Children Of The Storm Part 33

"Like taking the Fifth Amendment in American law," Bertie said with a grin. "One wouldn't expect him to testify against himself."

Emerson, who had listened with only half an ear, ordered everyone back to work.

Sifting rubbish does not require one's full attention if one is as experienced as I. The Reader will no doubt antic.i.p.ate the tenor of my wandering thoughts. Less perceptive individuals might have been rea.s.sured by the relative peace of those days, without a single incident that could be viewed as hostile. To me, it was highly suspicious-the calm before the storm, the lull before the battle. Something was brewing, I felt it in my very bones. But though I had gone over and over the facts we knew, the pattern yet eluded me.

Having been left one evening with no one to talk to, I went to my own little study. The weary workers had dispersed, Walter and Evelyn to the Castle and the others to their rooms, and Emerson to his own office. My desk was piled high with work in progress, including my own excavation notes, but I was diverted by three sheets of paper covered with Ramses's emphatic scrawl. It was the translation of part of Walter's horoscope papyrus he had promised me; I hadn't had a chance to look at it before.

It began with that memorable entry concerning "the children of the storm." Memorable and seemingly significant, but as I glanced through the remainder of the pages I found nothing of interest. "It is the day of Horus fighting with Set" was followed by "It is the day of peace between Horus and Set." Not surprisingly, the first was designated as "very unfavorable," and the second as "very favorable." Neither could reasonably be said to have any bearing on our situation.

After all, what had I expected? Deciphering Ramses's handwriting always gave me a headache. I put the pages aside. Under them was one of my lists-the names of the women with whom Ramses had been involved. Guiltily, I wondered if he had seen it. He had. At the bottom of the page was another entry in that same emphatic scrawl. "Shame on you, Mother."

I began idly sketching on a blank sheet of paper. I do not draw well, but I had learned the rudiments, as all archaeologists must, and I had found this mechanical operation to be conducive to thought. When the hands are busy the mind is free to wander at will. Never before had I been at such a loss to find a solution to a criminal case.

I drew a rather nice little jar and added a few elements of decoration-lotus blooms, a hieroglyphic bird or two, a winged scarab. They reminded me of the jewelry with which we had bedecked ourselves. Vanity is a sin, but I had enjoyed it as much as the others! I tried, without great success, to sketch the horned ram of Amon which had rested with such heavy import on my breast. It was one of the simpler ornaments, despite the complexity of the beautifully sculpted animal; much Egyptian jewelry is made up of many different elements, like the pectoral that had been stolen, with its central scarab and row of lotus blossoms below and the two flanking cobras. I drew them and added nice little white crowns to their heads; and as my pencil moved randomly across the paper, my mind moved as randomly, mentally fingering the disparate elements of the pattern we had attempted to establish, arranging them and rearranging them. Had not Abdullah a.s.sured me the pattern was there? I was inclined to believe I had really heard his voice that day, for it was like Abdullah to throw out a tantalizing, equivocal statement instead of giving me a direct answer. "You are at the beginning . . ."

My fingers clenched so tightly on the pencil that the point broke off. "That too is part of the pattern," he had said once before, when we talked of his elevation to the role of sheikh. And his tomb was the beginning . . . I stared at the uncompleted sketch of the pectoral, and I knew there was one pattern we had not considered-and one avenue of information we had not explored.

Inspired and revived, I sprang to my feet and hastened out of the house.

My peremptory knocking went unanswered for some time, but I persevered. Not until Ramses himself opened the door did I realize how late was the hour.

"Oh dear," I said. "Did I wake you?"

"I wasn't asleep." He tied the belt of his robe and ran his hand over his tumbled curls. "What's wrong? Come in and tell me."

"No, no. I am sorry to have disturbed you. I have only a single question."

When I asked it, his drowsy eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. "I don't remember. Why on earth-"

"You had heard the name of the place, though?"

"I may have done. Father might know. Have you asked him?"

"I prefer not to mention the subject to your father. Try to remember. I could telegraph Thomas Russell, but time is of the essence."

