Children Of The Storm Part 3

"A man of his general description took the morning express to Cairo. It isn't conclusive," Ramses added quickly. "You know how obliging Egyptians are about supplying the information they think you want to hear. None of them remembered the portmanteau or that gaudy stickpin he usually wears."

A dismal silence fell. "It looks bad," Cyrus muttered. "Now what do we do?"

Everyone looked at me. It was most gratifying. "Have luncheon," I said, and led the party into the dining salon.

We were well known to the management of that excellent hostelry and had no difficulty in getting a table. Over a bottle of wine and a meal Cyrus hardly touched, we put our heads together. Cyrus's first idea, that we should wire the Cairo police immediately, seemed the obvious course; but I felt bound to point out its weakness.

"If Martinelli has learned anything from his former master, who was, as we all know, a master of disguise-"

"Yes, we do know," grunted Emerson. "Pray do not go off on a long-winded and wholly unnecessary lecture, Peabody. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d may have altered his appearance, but we must at least make the attempt." He bit savagely into a roll.

I took advantage of his tirade to finish my soup. I always say there is no sense in allowing worry to affect one's appet.i.te.

"I agree," said Ramses. "We are fortunate in being well acquainted with the a.s.sistant commandant of the police. Russell will act on our request without the necessity for explanations."

"What if he finds the jewelry?" Cyrus demanded.

"Then we will have it back," I replied. "No, Emerson, do not you go off on a long-winded and wholly unnecessary lecture. Russell owes us a great deal-at least he owes Ramses a great deal, for his services to the police and the military during the war-and we may be able to get out of this without Sethos's name being mentioned. That is supposing Russell is able to apprehend Martinelli, which I consider to be unlikely."

Emerson had wolfed his food down at a great rate. Now he pushed his plate away and rose. "I will go to the telegraph office."

"How many telegrams do you mean to send?" I inquired.

He stood looking down at me. "Two. Perhaps three."

I sighed. "I suppose we must. Do you have the addresses?"

Emerson nodded brusquely and turned away.

"Hmm." Cyrus stroked his goatee. "Who're the other telegrams going to?"

"You can probably guess," Nefret said.

"Reckon I can. Shall we retire to the terrace for coffee and some confidential conversation?"

It was a bright, warm day. The twin terraces of the Winter Palace, reached by a pair of handsome curved stairs, were high enough above the road so that the clouds of dust kicked up by feet and hooves did not reach us, and the noonday sun sparkled on the river. Tourists were returning from their morning trips. Cyrus took out his cheroot case, and after asking our permission, lighted one. Wine and tobacco had calmed him, and his habitual keen intelligence was once again in the fore. In a way I was sorry for that. For years we had put Cyrus off about certain matters, some personal, some professional. Our responsibility for his present dilemma made it impossible, in my opinion, to keep the truth from him. Anyhow, we would have enough trouble keeping track of the lies we would have to invent for Russell and/or Lacau.

"So you've kept in touch with your old pal the Master Criminal?" Cyrus inquired. "You even know his current address. Where the devil is he?"

"I'm not sure where he is at this moment," I admitted. "He has a house in Cornwall and a flat in London, but he travels a great deal."

"I'll just bet he does," Cyrus said. "All right so far, Amelia. Now-who the devil is he?"

I looked at my children, who were seated side by side, their fingers entwined. Ramses's eyebrows tilted up in amused inquiry. "Are you asking for our advice, Mother? A penny for our thoughts?"

"I'll give you mine for nothing," Nefret declared. "We can trust Cyrus completely, and I for one am tired of secrets. I move we tell him everything."

"Quickly, before Father comes back," Ramses added.

Since I was of the same mind, I did so. Cyrus was only too familiar with Sethos's former criminal activities, since he had been involved in several of our encounters with our old adversary. He had not heard of Sethos's courageous and dangerous exploits as a British secret agent, but-he claimed-it came as no surprise to him. I explained that I could not go into detail, since Sethos's activities, and those of Ramses, were covered by the Official Secrets Act.

