Children Of The Storm Part 5

Having allowed Emerson (and myself) a few moments of nostalgia, I brought his mind back to the present.

"If the boat is on time, our loved ones will be here tomorrow evening, Emerson. That gives us only a little over twenty-four hours in which to complete our investigations."

"What investigations?" Emerson demanded. "If you are thinking of pursuing your favorite sport of badgering the antiquities dealers, dismiss the idea. It would be a waste of time. Martinelli will not dispose of his loot through the usual channels."

"So you can read his mind, can you?"

"Curse it, Peabody-"

"What is the harm of a visit to the suk? I must do a bit of shopping, in the course of which a few innocent inquiries may produce useful information."

"Hmph," said Emerson.

When the children joined us for luncheon, Nefret readily agreed to my suggestion, though, like Emerson, she was of the opinion that we were not likely to learn anything about the stolen jewelry. "I need to buy things for the twins," she said. "They are growing like weeds and they are very hard on their clothes."

Ramses and his father exchanged conspiratorial glances. They were trying to come up with excuses for not accompanying us. I didn't want them along anyhow; Emerson always stood by shuffling his feet and grumbling under his breath, and Ramses always wore an expression of exaggerated patience which was even more trying.

"You needn't come," I said. "Nefret and I will shop for the twins and for other boring necessities such as sheets and pillowcases, which you seem to believe appear out of thin air. Shall we go, Nefret? Emerson, I expect you and Ramses to behave yourselves. No hobn.o.bbing with thieves and spies, no orating."

"The same to you," Emerson grunted.

"Take your parasol," Ramses added.

I did, of course. My parasols have become the stuff of legend in Egypt. They were no longer fas.h.i.+onable but I always carried one since I had found them to be invaluable, serving as sunshade or walking stick, and sometimes as a defensive weapon. A good hard whack over the head or across the s.h.i.+ns will bring down most a.s.sailants, and mine were specially made, with a heavy steel shaft and-in one case-a concealed sword. Thanks to Daoud's preposterous stories, superst.i.tious persons had become convinced that the parasols had additional magical powers. In some quarters the mere sight of that deadly object was enough to bring a miscreant to his knees. Since I had no reason to fear danger, the one I carried that day was not one of the heavy black instruments, but a delicate saffron in color to match my frock.

Nefret and I had a successful shopping trip. I do not enjoy buying bed linens any more than certain other people do, but when a task is necessary I complete it efficiently and thoroughly. Purchasing little garments for the twins provided greater pleasure, though Nefret firmly vetoed most of the frilly frocks and miniature coats and trousers I would have selected. She was undoubtedly correct; even Fatima had balked at ironing the dozens of frocks Charla got through in the course of a week.

After taking tea at Groppi's, we returned to the hotel to find that the merchandise we had ordered had been sent on. The suffragi had placed all the parcels in the sitting room, and we were going through them to make certain all was in order when Ramses returned.

"Did you get everything you wanted?" he asked, taking a chair.

"Yes, my dear, thank you for your interest," I replied. "Where is your father?"

"Isn't he back yet?"

"No, he is not. I thought you two were going somewhere together."

"Were we supposed to?"

"Stop that," I ordered. Shopping does leave one weary (which is one of the reasons why men make women do it) and Ramses's habit of answering questions with additional questions was, I did not doubt, designed to tease.

"Yes, Mother. Father went off on some errand of his own; he declined my offer to accompany him, nor did he mention what it was."

"Hmmm," I said. "And what did you do?"

Ramses's amused smile faded. There was no way he could avoid a direct answer this time. "I called on Rashad."

Nefret dropped the little shoe she was inspecting. "Not alone!" she exclaimed.

"Except for several hundred tourists, vendors, merchants, and miscellaneous citizens of Cairo," said Ramses. "I thought he might have the same rooms he occupied several years ago, when I crawled through his window from the back of a camel. Such proved to be the case. He wasn't at home, though."

"Why did you want to see him?" I asked.

Ramses leaned back and lit a cigarette. "I wanted to know why he has come back to Cairo and where his former leader has got to. If Wardani is planning some new stunt, he may try to recruit David again."

"But surely he knows that David betrayed him once before," I said uneasily. "He wouldn't be likely to trust him again, would he?"