He shook his head. "It's been several years, and I don't understand why-"

"Ah well, perhaps it will come to you in the night, when your mind is on something else," I said helpfully. "That is how memory works. Do not hesitate to come to me immediately, whatever the hour."

He was wide awake now, but he had learned not to persist in questions I had no intention of answering. His lips curved in an expression that might have betokened amus.e.m.e.nt, though I rather doubted it.

"I wouldn't want to wake you, Mother. Or disturb you when your mind is on something else."

"Don't worry about that, my dear. I am a light sleeper."

"If you say so. Come, I'll walk you back to the house," Ramses said, stifling a yawn.

"No, thank you, my dear. You ought not go out of doors barefoot, and by the time you found your shoes you might wake Nefret."

"She's awake. Am I to take it that you don't want me to mention the subject to her either? See here, Mother-"

"Until later, then," I said, and got away before he could object.

Most of the lanterns along the path had burned out. The area seemed much darker now than it had when, sped by the wings of discovery, I had traversed it earlier. Something larger than a mouse or a shrew rustled in the shrubbery. I knew it was probably one of the cats, but I am not ashamed to confess that I moved as fast as I dared.

It was somewhere around three in the morning when I was aroused by a scratching at the window. Emerson did not stir; he can sleep through a thunderstorm. I made sure my nightdress was modestly b.u.t.toned before I went to the window and leaned out. We always kept a lamp burning in the courtyard. By its light I recognized the tall form of my son. His posture and the tilt of his head indicated a certain degree of vexation.

"You have remembered?" I whispered.

"Yes. It came to me," Ramses added in an expressionless murmur, "when I was thinking of something else. The place is about thirty miles south of here, on the West Bank. I presume there is no point in asking you why-"

"You will learn the answer tomorrow. I want you to come with me. And don't tell your father."

"Or Nefret?"

"No."

I glanced over my shoulder. Emerson had turned over and was muttering to himself. When he reaches for me and I am not there he becomes agitated. "I will make the necessary arrangements," I hissed. "Go now, your father is stirring."

Emerson sat up. "Peabody!" he shouted. Ramses vanished into the darkness.

GETTING AWAY WITHOUT EMERSON'S KNOWLEDGE was not easy, but I managed it by telling him he could have Lia and David with him that day.

Emerson said, "Ramses-" and I said, "He promised to finish a translation for me this morning. We will be along later."

Emerson wisely decided to take what he could get, and swept Lia and David out of the house as soon as they had finished breakfast, for fear I would change my mind. Nefret and Maryam were not at the breakfast table. I a.s.sumed the former was with a patient and at that moment I did not care where Maryam had got to, as long as she was not in my way. Like me, Ramses was attired as he would have been for a day at the excavation, so we did not have to delay to change. As we left the house I selected a particularly st.u.r.dy parasol.

I had not seen the train station since the explosion and was surprised to find so little damage. Business was going on as usual. We were recognized, of course, and had to answer a number of friendly questions and listen to the latest gossip. The train was an hour late, which was not unusual. It was a local, with only second- and third-cla.s.s carriages; as Ramses helped me into one of the former, I saw a familiar form on the platform. Catching my eye, Dr. Khattab swept off his fez, placed a fat hand on his embroidered waistcoat, and bowed. I concluded he must be meeting someone, since he did not board the train.

The aged carriage jolted and clanked along the rails and a fine sandy dust blew in through the open window. Ramses put a steadying arm round me and offered me a handkerchief.

"You didn't bring your knife," I said.

"Are you expecting trouble? You might have mentioned it."

"I do not expect it, but I believe in being prepared. Never mind, I have my belt of tools and my parasol."

"That should suffice," Ramses agreed. "You told everyone who asked where we were going."

"I also left a message for your father. Should we fail to return-"

"d.a.m.n it, Mother!" The train hit a b.u.mp. I bounced, and he tightened his grip. "I beg your pardon. Are you going to confide in me now?"

In the cold light of morning my brilliant inspiration did not s.h.i.+ne as brightly. I rather regretted wasting an entire day on a far-fetched idea-and bouncing up and down on the hard seat was cursed uncomfortable. "It will all be made clear to you at the proper time," I said, hoping it would be made clear to me as well.