"That's all right," Cyrus said. "I don't need to know the details, I saw some of the results. Back in 1915, when Ramses ended up in bed for a week, just after the first Turkish attack on the Ca.n.a.l had failed, I began to wonder how he got those particular injuries. Not from falling off a cliff, not him! David was hurt even worse; he was in on it too, wasn't he? I kept my mouth shut, since it wasn't any of my business. Then there was that interesting episode the following year, when Sethos suddenly turned up out of nowhere and helped catch a German spy. But even if he and Ramses were in cahoots in that job, it doesn't explain why you are so intimate with the fellow now."

"No," I admitted.

"There's Father," said Ramses, who had been watching for him. "Get it out, Mother."

I didn't want Emerson sputtering and arguing either, so I said in a rush, "Sethos is Emerson's half-brother. Illegitimate, I regret to say, but no less kin and in recent years no less kind. Hmmm. That doesn't sound quite right . . ."

"I get the idea," Cyrus said in a strangled voice. "Holy Jehoshaphat, Amelia! I won't say I didn't suspect there was some relations.h.i.+p, but-"

"I will of course inform Emerson that you have been made aware of the situation," I said hastily, for Emerson was mounting the stairs two at a time. "But he is easier to deal with if he is presented with a fait accompli. Otherwise he wastes time arguing and going into long-winded-"

"Mother!" Ramses said loudly.

"Quite. Not a word to anyone else, Cyrus. Except to Katherine, of course. I trust her discretion as I trust yours."

"Never," Cyrus a.s.sured me.

Bertie had said very little. He seldom got a chance to say anything, for he was too well-bred to interrupt and too modest to differ with the admittedly dogmatic statements to which the rest of us are somewhat p.r.o.ne. His ingenuous countenance was a study in astonishment, but he found voice enough to express his sentiments.

"I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your confidence, ma'am."

"You have earned it, Bertie," I said warmly. "And I know I can depend on you to keep the information strictly to yourself."

"Of course. You have my word."

"Word about what?" Emerson demanded, looming over me.

"Never mind, my dear," I replied. "Do you want coffee?"

"No. We had better be getting back. There is nothing more we can do until we receive answers to our messages. I have work to do."

"Your article? Quite right, Emerson."

Emerson rubbed the attractive dimple (or cleft, as he prefers to call it) in his chin. "Oh. That article. There's no hurry, Peabody. I thought I might go to the site this afternoon for a few minutes. Nefret, the light will be perfect for photographs."

"I'm sorry, Father." Nefret's smile was warm, but she spoke firmly. "I promised the twins I would take them to visit Selim this afternoon, to play with his children. I can't disappoint them."

"Oh. No, you mustn't disappoint them. Ramses-"

"Emerson, you know their visit to Selim is a Friday-afternoon custom," I said. "Ramses looks forward to his time with Selim and with the children. In any case, you must finish that article before we leave for Cairo to meet the family. You don't want it hanging over your head once they are here."

"When are you leaving?" Cyrus asked.

"We are taking the train Sunday evening." I gathered my belongings-handbag, gloves, parasol-and rose. "By that time we ought to have heard from Mr. Russell, and possibly from . . . someone else. One way or another, whatever the results of our initial inquiries, we will continue to pursue them in Cairo."

I took Emerson's arm and we started down the curving staircase. "Quite a crowd in Luxor this season," I remarked. "It is nice to see things getting back to normal. Oh-there is Marjorie. Stop a minute, Emerson, she is waving at us."

"Wave back and keep walking," said Emerson. "You may indulge in gossip to your heart's content, Peabody, but on your own time. I have no patience with such stuff."

He put his hand over mine and pulled me with him. We had almost reached the foot of the stairs when I saw a little eddy, so to speak, in the crowd. Raised voices and a flurry of rapid movement betokened a disturbance of some kind. Owing to my lack of inches, I could not make out the cause, but Ramses, who had gone ahead with Nefret, obviously beheld something that provoked him into action. He dropped his wife's arm and ran forward.

