He Shall Thunder in the Sky (21 page)

     “I disguised my voice,” Emerson said, with great satisfaction.

     “Not a Russian accent, Emerson!”

     Emerson wrapped a muscular arm round my waist and squeezed. “Never you mind, Peabody. The point is, I got through to him and was able to reassure him on certain points. So for God’s sake don’t go marching into his office this afternoon. Were you planning to accompany Nefret to Cairo or go alone?”

     “I was going with her. I may yet. Only . . .”

     “Only what?”

     “While you were at the house, did you happen to look in on Ramses?”

     Emerson’s face took on an expression of elaborate unconcern. “I thought so long as I was there, I might as well. He was sleeping.”

     “Oh. Are you certain he —”

     “Yes.” Emerson squeezed my ribs again. “Peabody, not even you can be in two places at once. Get back to your rubbish heap.”

     “Two places! Three or four, rather. Zawaiet, the tomb here, the house —”

     “The suk with Nefret. Go with her, my dear, and keep her out of the way so we won’t have to repeat the wearying maneuvers we executed yesterday.”

     “Will David be there when we come back? I would like to see him once more.”

     “Don’t talk as if you were planning to bid him a final farewell,” Emerson growled. “We’ll put an end to this business soon, I promise you. As for tonight, I told him to go straight back to the house from Zawaiet; he won’t leave until after dark, so you will see him then. Run along now.”

     Several slightly interesting objects turned up in the fill that was being removed from the second chamber. The bits of bone and mummy wrappings and wooden fragments indicated that there had been a later burial above the mastaba. By the Twenty-Second Dynasty — to which period I tentatively assigned this secondary interment — the mastabas of Giza had been deserted for over a thousand years, and the sand must have lain deep upon their ruins. It had not been much of a burial, and even it showed signs of having been robbed.

     Emerson dismissed Nefret and me shortly after 2 P.M. and we returned to the house to change. I chattered loudly and cheerfully with Nefret as we walked along the corridor to our sleeping chambers. There was no sound from behind Ramses’s closed door.

     “What sort of experiment is he doing?” Nefret asked.

     “I believe he is hoping to develop a preservative that will protect wall paintings without darkening or damaging them.” I hurried her past. “It smells horrid, but then most of his experiments do.”

     I had hoped for an opportunity to peek in on him before we left, but I had not quite finished dressing before Nefret joined me to ask if I would button her up the back. Several of the younger women of Abdullah’s family would have been delighted to take on the position of lady’s maid, but like myself, Nefret scorned such idle attentions. So I obliged, and she did the same for me, and we went down together, to find Daoud waiting for us.

     “The Father of Curses said I should go with you,” he explained, his large, honest face beaming. “To guard you from harm.”

     We could not have had a more formidable escort. Daoud was even taller than my tall husband, and correspondingly broad. He was no longer a young man, but most of his bulk was solid muscle. He would have liked nothing better than to fight a dozen men in our defense.

     Smiling, Nefret took his arm. “We are only going to the Khan el Khalili, Daoud. I’m afraid nothing of interest will occur.”

     Normally shy and taciturn, Daoud was quite a conversationalist when he was with us. He demanded news of his absent friends, particularly Lia, to whom he was devoted. “She should be here,” he declared, his brow furrowing. “Where you and Kadija and Fatima and the Sitt Hakim could care for her.”

     I had earned my name of Lady Doctor in my early days in Egypt, when physicians were few and far between; some of our devoted men still preferred my attentions even to those of Nefret, who was far better qualified than I. Modestly I disclaimed any skill in obstetrics, adding, “She felt too unwell to risk the sea voyage, Daoud, and travel now would be unwise. She will have the best possible care, you may be certain.”

     When we reached the Khan el Khalili we left the carriage and proceeded on foot through the tortuous lanes, with Daoud so close on our heels, I felt as if we were being followed by a moving mountain. Nefret was in a merry mood, laughing and chattering; at several places — a goldsmith’s, a seller of fine fabrics — she made me go on with Daoud and wait at a distance. I assumed she wanted to surprise me with a gift, so I amiably agreed.

     “The Professor is always difficult,” she declared, after she had made a number of purchases. “I know! Let’s see if Aslimi has any interesting antiquities.”

