He Shall Thunder in the Sky (16 page)

     Interested parties, of whom there were, alas, only too many, might also wonder whether Ramses’s outspoken opposition to the war was a cover for the sort of clandestine activities for which he was particularly well suited. If he was playing another role, the only way in which he could disarm suspicion was to have David take his part at strategic intervals. Knowing Ramses, I did not doubt his loathing of the war was utterly sincere, but it had also been part of the plan. He had made himself so thoroughly unpopular, few people would associate with him — or, as the case might be, with David.

     Emerson had been correct; the answer was obvious. If one man could be secretly removed from exile, another could be secretly sent into it. The militant nationalist for whom the British authorities were searching was not Kamil el-Wardani, but my son — and that was why Thomas Russell had taken the unusual step of inviting us to accompany him on his futile raid, and why Wardani had got away so handily. The raid had been meant to fail. Its sole purpose had been to supply unimpeachable witnesses who could testify that Wardani was elsewhere while Ramses made a spectacle of himself at the Club; and the reason for the substitution must have to do with what Russell had said that night. Something about fighting a guerrilla war in Cairo while the Turks attacked the Canal . . . Wardani the key . . . without him, the movement would collapse.

     I had reached this point in my train of thought when a faint rustling sound brought me bolt upright. A quick glance at Ramses assured me that he had not stirred. The sound had not been that of the bedclothes. It was . . . it must have been . . .

     Springing to my feet, I felt under the mattress and found Ramses’s knife where he had asked me to place it. I hurried to the window and slipped through the curtains, in time to see a dark form swing itself over the stone balustrade of the small balcony. It saw me. It spoke.

     “Aunt Amelia, don’t! It’s me!”

     My first impulse was to throw my arms around him, but I was sensible enough to draw him into the room before I did so. It was as well he had spoken; even in the light I would not have recognized the bearded ruffian whose scarred face was set in a permanent sneer. The scar ran up under the patch that covered one eye, but the other eye was David’s, soft and brown and shining with tears of emotion. He returned my embrace with such hearty goodwill that his beard scraped painfully across my cheek.

     “Oh, David, my dear boy, it is so good to see you! Where is Emerson?”

     “Coming through the house in the usual way. We thought it better for me not to risk that.”

     “You ought not have risked coming here at all,” said a critical voice from the bed.

     The key turned in the lock and Emerson slipped into the room. “Whew,” he remarked. “That was close. Fatima will be stirring soon. Peabody, put the knife down. What the devil do you think you are doing?”

     “Defending her young,” said David, with a horrible, distorted grin. “She was about to fly at me when I identified myself.”

     “You ought not be here,” Ramses insisted. Obviously I had not given him quite enough of the sleeping medication. His eyes were half-closed, but the extremity of his annoyance enabled him to articulate.

     “We haven’t time to argue,” Emerson said coolly. “David, hurry and change, and get rid of that beard, and — do whatever else you need to do.”

     “Don’t worry,” David said, peeling off his beard and turning toward the washbasin in the corner of the room. “I’ve played Ramses often enough lately to fool most people. But you’ll have to keep Nefret away from me. She knows both of us too well to be deceived. I need more light, Aunt Amelia.”

     I picked up the lamp and went to him. After rummaging in a nearby cupboard he removed several bottles and boxes and studied his face in the small shaving mirror.

     “May I be allowed to say a word?” inquired Ramses, still prone and still thoroughly exasperated.

     “No,” said his father. “David and I have it worked out. Peabody, you will tell Fatima that Ramses is in the middle of some filthy experiment, and that she is not to allow anyone in the room. It won’t be the first time. I depend on you to make sure he is supplied with everything he needs before we leave the house this morning. Now get out of here so David can change his clothing.”

     I put the lamp down on a table. David had wiped off the scar and removed the invisible tape that had pulled his mouth out of shape. He saw me staring and gave me a sidelong smile. “The resemblance needn’t be that exact, Aunt Amelia. They know Ramses is here and they know I’m not, so they will see him, not me. It will be all right — if I can get out of the house without encountering Nefret.”

     “Later . . . on the dig . . .” I began.