Needless to say, the rest of us were not far behind him. Emerson thrust through the ring of gaping spectators. They had prudently backed away from the two princ.i.p.al performers, who were grappling with each other. The struggle was brief; with an abrupt movement Ramses (for as the Reader must have surmised, one of the combatants was my son) caught the other man in a hard grip and twisted his arm behind him. His opponent was a burly, dark-haired fellow whose teeth were bared in a grimace of pain or rage. The third partic.i.p.ant lay on the ground, apparently unconscious.

He was no more than a boy, slender and frail, dressed in a suit that could only have been cut by a British tailor. His cap had fallen off. Golden lashes fanned his smooth cheeks, and golden curls crowned his bare head. His gentle countenance and slight form suggested a fallen angel, struck down by some diabolical adversary. The other man looked devilish enough, his face dark with choler and his muscles bulging as he continued to writhe in Ramses's grasp.

"Let me go, you fool," he cried. "Let me go to him."

"Hold on to him, Ramses," I ordered.

"I have every intention of doing so, Mother. They were struggling when I first saw them, and then this fellow struck the boy. Is he badly hurt?"

"I can't see any wounds or bruises," Nefret said. She bent over the youth and was about to loosen his collar when his golden lashes fluttered and lifted, framing eyes of a soft, celestial blue. A dreamy smile curved the delicate lips. "You are very beautiful," he said, catching hold of Nefret's hand. "Are you an angel or a G.o.ddess? The Egyptian G.o.ddesses had dark hair . . ."

"A friend," Nefret said gently. "I will take care of you."

"Francois will take care of me." His eyes moved in innocent curiosity around the circle of staring faces. "Where is he? Where is my good Francois?"

"Here, young master, here." Francois, for so the boy's smile of recognition proved him to be, had accepted the futility of struggle. His body relaxed and his features lost their ferocity. They were no more pleasant in repose; his nose was crooked and a seamed scar twisted his mouth. He had the shallow, retreating brow that some authorities consider evidence of a criminal nature, and the lower portion of his face was out of proportion, with a long jaw and large cheekbones. "Let me go to him," he begged. "Monsieur, s'il vous plait-je vous en prie-"

"It appears," I remarked, "that we may have misjudged the situation. Release him, Ramses."

The man knelt beside the boy and lifted him gently to his feet, the tenderness of his manner in striking contrast to his former ferocity. "We will go home now," he murmured. "Come, young master. Come with Francois."

"Yes." The boy nodded. "But first I must know the names of these new friends, and I must tell them mine. I am Justin Fitzroyce. And you, beautiful lady?"

The sad truth had dawned on Nefret, as it had on me. She spoke to him as she would have spoken to a child, and like a well-trained child he gave each of us his hand as Nefret p.r.o.nounced our names. "I will see you again, I hope," he said sweetly. "You will come to visit me?"

"Thank you," I said. "Where do you live?"

Francois, his arm supporting the slim frame of his "young master," nodded toward the river. "The dahabeeyah Isis. You may speak to my mistress if you still doubt me." The face that had been so benevolent when he spoke to the boy darkened again, and he turned blazing eyes on Ramses.

"There is no need," I said.

"No! You must come. My honor has been questioned. She will tell you."

"I am sorry," my son began.

"There is no need to apologize," I said firmly. "Francois surely understands that a stranger might have misinterpreted his behavior and acted in what he believed to be the boy's defense."

A curt nod was the only response from Francois, but the boy continued to smile and wave as his servant led him away.

"What a sad state of affairs," said my dear, soft-hearted Emerson. "The lad must be subject to fits. It was necessary for his manservant to subdue him lest he harm himself."

"Possibly," Nefret said. "Persons in a state of mania can have extraordinary strength. Frenzy is not typical of epilepsy, however."

"No," I agreed. "And one would have supposed that if Francois was aware of his master's condition he would have learned how to deal with it less forcibly. Goodness gracious, he is twice the boy's size."

"And built like a prizefighter," Ramses said, absently rubbing his wrist. "He knows a few dirty moves too."

"It is not our affair," Emerson declared. "You heard me, Peabody; you are not to call on his family and pry into their affairs and lecture them about medical treatment. You always-"

"No, Emerson, I do not 'always,' and I have no intention of interfering in this case. We have other matters to attend to."

