Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [38]
“You heard what?” Ramses asked.
With a little cluck of distress, Fatima took the bowl of soup from the tray and began feeding her patient. “Do not bother him, Ramses, he is falling sick again.”
Sethos obediently opened his mouth when she pushed the spoon against his lips. After he had swallowed, he said, “I may as well wait to explain myself until my entire doting family is assembled. You will tell them I’m here, of course.”
“Of course. You heard what?”
“Open,” Fatima ordered.
Sethos grinned at Ramses. After he had finished most of the soup he said weakly, “I’m sorry, Fatima. It’s very tasty, but I can’t—I can’t eat any more.”
He sank back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Ramses couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I’m going to fetch Nefret.”
Even that threat didn’t get a response. A long shiver ran through Sethos’s body. Fatima pulled another blanket over him.
“I will sit with him, Ramses, until Nefret comes.”
If not an order, it was a very strong suggestion. Ramses beat an ignominious retreat, swearing under his breath.
Work was out of the question. He did not carry out his threat of going for Nefret; by the time he reached the West Valley she and the others would be getting ready to close down for the day. He decided to make a quick survey of the premises. Sethos had got to the house without being intercepted, but he might have been followed.
Jamad was enjoying his afternoon nap, stretched out on a pile of straw in one of the stalls. Ramses saddled Risha himself. He made a circuit of the house, going some distance into the desert before returning toward the river and skirting the edge of the cultivation. The scene was disarmingly peaceful. The fields were lined with egrets, like a lacy white border; the farmers welcomed them, since they ate insects that might damage the crops. Ramses saw nothing to arouse misgivings. Maybe Smith had actually kept his promise to lead the watchers away.
He got back in time to greet his mother and Nefret, who were accompanied by Selim and Daoud. They all settled down on the veranda and Ramses was trying to think how to break the news to them when the door of the house opened and Kareem staggered out, balancing a loaded tray. A round-faced, unquenchably cheerful youth, he was the only so-called footman to survive Fatima’s nagging. Ramses got to him in time to keep a pile of cups from sliding to the floor. Unabashed, Kareem smiled proudly and managed to get the tray onto the table without further mishap.
“You see, we are ready for you, Sitt Hakim,” he announced.
“Where is Fatima?” that lady inquired.
“You had better sit down,” Ramses said.
“She’s not ill, is she?” Nefret asked anxiously.
Her mother-in-law was quicker. Or perhaps, Ramses thought, she had got the news in a dream, from Abdullah. “He’s come,” she said. “Where is he?”
Ramses got rid of Kareem by sending him to fetch the napkins he had forgotten. “Sit down and have your tea first,” he urged. “Everything is under control.”
“Ha,” said his mother. But she did as he asked, pouring with a steady hand, while he told them. The responses were varied. Selim’s neat black beard parted in a white-toothed grin. He had enjoyed his earlier adventures with Sethos, whom he considered quite a dashing person. Daoud, holding his cup daintily in the palm of his big hand, only nodded. Very little surprised him.
“Malaria again?” Nefret put her cup down and started to rise. “Damn. I’d better go to him.”
“He’s had one dose of quinine,” Ramses said. “Don’t go rushing off, darling, you look tired. What are we going to do about this development?”
His mother selected an iced biscuit from the plate. “What can we do but accept it? Finish your tea, Nefret, and then we will have a little chat with…with our visitor.”
“All of us?” Selim asked hopefully.
“Why not?”
When they crowded into the small, shadowy room, Sethos was awake. “Splendid.” He gasped, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “Daoud and Selim, too. Where