     “Precisely,” said Ramses. “David cannot possibly carry this off. If we were working at a larger site, such as Zawaiet, he might be able to stay at a distance, but we’ve only cleared one room of the tomb, and I’ve been —”

     “We will have to extend the area of our operations, that is all,” said Emerson coolly. “Leave it to me.”

     “But, Father —”

     “Leave it to me, I said.” Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. “If I understand the situation correctly, the important thing is that you must be seen today behaving normally and with no sign of injury.”

     Ramses stared at his father. “How much do you know?”

     “Explanations will have to wait. There is no time now. Am I right?”

     “Yes, sir.” The lines of strain (and temper) that marked his face smoothed out. Emerson has that effect on people; the very sight of him, blue eyes steady and stalwart frame poised for action, would have been reassuring even to one who did not know him as well as did his son.

     “In fact,” Ramses went on, “it would be helpful if David could put on a brief but very public demonstration of strength and fitness at some point.”

     “Any suggestions?” David added a few millimeters of false hair to his eyebrows.

     “You can rescue me,” I said. “I will persuade my horse to run away with me, or fall into a tomb shaft, or perhaps —”

     “Control yourself, Peabody,” said my husband in alarm.

     Laughing, David turned from the mirror and gave me a quick hug.

Our performance at breakfast resembled some energetic children’s game — a combination of musical chairs and hide-and-seek. Mercifully Nefret was not yet down; I cannot imagine what we would have done if she had been at table, since I scuttled in and out with baskets of food and pitchers of water, while David and Emerson pretended to eat twice as much as they actually consumed and David sat hunched over his plate speaking only in monosyllables and Emerson distracted Fatima by breaking various bits of crockery (not an uncommon occurrence, I might add). My rapid comings and goings reduced Ramses to speechlessness (which
was
an uncommon occurrence). After I had made certain he had everything he needed I ordered him to go to sleep, left Seshat on guard, and locked his door before I went downstairs. Shortly after I took my place at the table Nefret came in.

     “Where is everyone?” she asked.

     I put my spoon down and looked more closely at her. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes circled by violet shadows.

     “My dear girl, are you ill? Or was it one of your bad dreams? I thought you had got over them.”

     “Bad dreams,” Nefret repeated. “No, Aunt Amelia, I haven’t got over them.”

     “If you could come to an understanding of what causes them —”

     “I know what causes them, and there is nothing I can do about it. Don’t badger me, Aunt Amelia. I am perfectly well. Where is — where are the Professor and Ramses?”

     “Gone on to the dig.”

     “How is he this morning?”

     “Ramses? Just as usual. A trifle out of sorts, perhaps.”

     “Just as usual,” Nefret murmured.

     “Promise me you won’t lecture him, my dear. I have spoken with him myself, and any further criticism, especially from you —”

     “I’ve no intention of lecturing him.” Nefret pushed her untouched food away. “Shall we go?”

     “I haven’t finished yet. And you should eat something.” Emerson obviously had some scheme in mind for getting David out of the way, and since I did not know what it was I wanted to give him plenty of time.

     “Did you have a pleasant evening?” I asked, reaching for the marmalade.

     A line of annoyance appeared between Nefret’s arched brows, but she began to nibble at her egg. “It was rather boring.”

     “So you came home early.”

     “It wasn’t very early, was it?” She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Why don’t you just ask me straight out, Aunt Amelia? I saw a light under Ramses’s door and felt the need of intelligent conversation after a tedious evening with ‘the Best People.’ ”

     “So I assumed,” I said. “There was no need for you to explain.”

     “I’m sorry.” She pushed a loosened lock of hair away from her forehead. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

     Not only you, I thought, and went on eating my toast. Nefret gave herself a little shake. “As a matter of fact, I did meet one interesting person,” she said, looking and sounding much brighter. “None other than Major Hamilton, who wrote that rude letter to you.”

     “Is he one of the ‘Best People’?” I inquired somewhat sardonically.

     “Not really. He’s older than the others and less given to silly jokes — that’s how they spend their free time, you know, ragging one another and everyone else. Perhaps,” said Nefret, “that is why he talked mostly to me. He’s really quite charming, in a solemn sort of way.”