"One never knows," Ramses replied. "Wardani is a pragmatist. If he believed David could be useful, he might be willing to overlook past indiscretions."

"We cannot permit that," I said. "However, I see no point in antic.i.p.ating trouble. Have you had tea, my dear? Nefret and I took tea at Groppi's, but I will send the suffragi to bring it if you would like."

"Thank you, I'll wait for Father."

We had to wait some time. Emerson finally turned up, in an unusual state of dishevelment even for him. He had not had a hat to begin with-he lost them so often that I no longer insisted on his wearing one-and his hair was standing on end. His tie was undone, his coat open, and his s.h.i.+rt streaked with some dark oily substance.

"Good heavens, what have you been up to?" I inquired. "That looks like oil. Did you fall?"

"What?" Emerson glanced down at his chest. "Oil? Fall? No. Yes. Another s.h.i.+rt ruined, eh, my dear?"

He laughed, loudly and unconvincingly.

"Would you like tea, Emerson?" I asked.

"No, no, let's go and dine in the suk, eh?"

I had planned to dine at Shepheard's in the expectation of encountering acquaintances and catching up on the news, but I did not mind making this small concession to marital accord. Emerson dislikes elegant hotels, formal attire, and most of my acquaintances. So we a.s.sumed garments suitable for the littered alleyways and grimy buildings of the Khan el Khalili, and I changed parasols.

"Not your sword parasol!" Emerson protested. "Don't tell me you are having one of your premonitions, Peabody, for I won't stand for it."

"Nothing of the sort, my dear. Just a general precaution."

A return to the Khan el Khalili was a trip into the past. The few small changes had not altered the general character of the place-an Aladdin's cave of s.h.i.+ning bra.s.s lamps and mother-of-pearl inlaid tables, carpets like woven gardens of flowers, fine leather sandals and silver bangles. Greetings showered us and Emerson's countenance brightened, even when Nefret or I delayed to examine a jewel or a length of gold-woven brocade from Damascus. He even went so far as to permit me to call on several of the antiquities dealers, including our old acquaintance Aslimi. Aslimi was not glad to see us, but then he never was. Emerson made him extremely nervous. I beheld no unusual degree of nervousness or sign of guilt, however. Nor was there any response from him or the other dealers to the only question we dared ask: "Anything of interest?"

"I hope you are satisfied, Peabody," said Emerson, as we strolled on.

"I am not at all satisfied, Emerson. If Martinelli did not dispose of his loot in Luxor or with any of the Cairo dealers, what did he do with it?"

"Sold it to a private buyer, of course," Emerson said impatiently. "Now may we dine? Where?"

"It had better be Ba.s.sam's," Nefret said. "If we go elsewhere and he learns of it-which he will-he will be cut to the quick."

Emerson snorted at her tender consideration for Ba.s.sam's feelings, but since it was his favorite restaurant he made no objection. Ba.s.sam came running to greet us, his bare forearms s.h.i.+ning with perspiration, for he was cook as well as proprietor. He was not at all surprised to see us. He had heard of our arrival, and of our presence in the Khan; where else would we dine but with him?

"So," said Emerson, studying Ba.s.sam's ap.r.o.n-the closest thing to a menu the establishment provided. "Since you expected us, you have no doubt prepared one of those delicacies you keep promising-ostrich, or antelope."

He hadn't. The offers were only generalized and extravagant gestures of goodwill, which he knew would never be accepted.

Ba.s.sam liked to advertise our presence, so our table was, as usual, near the open doorway. This was mildly annoying, since pa.s.sersby paused to greet us and an occasional beggar summoned up courage enough to risk Ba.s.sam's wrath by asking for baksheesh. He ran most of them off that evening, but after the meal, while we were enjoying Ba.s.sam's excellent coffee, a ragged man took advantage of his temporary absence to sidle up to Ramses, his hands moving eloquently in appeal. Ramses handed over a few coins-and got in return a folded paper. After performing this maneuver, which had been done with deft, sleight-of-hand skill, the beggar retreated out the door.

"How curious," I exclaimed. "What does it say, Ramses?"

Ramses's expressive brows tilted as he read. "It is from Rashad. He wants me to meet him."

