The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [99]
There was no one in sight. No sound, no movement. Ramses went back the way they had come, waited for a while, and then retraced his steps. It lacked only ten minutes till the designated time. He came to a stop not far from the cleft into which David had vanished, and removed his turban.
The ten minutes passed, and so did another ten. He moved a little farther away from the cliff face, into full moonlight. He had just about decided his informant wasn’t coming when he heard the sound of someone approaching, slowly and cautiously. In the dead silence the crunch of stone under shod feet was as loud as a rockfall.
The footsteps stopped. He was close by now, watching. Ramses didn’t move. A few minutes passed with agonizing slowness; then a dark form took shape against the deeper darkness and came toward him.
It was a woman. She was completely covered with the black tob and face veil worn by old-fashioned Egyptian females, but Ramses got the impression of feeble old age from the way she moved, slowly and bent over.
The uneven steps stopped a few feet away, just out of reach and the veiled head tilted as if in inquiry.
“Don’t be afraid,” Ramses whispered in Arabic. “You know me. You know I won’t hurt you.”
He took a step forward, his hand outstretched. The veiled form stumbled back.
“It is well,” Ramses said quickly. “I will come no closer. What did you want to tell me?”
She flung out a black-clad arm, pointing, and let out a high-pitched cawing sound, like that of a bird. Ramses whirled round, staring in the direction she had indicated.
And that was the last thing he remembered.
SEVEN
FROM MANUSCRIPT H (CONT.)
* * *
“Wake up, dammit! Say something!”
He knew the voice. The name escaped him for the moment, buried like other memories under a thick layer of pain, but something told him he owed the speaker acknowledgment.
“What happened?” he croaked. “Who are you?”
“Don’t do this to me, Ramses. Open your eyes, will you?”
“I’d rather not.” The name came back to him. “David.”
“Drink this.” An object was jammed against his mouth. One sip of the liquid brought him to a sitting position, choking and sputtering.
“That’s better,” David said with a long sigh of relief. “I took a leaf from Aunt Amelia’s handbook of convenient accoutrements. There’s nothing like brandy, she says.”
Finding that his eyes were now open, Ramses surveyed his surroundings. The scenery hadn’t changed. He was in the same place, but he was sitting instead of standing. Moonlight flooded the ground and shone darkly on a pool of liquid near where his head had rested.
“Blood,” he said, pleased at being able to identify it. “Mine?”
“You got a hard knock on the head.” David sat back on his heels. “She had a club of some sort hidden in that damned full sleeve. Swung it before I could move.”
“She’s gone?”
“Damn right she’s gone. I fired at her as she was raising her handy club a second time. Missed.”
Ramses got out a croak of protest, and David said, “Knowing your dislike of firearms, I didn’t tell you I had brought a pistol. I’m glad I did. I didn’t mean to hit her, only stop her before she could deliver another blow. She scuttled off. I didn’t chase after her, I was afraid you were…”
His voice failed. Ramses discovered he was now capable of uttering more than three words at a time. “Have some of that brandy.”
“Excellent idea.”
“And then give me another nip. God, my head feels as if it’s about to fall off.”
“Your head ought to be used to that sort of thing by now. You must have inherited the Professor’s thick skull.”
David handed him the flask. The blessed stuff ran through his veins like liquid fire. Cautiously he got to his feet.
“Steady.” David took hold of his arm. “Maybe you shouldn’t try to walk. I can go back to the house and get—”
“No, I’m all right,” Ramses said, as they started back along the path. “I don’t suppose there’s a hope of keeping Nefret in the dark about this.”
“What