     “Huh,” said Daoud. “Stolen antiquities, you mean? Aslimi deals with thieves and tomb robbers.”

     “All the more reason to rescue the objects from him,” Nefret said.

     The setting sun cast slanting streaks of gold through the matting that roofed the narrow lanes. We passed the area devoted to dyers and fullers and finally reached Aslimi’s shop. It was larger than some of the others, which consisted only of a tiny cubicle with a mastaba bench where the customer sat while the proprietor showed him the merchandise. When we entered the showroom it appeared to be deserted. Nefret went to a shelf on which a row of painted pots was displayed and began examining them.

     “You won’t find anything here except fakes,” I said. “Aslimi keeps his better objects hidden. Where is the rascal?”

     The curtain at the back of the room was drawn aside; but the man who came through it was not Aslimi. He was tall and young and quite handsome, and when he spoke, it was in excellent English.

     “You honor my poor establishment, noble ladies. What can I show you?”

     “I had not heard that Aslimi had sold his shop,” I said, studying him curiously.

     The young man’s teeth flashed in a smile. “I spoke amiss, honored lady, taking you for a stranger. My cousin Aslimi is ill. I am managing the business for him until he recovers.”

     I doubted very much that he had been unaware of my identity. He had been watching us through the curtain for some time before he emerged, and we were known to everyone in Cairo. Certainly the combination of myself, Nefret, and Daoud was unmistakable.

     “I am sorry to hear of his illness,” I said politely. “What is the matter with him?”

     The youth placed his hands — smooth, long-fingered hands, adorned with several rings — on his flat stomach. “There is much pain when he eats. You are the Sitt Hakim — I know you now. You can tell me, no doubt, what medicines will relieve him.”

     “Not without examining him,” I said dryly. “Nefret?”

     She had turned, one of the pots in her hand. “Knowing Aslimi, it could be an ulcer. His nerves have always been bad.”

     “Ah.” The young man straightened, throwing his shoulders back, and gave her a melting smile. Nefret had that effect on men, and this one obviously did not have a low opinion of himself. “What should we do for him, then?”

     “Bland diet,” said Nefret. “No highly spiced foods, or liquids. It can’t hurt him, anyhow,” she added, glancing at me. “He should see a proper doctor, Mr. — what is your name?”

     “Said al-Beitum, at your service. You are most gracious. Now, what can I show you? That pot is a forgery — as you know.”

     “And not a very good one.” Nefret returned the object to the shelf. “Have you anything that might please the high standards of the Father of Curses?”

     “Or the Brother of Demons?” Said grinned. “So quaint, these names — but suitable. Like yours, Nur Misur.”

     “You did know us,” I said.

     “Who does not? It is your holiday season, yes? You look for gifts for those you love. Be seated; I will give you tea and show you my finest things.”

     Another decidedly possessive pronoun, I thought, settling onto the stool he indicated. Was this fellow Aslimi’s designated heir? I had never seen him before.

     He knew something of antiquities, for the objects he produced from the back room were of good quality — and probably obtained illegally. In the end Nefret purchased several items: a string of carnelian beads, a heart scarab of serpentine framed in gold, and a fragment of carved and painted relief that showed a running gazelle. Listening to Said bargain ineffectively and without much interest, I thought Aslimi would not be long in business if his cousin continued to manage the shop. He shook hands with us in the European style before we took our departure and stood in the doorway watching as we walked away.

     “Well!” I said.

     “Quite,” said Nefret.

     “Have you more purchases to make?”

     “No. Let’s go home.”

     I waited until we were in the carriage before I resumed the conversation. “What did you think of Aslimi’s manager?”

     “He’s a pretty creature, isn’t he?”

     Daoud grumbled protestingly, and Nefret laughed. “I assure you, Daoud, I don’t fancy him in the least.”

     “Fancy?” Daoud repeated blankly.

     “Never mind. What did you think? Had you ever seen him before?”

     “No. But,” Daoud said, “I do not know Aslimi’s family. No doubt he has many cousins.”

     “This one is well educated,” I said.