     “Oh, dear,” I said. “Nefret, you didn’t —”

     “Flirt with him? Of course I did. But I didn’t get very far,” Nefret admitted with a grin. “He behaved rather like an indulgent uncle. I kept expecting him to pat me on the head and tell me I’d had quite enough champagne. We spent most of the time talking about Miss Hamilton. Nothing could have been more proper!”

     “What did he say about her?”

     “Oh, that she was bored and that he didn’t know quite what to do with her. He’s childless; his wife died many years ago and he has been faithful to her memory ever since. So I asked him why he wouldn’t let Molly come to see us.”

     “In those precise words?” I exclaimed.

     “Yes, why not? He hemmed and hawed and mumbled about not wanting her to make a nuisance of herself, so I assured him we wouldn’t let her, and invited them to come to us for Christmas. I hope you don’t mind.”

     “Well,” I said, somewhat dazed by this unexpected information, “well, no. But —”

     “He accepted with pleasure. I really don’t want any more to eat, Aunt Amelia. Are you ready to go?”

     I could delay her no longer, and I confess my heart was beating a trifle more quickly than usual as we approached the Great Pyramid. There were already a good number of tourists assembled. The majority were gathered at the north face, where the entrance was located, but others had spread out all round the structure, and as we rode to the south side I heard Emerson bellowing at a small group that had approached our tomb. Some visitors appeared to be under the impression that we were part of the tourist attractions of Giza.

     “Impertinent idiots,” he remarked, as they scattered, squawking indignantly.

     I dismounted and handed the reins to Selim. Had there been, among those vacuous visitors, one who had come our way for a more sinister purpose than curiosity?

     “Where is Ramses?” Nefret asked. “Inside?”

     “No,” Emerson said. “I received disquieting news this morning, my dears.” He hurried on before she could ask how he had received it. “It seems someone has been digging illicitly at Zawaiet el ’Aryan. I sent Ramses there to see what damage has been done. He stopped here only long enough to pick up a few supplies.”

     Zawaiet was the site a few miles south where we had worked for several years — one of the most boring sites in Egypt, I would once have said, until we came across the Third Dynasty royal burial. Strictly speaking, it was a reburial, of objects rescued from an ancient tomb robbery, but the find was unique and some of the objects were rare and beautiful. Fragile, as well; it had taken us an entire season to preserve and remove them. Many of the private tombs surrounding the royal pyramid had not been excavated, and although it was not part of our concession, Emerson felt a proprietorial interest in the site.

     “Goodness gracious, how distressing,” I exclaimed. “Perhaps I ought to go after him and see what I can do to help.”

     “You may as well,” said Emerson casually. “Selim can help Nefret with the photography. Er — try not to let anyone shoot at you or abduct you by force, Peabody.”

     “My dear, what a tease you are,” I said, laughing merrily.

     As I rode along the well-known southward path over the plateau, I was filled with relief and with admiration for Emerson’s cleverness. The excuse was valid, the explanation sufficient. A good number of people, including our own men, had seen “Ramses” astride Risha, looking his normal self; he could spend most of the day away without arousing suspicion, and when he returned . . . Perhaps Emerson had already worked that out with David. If he had not, I had a few ideas of my own.

     Since I was in no hurry I let the horse set its own pace. It was still early, the air cool and fresh. The sun had lifted over the Mokattam Hills and sparkled on the river, which lay below the desert plateau on my left. The fertile land bordering the water was green with new crops. From my vantage point above the cultivation I could see traffic passing along the road below — fellahin going to work in their fields and shops, and tourists on their way to Sakkara and the other sites south of Giza. Part of me yearned to descend and follow that road back to the house, but I dared not risk it; I could not get to Ramses without being seen by Fatima or one of the others.

     Zawaiet is only a short distance from Giza; it was not long before I saw the tumbled mound that had once been a pyramid (though not a very good one.) David had been looking out for me. He came hurrying to meet me, and I slowed my steed to a walk so that we could exchange a few words without being overheard by the small group of Egyptians waiting near the pyramid. They must be local villagers, hoping for employment.