Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [86]
“She wouldn’t be so foolish,” Nefret exclaimed.
“Oh, yes, she would.”
“You are right,” I said, remembering some of Margaret’s other escapades. “But this is the height of the season. She won’t be able to get a room.”
“Dressed like the Sitt Hakim and bearing a strong resemblance to that famous lady?” Sethos popped a bit of meat into his mouth and left us to think it over while he chewed and swallowed.
“Then what are we waiting for?” I cried, pushing my plate away. “We must go after her at once.”
Emerson’s eyes narrowed to slits of sapphirine blue and his lips drew back, baring his large white teeth. “Not you, Peabody. I am not letting you out of my sight.”
“Not she,” Sethos agreed coolly. “It is time I assumed my responsibilities as a husband. I may be able to talk some sense into her.”
Acknowledging the truth of his assertion, I said, “You aren’t planning to go alone, I hope.”
“Any volunteers?” Sethos looked round the table. “No, not you, Nefret, you’re too soft-hearted. Nor you, Emerson, you would lose your temper.”
After a moment, “That leaves me, then,” Ramses said.
“So it would seem,” said Sethos.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
They took two of the horses. Ramses had resigned himself to the job of mounting guard over his uncle—rather he than any of the others—but he intended to minimize the risks as much as possible. They were less vulnerable on horseback.
“You will bring Margaret here with you, of course,” said his mother. “Perhaps you had better take another horse.”
Sethos looked even more dashing on horseback. “I’ll just toss her across the saddle,” he said. “She loved it the last time.”
He was an excellent rider, and he set so rapid a pace there was no opportunity for Ramses to question him. The fields were still and dark under a canopy of stars; no lighted windows showed in the sleeping villages, and the steady pound of the horses’ hooves was the only sound that broke the silence.
It was late for the West Bank, but the lights of Luxor blazed bright across the dark river. A yawning boatman, ever hopeful for passengers despite the time, roused himself and put out the gangplank.
“No one would dare touch them,” Ramses said, in response to his uncle’s question about leaving the horses. “And they’ll wait until we come back.”
“You’re armed, I hope,” Sethos said.
“Just my knife. Why me?”
“I beg your pardon?” said Sethos politely.
“You meant me to come along. Why me?”
He didn’t expect a direct answer; when he got one, surprise almost made him fall off the bench.
“You’re as good in a fight as your father, and not as hotheaded.”
“It isn’t likely that we’ll have to fight anyone except Margaret,” Ramses said. “I am not likely to have much influence with her. She doesn’t like me.”
“And you don’t care much for her. That’s all to the good. You mustn’t let her off lightly.”
“No fear of that,” Ramses said, remembering his mother’s sore head. “If we find her.”
“I could be wrong,” Sethos admitted. “She may have contacts in Luxor about whom I know nothing.”
“You don’t confide in each other, do you?”
“No.” Sethos’s mouth clamped shut.
When they reached the opposite shore the boatman promised to wait for them, and settled down for another nap. They climbed the steps to the top of the embankment.
“We may as well try the Winter Palace first,” Sethos said, indicating the lighted facade of the hotel. “She’s arrogant enough to have gone to the most obvious place.”
Ramses doubted this, but as it turned out, Sethos knew his wife well. The concierge informed them that although she had been late in arriving, and without luggage, he had been able to accommodate Mrs. Emerson’s cousin. It was not one of the most desirable rooms, but the hotel was full and—
“My mother is indebted to you,” Ramses said, cutting him short. “What is her room number?”
Their knock on the door went unanswered. “Maybe she’s gone out again,” Ramses said.
“She’s there.” Sethos knocked again. “Open up, Margaret,” he called. “Or we’ll get the key from the manager.”
The response was slow in coming. “Who is with you?”
“Only me,” Ramses