     Nefret nodded. “And perhaps overly optimistic. Aslimi isn’t dead yet. Now, Aunt Amelia, and you, Daoud, swear you won’t tell anyone what I bought. I want to surprise them.”

* * *

Our council of war that night was not as late as I had feared. Nefret retired early to her room, saying she had letters to write and presents to wrap. When we joined David, we found him at the mirror applying his makeup. The disguise was not the same one in which I had seen him before; he looked even more disgusting, but less formidable, in the rags of a beggar and a stringy gray beard. Ramses studied him critically.

     “Your hands are too clean.”

     “I’ll rub dirt into them when I’m outside. They won’t be visible, you know, except when I hold one out and whine for baksheesh from Russell. He’s become quite adept at palming the report.”

     He demonstrated, extending his hand. Half-concealed under his thumb, the small roll of paper was no larger than a cigarette.

     “Is that how you do it?” I asked. “Most interesting. I will have to practice that myself. But David, must you go? I’ve hardly seen you, and Ramses should have at least one more day in bed. Can’t this wait until tomorrow night?”

     Both curly black heads moved in emphatic negation. Ramses said, “Our report to Russell has been too long delayed already. I ought to be going myself.”

     “Out of the question,” David said. He picked up a strip of dirty cloth and wound it deftly into a turban. “You’ll be flat on your back again if you don’t go slowly for a few days. I could come here after I’ve seen Russell — take your place again tomorrow. . . .”

     Again Ramses shook his head. “We’ve pushed our luck too far already. It is a miracle Fatima hasn’t decided this room needs cleaning, or Nefret hasn’t spotted you.”

     He had been pacing like a nervous cat, and when he brushed the hair back from his forehead I saw it was beaded with perspiration. “Sit down,” I ordered.

     Emerson took his pipe from his mouth. “Yes, sit down. And you, Peabody, stop fussing. David must go, there is no question of that, and you are only delaying him. I’ll see to it that Ramses does not exert himself unduly tomorrow.”

     “I must be outside the Club before midnight, Aunt Amelia,” David explained. “That is when Russell will leave, and he can’t very well hang about waiting for me.”

     “And afterwards you will investigate the warehouse?”

     “No,” said Ramses. “We agreed at the outset that David was to stay far, far away from Wardani’s old haunts and Wardani’s people. Russell is supposed to have been keeping the warehouse under surveillance. I hope to God he has! With me out of the way, one of the lads might decide to assert his authority and move the damned things elsewhere.”

     “They don’t know you are out of the way,” Emerson said calmly. “Do they?”

     “No,” Ramses admitted. “Not for certain. Not yet.”

     “Then stop worrying. David, you had better be off. Er — take care of yourself, my boy.”

     He wrung David’s hand with such fervor the lad winced even as he smiled. “Yes, sir, I will. Good-bye, Aunt Amelia.”

     “A bientôt,” I corrected.

     We embraced, and Ramses said, “I’ll see you in three days’ time, David.”

     “Or four,” I said.

     “Three,” said Ramses.

     “I’ll be there,” David said hastily. “Both nights.”

     Seshat followed him to the balcony. I heard a faint, fading rustle of foliage, and after a few moments the cat returned.

     “Bed now,” I said, rising.

     Ramses rolled his eyes heavenward.

From Letter Collection B

Dear Lia,

I’m sorry Sylvia Gorst’s letter upset you. She is an empty-headed, vicious gossip, and you ought to know better than to believe anything she says. If I had known she was writing you, I would have had a few words with her. In fact, I will have them next time I see her.

How could you possibly have given any credence to that story about Ramses fighting a duel with Mr. Simmons? I admit Ramses is not popular in Cairo society these days. The Anglo-Egyptian community is war-mad to the point of jingoism, and you know Ramses’s views about the war. He’s even collected white feathers from a few obsessed old ladies. But a duel? It’s pure
Prisoner of Zenda,
my dear.

As for my new admirers, as Sylvia calls them, I cannot imagine why she should have singled out Count de Sevigny and Major Hamilton; you would laugh if you met them, because neither is your (or my) idea of a romantic suitor. I find the Count’s pretensions quite amusing; he stalks about like a stage villain, swirling his black cape and ogling women through his monocle.