Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [145]
“Are you hurt?” David asked anxiously.
Ramses got slowly to his feet. He was caked with dirt from chest to feet, and his throat hurt. His arm moved without conscious volition, delivering a hard, backhanded blow to David’s face. David staggered back, his hand over his mouth. Blood dripped between his fingers.
“It was you,” Ramses said. “All along, it was you.”
CHAPTER TEN
WE WERE IN THE DRAWING ROOM WAITING FOR DINNER TO BE ANNOUNCED when Nefret came in.
“Where are David and Ramses?” I asked. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“Gone out.” Nefret brushed a loosened lock of hair back from her face.
I suppose we were all a little on edge—or perhaps it was something in her voice that made Sethos look up with a frown and Emerson get to his feet.
“At this hour?” I asked. “What has happened?”
Nefret took a folded piece of paper from her bodice and handed it to me. “Nothing,” she said. “At least—I don’t know, Mother. I couldn’t stop him, he moved too quickly. Out the window and off at a run. I hadn’t finished dressing…”
“Calm yourself, my dear,” I said, handing Emerson the note. “I presume ‘he’ refers to Ramses, David already having departed?”
“Yes.”
“He says he has gone for a walk,” Emerson said. “Unusual, but not alarming. Nefret, my dear, sit down and let me get you a glass of—of something.”
Sethos, the last to read the message, started to speak and then closed his mouth. Watching him, I said, “Emerson is right, Nefret. Agitation is bad for you, and I am certain you have no reason for concern.”
For a moment I thought Nefret would swear, as I had done on hearing that phrase. Waving away the glass Emerson offered her, she took a deep breath and said, “I would rather have sherry, if you don’t mind, Father.”
“Oh,” said Emerson. “Oh. Of course.” He handed me the whiskey and served her as she had requested.
“Did you happen to see which way Ramses went?” I asked, determinedly casual.
“Not really.” She was trying hard to keep her composure, but after a sip of sherry she burst out, “Why would David steal out without a word to us? He must have known we would worry about him. Ramses said he only meant to find David and bring him back, but he took his knife, and he wouldn’t wait for me or ask you to help him search, and those devils have taken Margaret, and they’re out there, watching us, and—and you tell me I have no reason for concern!”
“I’ll go look for them,” Emerson exclaimed.
“Where?” Nefret demanded. “They could be anywhere from Gurneh to the river by now. Hell and damnation! I should have followed Ramses, in my bare feet and half-dressed!”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Nefret, don’t.” Sethos got up from his chair and came to her. “Believe me, there is no cause…All right, all right, I won’t say it. I don’t know what’s happened to Ramses and David, but I’m sure they’ll be back soon. Margaret…” He hesitated.
A tear slid down Nefret’s cheek. She is one of those women who can cry beautifully, with no distortion of her face or reddening of her eyes. She raised those eyes, brimming and blue, to Sethos. “Oh, hell,” he said. “Margaret isn’t missing. I know precisely where she is, and I assure you she is unharmed. Furious, but unharmed.”
A thunderstruck silence followed this statement. Emerson was the first to recover, and his response was typical of Emerson—a hard blow that sent Sethos sprawling.
“So,” Emerson said in a voice like a lion’s roar. “It was you. All along, it was you.”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
“No,” David said, his voice blurred by the blood dripping from his nose. He passed his sleeve across it. “No, not all along. Ramses—”
“Sorry I can’t offer you a handkerchief. Mine is somewhat unsanitary.” Bloodying David’s nose had got some of the outrage out of his system, but his voice shook.
David fumbled in a pocket and found his own. “I don’t blame you for being angry with me. If you’d just listen—”
“I’ll listen. I haven’t much choice, have I? Fighting my way out of here wouldn’t seem to be a sensible option.”
“You look like hell. Sit down, why don’t you?”
He went