The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [148]
He had probably learned, through constant practice, how to deal with the royal temper tantrums. The end result was that Nastasen got himself under control and strode away to direct the search in person. The High Priest of Amon followed him. Murtek hesitated, but only briefly, before creaking after the others.
Reggie dropped onto a pile of cushions and hid his face in his hands. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “The strain of the past hours…”
Amenit went to him and stroked his hair. He looked up at her with a smile. “I am better now. But poor little Ramses… Where has he gone? Is he safe?”
“Safer than he would be in Nastasen’s dungeon,” said Emerson, reaching for his pipe.
“Are you certain? He is so young, he may have got into some trouble.”
“I don’t know where he is, if that is what you are asking,” Emerson replied.
“They have searched every corner,” Reggie muttered. “There is only one place he can be.”
“Why don’t you trot off and tell Nastasen?” Emerson inquired sarcastically.
Reggie gave him a reproachful look and was silent.
The truth is I was not as easy as Emerson about Ramses, and I suspected he was not as easy as he pretended. There was only one place—the tunnel through which Amenit had led us to observe the false High Priestess. I had not seen how she opened the trapdoor, but Ramses was an expert at finding out things he was not supposed to know. Was Nastasen aware of the hidden passage? If he was not, would Amenit tell him? She might have reasons of her own for keeping quiet—or she might not. How long could Ramses stay there in the dark, without food or water? Even worse—would he be foolish enough to search for another way out of the maze? Knowing my son’s monstrous self-confidence, I feared the answer to that question was yes.
At last the sounds of activity in the back chambers stopped, leaving an ominous silence. I could stand the suspense no longer. “I am going to see what they are doing,” I announced, checking to make certain my belt was firmly buckled. “I can stand the suspense no longer.”
With a rueful smile Emerson took my arm. “I was wondering which of us would be first to admit it.”
Reggie and Amenit trailed after us. We found the search party gathered in the room where I had feared they would be. The High Priest of Amon had Nastasen by the arm and was speaking vehemently. He broke off when he saw us.
“No luck?” Emerson inquired. Then he translated: “Good fortune has not attended your efforts?”
“Not yet,” said Nastasen. “But soon it will. I am glad you are here to see.” Turning, he indicated the stone slab. “This is a secret place, known to only a few. I did not think the boy could know of it. When I find him, I will ask how he found out.”
He pressed the heels of both hands into shallow indentations under the edge of the slab. Pesaker rolled his eyes and started to expostulate, but he was too late; the slab started to rise and the secret place was secret no longer—not from us, nor from the staring guards.
Nastasen snatched a lamp from one of the men and leaned over the hole. His voice echoed hollowly. “He is not here.”
“He has retreated into the passage out of sight,” said Pesaker. “Let the men go and look for him, my prince— since now they know the secret.”
The men were more intelligent than their prince. The implications of that ominous remark were not lost upon them, and it was with extremely dour expressions that they descended, one by one, into a dark maze from which they might or might not come out.
I reached for Emerson’s hand. It gripped mine with bruising force. My heart was thudding against my ribs. There was a good chance that Ramses could elude them, but I didn’t know whether to hope they would find him or that they would not.
A voice boomed hollowly from the bottom of the stairs. “He is not here, my prince.”
“Search farther back,” Nastasen shouted.