"Too true," said Cyrus, sighing.

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

They stopped by the Castle in the forlorn hope that the missing Italian had turned up after all. He had not. Emerson persuaded Cyrus and Bertie to go to Deir el Medina with him, and Katherine emphatically seconded the suggestion. They could not expect to hear from Russell until late that night and, as Katherine candidly admitted, "To be honest, my dear, if you search that room one more time, I shall scream."

Ramses helped Nefret collect his vociferous offspring and their paraphernalia. His mother marched off to Emerson's study, with a glint in her eyes that made Ramses wonder what she was up to now. He decided it was more than likely that Emerson would stroll in that evening to find she had finished the article for him. Then there would be a row. About time, he thought. They hadn't had a first-cla.s.s argument in days.

They rode the horses, since the distance was too great for short legs. Ramses took his daughter up with him on Risha and Nefret held Davy, who was a fraction less wriggly than his sister. They loved riding with their parents and Charla told Ramses so at length. He a.s.sumed from her chuckles and gestures that was what she was talking about; he didn't understand a word.

They were eagerly awaited, especially by Selim's four youngest children, who ranged in age from a staggering one-year-old to the big sister of six. Daoud and his wife Kadija had stopped by, too. Ramses knew he wouldn't see much of Nefret for the rest of the afternoon; she and Kadija were close friends, and Kadija, a woman of majestic proportions and the owner of a famous green ointment whose recipe she had inherited from her Nubian foremothers, was still shy of him and his father. She and Nefret went off with Selim's wives and the children, leaving the men to smoke and drink coffee under the shady arcade of the courtyard.

Daoud planted his huge hands on his large knees and beamed at Ramses. His beard was grizzled now, but his strength was unimpaired. It was equaled only by his large heart. "Is there news?" he asked hopefully.

There was plenty of news. Ordinarily Ramses would have taken Selim into his confidence, but although he was extremely fond of Daoud, he was well aware of the latter's weakness for gossip. "Nothing you don't know," he said. "We go to Cairo on the Sunday, and will bring the family back with us a few days later."

"Sooner than later," said Daoud firmly. "It has been too long since they have been here, and to think I have never set eyes on the namesake and great-grandson of my honored uncle Abdullah!"

"They call him Dolly," Ramses said. "They plan to stay the entire season, so you will see a great deal of him."

Selim's fine dark eyes had moved from speaker to speaker. Now he cleared his throat. "This time it is Daoud who has news to tell. He has found out why Ha.s.san left the Father of Curses."

Daoud looked reproachful. He enjoyed his reputation as the family's official storyteller, and he would have worked up to the disclosure with proper rhetoric. However, he rallied promptly. "It is surprising news, Ramses. You would never have imagined it. Even I, when he told me, was struck dumb with amazement. My eyes opened wide and my voice failed me."

"But not for long," said Selim, grinning. He sobered almost at once; Ramses had the impression that something was troubling him. "So, Daoud, do not draw the tale out. Tell Ramses what Ha.s.san said."

"I will show him," Daoud declared, rising ponderously to his feet. "Come, Ramses. It is not far."

Ramses waved Selim's protest aside. Daoud had been deprived of his great announcement; he was ent.i.tled to prolong the suspense. "Where?" he asked, rising in his turn.

"Follow me." Selim went to the door of the house and called out, raising his voice to be heard over the bedlam within. "We are going out. We will come back soon."

"So you have to report to the ladies, do you?" Ramses asked as they followed Daoud along the street, if it could be called that. The village had grown like Topsy, without any coherent plan, and the paths wound around and sometimes through modern houses and ancient tombs. "And I hear from Daoud that you are contemplating taking a third wife. Remember the advice I pa.s.sed on to you last year. Three women are six times as much trouble as two."

Selim smiled and stroked his beard. "I tell them what I choose and I do as I like."

"Of course. And the third wife?"

"They cannot agree whether I should do it."

He glanced at Ramses's carefully controlled face and burst into a hearty laugh. "So. Am I-what is the word?-henpecked?"