Ramses said another bad word. This time he did not apologize.

FROM A DISTANCE THE VILLAGE looked quite picturesque, set in a grove of palm trees, with a pretty little minaret poking up through the branches. Experience had taught me that close up the effect was less picturesque than nasty, and as we approached, the village looked no different from dozens of others I had seen: the same flat-roofed, plastered mud-brick houses; the same chickens and pigeons pecking at the dirt under the trees; the same pack of children das.h.i.+ng toward us with outstretched hands, asking for baksheesh; the same black-clad women pausing in their work of grinding grain or kneading bread to stare curiously at us.

However, as the small predators gathered round, I noticed that their half-clad (or unclad) bodies were healthily rounded and their eyes free of infection. Even the dogs skulking behind us were not so lean as most. There were other signs of prosperity: rows of gracefully shaped water jars baking in the sun outside the potter's house, several webs of woof threads stretched between the trunks of palm trees, with busy weavers at work. I left Ramses to deal with the predators, which he did by promising baksheesh, much baksheesh, if they would take us to the house of the man we sought.

Before we had gone far along the narrow lane we saw a man hurrying toward us, his hands outstretched, his face wearing a happy smile, as if he were coming to greet old friends. He was young and well-set-up, though running a trifle to fat.

"G.o.d's blessing be upon you, Brother of Demons!" he cried and threw his arms round Ramses. "Welcome. How good it is to greet you again!"

"Greetings to you, Musa," said Ramses, freeing himself with a rather peremptory shove. "This is-"

"Ah, but who would not know the Sitt Hakim!" The fellow flopped down onto the ground and kissed my dusty boots. "It is an honor. My lord has heard of your coming, he eagerly awaits you."

He dismissed our youthful entourage with a few words, and to my surprise they dispersed without argument. The house to which he led us was built of stone-probably pilfered from ancient monuments-and surrounded by trees and a nice little garden. In the mandarah, the princ.i.p.al reception room, a pleasant chamber furnished with low tables and a cus.h.i.+oned divan, el-Gharbi was waiting.

I had heard of him many times, but this was the first time I had set eyes on him. Instead of the women's robes and jewels he had once affected, he wore a simple caftan of blue silk and a matching turban, but his round black face was carefully painted. Kohl outlined his eyes, and lips and cheeks were reddened with henna. A sweet, pervasive aura of perfume wafted round him.

"Don't get up," I said, watching in some alarm as he writhed and wriggled.

I had spoken English. He understood, but he replied in Arabic. "The Sitt Hakim is gracious. Alas, I am old and even fatter than I once was." He clapped his hands, and Musa trotted off. "Be seated, please," the procurer went on. "We will drink tea together. You honor me by your presence, you and your ill.u.s.trious son. Beautiful as ever, I see."

He leered amiably, not at me, but at Ramses, who replied equably, "And you are flouris.h.i.+ng as ever. The village seems prosperous."

El-Gharbi rolled his eyes and looked pious. "I cannot see children go hungry and the old and sick left to die. I have helped-yes, I have helped a little. One must make one's peace with G.o.d before the end, and atone for one's sins."

Neither of us was rude enough to say that he had quite a list for which to atone, but he must have known what we were both thinking. His black eyes twinkled and his large body shook with silent laughter. "Is it not written, 'Whoever performs good works and believes, man or woman, shall enter into Paradise'?"

The quotation was correct, and his was not the only faith that implies there is salvation for a repentant sinner. At least the Koran demanded good works instead of a desperate, last-second mumble of belief.

Musa returned with several servants carrying trays. They were all men, all young, and all quite handsome. Tea was handed round and fresh-baked bread offered, while el-Gharbi carried on a polite conversation. "And your lovely wife is well? May G.o.d protect her. And the Father of Curses? Ah, how kind he was to me. The motorcar I-er-procured for him several years ago was satisfactory, I presume? And the forged papers? I was so happy to do those small services for him. May G.o.d protect him!"

