Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [155]
As Ramses might have expected, his mother was the first to break the astonished silence. Rising, she went to David and put her arm round his bowed shoulders. “As he has done innumerable times before. I think I understand, David. Do not reproach yourself. You are not the only person present who has committed an error of judgment. To err is human, to forgive—”
“For God’s sake, Peabody, spare us the poetry,” Emerson exclaimed. “Er—David, my boy, what about a whiskey and soda?”
His eyes moist, David accepted the glass Emerson pressed into his hand.
“Sir,” he began.
“Never mind,” Emerson said hastily. “Now let us hear the details, eh? You look as if you’ve been in a scrap.”
“It was a bit dodgy at times,” Ramses said. His father could only stand so much sentiment. “David had to pick the lock of the room in which I was confined, and knock out the guard outside the door—all that without making a noise that would awaken the rest of the fellows. We had another encounter at the front door, where there was another man standing guard. He took David for one of his own long enough for David to tackle him and bring him down. Between the two of us we put him out of commission, but we had made a certain amount of racket, and by the time we got out the door, the rest of them were in hot pursuit. I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life. When we reached the Winter Palace we knew we had made it. Sabir was looking for us, and…You know the rest.”
His father leaned forward. “The place is near the Winter Palace? Where exactly?”
Ramses explained. “We should have gone directly to the police, I suppose, but—”
“No point in that,” said Emerson, once more in charge. “The birds would have flown. But we had better do so at once.”
“That will take hours,” his wife said. “It can wait until morning and so can everything else.”
Like Ramses, she had seen that David was on the verge of collapse from emotional as well as physical strain. She took him firmly by the arm. “Come along, dear boy. A nice warm glass of milk will send you off to sleep directly.”
There would be “a soupçon of laudanum” in the milk, Ramses thought. Nefret didn’t offer him milk, but she refused to let him get in bed until he had washed off Kadija’s green ointment. It was undeniably therapeutic, but the stains were hard to get out.
The next morning we all felt like survivors of a shipwreck who had endured long hours of despair before finding, against all odds, that all had indeed survived. I had given thanks, kneeling by the bed, while Emerson stood by, muttering. Now it was time to get to work. Taking a paper from my pocket, I said, “I have made one of my little lists.”
Smiles suffused every face, including that of David, who was still inclined to mope. “Well, Peabody,” said Emerson good-humoredly, “what is the first item to be considered?”
“Informing Inspector Aziz and requesting him to search the suspected premises.”
“Be damned to that,” said Emerson, giving his boiled egg a hard smack. “I intend to inspect the cursed premises myself. You may come along if you like.”
Naturally I had intended to do so. A woman’s eye, I always say, is keener than that of a man. “After that,” I continued, “we must have a council of war.”
Urged by Fatima, David had made a good start on his breakfast. Now he put down his fork. “I haven’t told you what I learned about the conspiracy, Aunt Amelia. You didn’t give me time last night.”
I raised an admonitory finger. “Everything in order, David. ‘Quiet calm deliberation will untangle every knot.’ At least I hope it will.”
Ramses and Nefret sat side by side, holding hands under the table. “I am coming to Luxor too,” Nefret announced, in a