safe to assume that my companions’ morale was in need of a little boost. ‘Yes,’ I said firmly. ‘Can we hold these fellows off until help arrives?’
‘Oh, certainly,