The whole performance had a certain element of parody, but it would not have been courteous to interrupt. Finally he gave me my opening by asking us to stay and dine that evening. "Musa will show you the village. You will admire it, I think."

"You are most kind, but I fear we cannot stay," I said. "We must be back in Luxor tonight. I came only to ask you a question."

"One question? All this way for a single question?" He put his fat hands on his knees and nodded benignly. "I live only to serve you, Sitt Hakim. What would you ask?"

Now that the moment had come, I had to force myself to speak. Ramses was watching me intently, and so was the procurer.

"You sent us a warning once," I said. "You said, if I remember correctly, that the young serpent . . . er . . ."

"Also had poisoned fangs. I remember, Sitt. I hope the warning came in time."

"That remains to be seen," I said, avoiding the astonished gaze of my son. "She is staying with us now. I have no reason to believe she means us harm, but I must know what prompted your words. Her marriage to the American gentleman ended badly, and she is-"

"Marriage? American?" His eyes widened until the kohl r.i.m.m.i.n.g them cracked.

"You must have known of it," I said. "You are reputed to know everything."

"I knew. But, Sitt Hakim, it was not that one I meant. It was the other one."

CHAPTER TWELVE

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

Nefret did not learn of her husband's deception-as she viewed it-until midday, when her father-in-law burst into the surgery. The patient was a woman, whom Nefret was treating for a breast lesion. She let out a squawk of offended modesty, and Emerson backed out as quickly as he had entered. "How much longer will you be?" he shouted from the next room.

"Not long." She sent the woman away with a little pot of ointment and went into the waiting room. Emerson was stamping up and down, swearing.

"Read this." He thrust a crumpled paper at her. None of the chairs in the waiting room was occupied; if there had been other patients, they had beat a hasty retreat. "No man dares face the wrath of the Father of Curses."

Wrathful he was, blue eyes snapping, teeth bared. "Well?" he demanded. "Do you know anything about this?"

Nefret's own anger rose as she read the brief message. " 'Ramses and I have gone off on a little expedition. We will be back this evening. In the event that we have not returned by tomorrow morning you may look for us at a village called El-Hilleh, approximately three miles south of Esna, on the West Bank. I consider this contingency highly unlikely, however. a bientot, my dear Emerson.' "

"d.a.m.n him," Nefret said, closing her fist over the paper.

"Ah," said Emerson, in a less accusatory voice. "They didn't tell you either."

"No. She considers it highly unlikely that they will fail to return, does she? What is this village?"

"The name means nothing to me." Emerson took out his pipe, remembered that she didn't allow it in the clinic, and started for the door. "Let us ask Selim."

"No!" Nefret whipped off her gown and tossed it onto a chair. "I won't have Selim worried. Come outside, Father."

A feathery tamarisk tree gave partial shade to a wooden bench which had been placed there for the accommodation of patients when the waiting room was full. Emerson sat down and filled his pipe. "Now, now, my dear, don't be upset. She does this sort of thing all the time, you know."

"He doesn't. He swore to me he would never go off on his own again." Nefret tucked a stray lock of hair under her cap. Her fingers were shaking.

"He's not alone," Emerson pointed out. "Don't blame Ramses; if I know my wife, and I believe I do, she insisted he keep it a secret."

"He could have refused. There are other loyalties." The knowledge that Ramses was with his mother did not give her the comfort Emerson had intended. "She's as bad as he is," Nefret burst out. "The two of them together . . ."

"Hmmm, well, er." Unable to refute this, Emerson smoked in silence for a few moments. "They must have caught the southbound train. There isn't another until this evening."

"We could take the horses. How far is this place?"

"Over thirty miles. It sounds as if they expect to catch the afternoon train back to Luxor. Hmph. That would give them only a few hours in the cursed place. I wonder what . . ." He shook his head in exasperation. "There is no sense in speculating, or in following them. If the northbound train is on time, they will be on their way back by the time we get there."

"How can you be so complacent? Aren't you angry?"

"I was briefly put out," Emerson admitted. "However, I should be accustomed to Peabody's little tricks. We've played this game for years, each trying to be the first to solve a case. She cheats, you know."