"No," Nefret exclaimed.

"Under no circ.u.mstances," I said.

"My dears," said Emerson. "Please."

It was a mild-enough remonstrance, coming from Emerson, but his tone silenced me and Nefret. Emerson went on, "Well, Ramses?"

"He says . . ." Ramses looked again at the curving Arabic script. "He says there is danger awaiting David in Cairo. He wants to warn him."

"What danger?" I asked.

"He'll tell me when I see him. I must go, this may be a false alarm, but if it is true-"

"Not alone," Nefret said.

"Yes, alone, he is very clear about that. Do you suppose you-any of you-can follow me without his knowing? We are obviously under surveillance. This cannot be a trap," he added impatiently. "He's signed his name and given explicit directions. The place isn't far from here. Do you know it, Father?"

Emerson read the message. "I can find it."

"Wait for me here." Ramses rose. "I'll be back in an hour or less."

He vanished into the darkness outside.

"It could be a trap," I said.

"Oh, yes," said Emerson. "Ba.s.sam, more coffee, if you please."

Nefret did not speak. Her wide eyes were fixed on Emerson's face. He smiled at her, and patted her hand.

"You couldn't have held him back, my dear, nor wanted to-not when there was a threat to David."

"I can't sit here waiting for an hour," Nefret said tightly.

"You won't have to. We will give Ramses and anyone who may be following him time enough to get well away from here. Ten minutes, then we'll go there ourselves."

It was an admirable scheme; there should have been no flaw in it. Rashad had not given a street address. Cairo does not boast such conveniences, except in the modern European quarters. The description had been explicit, however, and Emerson was certain we had found the right place. No one was there except a half dozen impoverished and extensive families, who denied any knowledge of Rashad or of Ramses. Cowering before the thunder of Emerson's voice and the sight of the terrible parasol, they protested their innocence in terms impossible to doubt; but we searched the wretched place from top to bottom. We found no sign of Ramses.

CHAPTER THREE

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

He wondered where he was, but he couldn't bring himself to care much. Dimly lit by hanging lamps, the room was small and luxuriously furnished, the walls draped with fabric. A brazier on a stand nearby glowed, giving off a pale cloud of cloying, strange-smelling smoke. He lay on a soft, yielding surface, and not until he tried to move did he realize his hands and feet were immobilized. Vaguely curious, he flexed his wrists; the bonds were soft as silk, tight enough to hold without hurting.

Considerate of them, he thought sleepily. Whoever they are. I wonder what they want. He was quite comfortable, but he hoped someone would come soon and tell him. Nefret would worry . . .

He saw his wife's face, as clearly as if she stood beside him. Like a crack opening in a prison wall, it pierced the clouds of darkened memory. Ba.s.sam's, the beggar, the message . . . How much time had pa.s.sed-an hour, a day? Nefret didn't know where he was. She always worried . . . Fighting the pleasant lethargy that weakened his limbs, he hung on to the thought of her, turning his head away from the smoke of the brazier, twisting his hands, trying to loosen the bonds. A stab of pain ran from his wrist up his forearm. An injury of some kind? He couldn't remember, but he twisted harder, deliberately inducing renewed pain and the temporary clarity of will it brought.

"Do not struggle. You will hurt yourself."

It was a whisper, barely audible, but in the silence it rang like a shout. Ramses turned his head toward the sound.

How she had entered he did not know. If there was a door, it had closed behind her. Light surrounded her as if her flesh shone through the thin linen that covered her body. Even with the fumes of the drug clouding his mind-or perhaps because of them-he took note of the fact that it was a young woman's body, slim and firm. Her face was veiled and on her head rested the horns and sun disk of an Egyptian G.o.ddess.

"Who are you?" He forced the words past lips that felt rubbery and unresponsive.

"Don't you know me? You have seen me before, many times, though not in the flesh."

Still a whisper. The words were English, but the accent was odd. Not German, not French, not . . . He found it increasingly difficult to think clearly. How much was real, how much illusion? The sheer linen veiled but did not conceal the lines of her body, the rounded hips and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Put that d.a.m.ned brazier out," he gasped.

She let out a breath of soft amus.e.m.e.nt and clapped her hands. A dark form materialized behind the couch where he lay. Featureless as she, androgynous in outline, it moved the brazier away and then vanished. He drew a long, uneven breath and tried to focus his eyes. She took a step toward him.

"Look closely. Do you know me now?"

She was jeweled like a queen, gold enclosing her slim wrists and arms. The robe of fine linen, the beaded sash and collar, the crown-and protruding from the black hair coiling over her shoulders, the ears of an animal. A cow's ears. A rapidly shrinking core of sanity told him he must be imagining some of it, seeing what she wanted him to see.

"You've gone to a great deal of trouble a.s.sembling that costume," he muttered. "But no. I don't know you. Why am I here? What do you want?"

"Only to see you and cause you to remember me. Stay with me for a day . . . or two. I promise, you will find it pleasurable."

He didn't doubt that he would. There were a number of euphoric drugs available, and she seemed to know how to use them. With an effort he pulled himself to a sitting position. She stepped back and raised her hand.

"You waste your strength," she murmured. "I mean you no harm. You are under my protection. Remember that, and do not fear for yourself, whatever befalls. You will know me when next you see me."

A beam of white light shot from her hand, striking him full in the eyes. Blinded and dizzy, he fell back against the cus.h.i.+ons. When he was able to see again, she was gone and the brazier had been replaced.

Ramses knew he had only a few minutes in which to act before the drugged smoke overcame him. He rolled as far away from it as he could get, and pulled his knees up.

He had practiced the maneuver many times, but his movements were clumsy now and it took an interminable time for his stretched fingers to find the heel of his boot. After he had twisted it off he lay motionless, forcing his shaking hands to steadiness, breathing through the fabric of the cus.h.i.+ons. Then he extracted the thin strip of steel coiled in the heel. It was serrated and very sharp; before he got it wedged against his wrists his fingers were slippery with blood. Afraid of losing his hold, he slashed hard and fast, risking additional cuts, and getting several. The steel slipped out of his grasp, but not before the job was done; a final tug freed his hands, and without daring to pause for rest he picked it up and cut through the cloth around his ankles. It was silk, twisted into a cord. He sat for a moment staring bemusedly at it, and then flung it aside and started to stand.

His knees gave way, so he crawled, to the farthest corner of the room, and fumbled along the wall, behind the draperies, trying to find a window. His fingers finally slipped into the carved apertures of a mashrabiya screen, used in harem quarters to allow the ladies to look out without being seen. With the last of his strength he forced it open and fell across the high sill, drawing in the sweet night air in long gasps.

Sweet by comparison to the atmosphere of the room, at any rate. He'd have known those variegated smells anywhere-animal dung and rotting vegetation, burning charcoal, the scent of night-blooming flowers-the ineffable perfume of Cairo, as his mother was fond of saying. He was still in Cairo. But where in Cairo? The fresh air cleared some of the cobwebs out of his brain and he raised his head, searching for landmarks. He was high above the street, on the first or second floor of the house; across the narrow way the tall shape of another of the old houses of Cairo faced him, its latticed balcony almost within arm's reach. No lights showed in the windows. It must be late. Late the same night? How much time had pa.s.sed?

The thought of his wife and parents frantically searching for him spurred him to haste. Holding his breath, he stumbled back to the divan and found the discarded boot heel and the strip of steel; it had been specially made and replacing it would be difficult. He didn't bother searching for the door to the room. It would be locked. There was enough silken stuff in the room to make a rope, but he was afraid to take the time. The lunatic lady might decide to pay him another visit. He went back to the window, lowered himself to the full length of his arms, and let go. He landed, ankle deep, in a pile of rotting garbage, slipped, and fell to hands and knees.

The stench was vile, but he preferred it to the scented smoke of the brazier. Picking himself up, he leaned against the wall and inspected his surroundings, trying to orient himself. He knew the old city fairly well, but the streets were all similar, narrow and winding, walled in by high buildings, ending in unexpected cul-de-sacs. He rubbed his eyes. Then a sound from above made him look up. Against the faint light from the window was the black outline of a man's head and shoulders. He moved away, as quickly as he dared in the darkness, turning at random into one tunnel-like pa.s.sage after another.