The Buried Pyramid (40 page)

Reluctantly, Stephen and Neville nodded their acceptance of this logic. Jenny had the good sense not to gloat.

“I suppose I’m exempted from this banquet,” Jenny said, “because I’m a woman, and our Islamic guests would be insulted if they were asked to dine with a woman?”

“Again,” Eddie said, “many Mohammedan men make exceptions for European women, but I would not put it past Riskali . . .”

“To take imagined insult as an excuse for banditry,” Neville finished. He looked rather sour, but Jenny didn’t blame him.

“Since Jenny will not be expected to attend the dinner,” Eddie went on, “she will be able to go ashore, go around the village to where the camels are pegged, and saddle them up. She can lead them slightly south, and we will meet her there.”

Uncle Neville frowned. “I will admit that Jenny has shown herself capable, but that’s a great deal to ask from one person—female or not.”

Eddie nodded. “I have spoken with Reis Awad. Two of his men are very good with camels, and they will accompany her. Our invitation should have pulled the best of the village’s men away. Jenny and the sailors may need to deal with a few boys or some young men—if there is any guard posted at all.”

“And why should there be?” Jenny said, stroking Mozelle, who slept in contorted comfort on her lap. “Daud will be aboard, as will his two men. The villagers don’t know the sailors, so they won’t know that two are missing.”

“That is my precise hope,” Eddie said. “I spoke with the old woman Daud befriended, and there will be no trouble about the saddles.”

“Will I need to get the rest of our gear ashore?” Jenny asked.

“Most of it,” Eddie admitted. “When Daud comes aboard with the saddlebags, we’ll need to transfer necessary gear to them and have them ready in the lighter.”

Neville straightened. “Wait. Why does Jenny need to go ashore at all? Why can’t the sailors handle everything?”

“I considered that,” Eddie said, “but Reis Awad could only spare two men, and three sets of hands would make things much easier. Also, Jenny can represent you as the owner of the camels. If this becomes a court matter, our position will be stronger for that. Sadly, the law looks differently upon the actions of Europeans and of Arabs.”

“I understand,” Stephen said. “Otherwise it’s just the sailor’s word against that of the villagers that the sailors were fetching the camels.”

Neville didn’t look pleased, but he accepted the truth in Eddie’s statement. Eddie’s plan was simple, direct—and, most importantly, was already underway. Jenny wondered if that was why Eddie had waited to brief them. It did rather eliminate argument.

“I have one addition to suggest,” Jenny said. “In Cairo I laid in a rather large supply of powdered opium—I thought we might need it if someone were injured. If the cook makes one of his spectacular curried dishes as part of the feast, then enough opium could be added to make certain our guests are less alert than they otherwise might be.”

“We don’t want them falling asleep!” Stephen protested. “Or us,” he added as an afterthought.

“Our people can avoid eating much of that dish,” Jenny said. “In any case, I was not suggesting enough to knock anyone out, just enough to make our guests a little slow.”

“It’s an idea,” Eddie said. “Brief me on how much does what, and I’ll see what can be done.”

* * *

The scents of chopped onions and garlic, of roasting and stewing mutton, of baking flat bread, and other such culinary preparations, were heavy on the air when Reis Awad sent the lighter to begin ferrying the guests aboard. The first load brought aboard Riskali and a husky, rather villainous-looking young man Riskali introduced as his youngest son. More sons came aboard on the next trip, and nephews and cousins on the later. Daud and his assistants were last, crowded in with a low-ranking nephew who was hardly showing his first beard. Clearly the village was all one extended family, and Riskali was the acknowledged patriarch.

Eddie welcomed all of their guests in Arabic. He had cautioned Stephen and Neville to keep their knowledge of the language to themselves, and in keeping with his representation that he was the master of this expedition, made Reis Awad his co-host, relegating the Englishmen to a secondary role. Neville and Stephen took their demotion well, restricting themselves to greetings in stilted Arabic that would have done credit to a music hall performance.

The meal’s main component was a plentitude of greasy mutton. Whether roasted or stewed, the villagers ate it without utensils—other than the wickedly sharp knives they wore at their belts and used for hacking a chunk of meat into a more convenient size. Eddie ate in the same fashion, wiping his hand—for like a good Mohammedan he ate only using his right hand—on the hem of his robe. Neville followed suit, but Stephen could not bring himself to eat in that fashion, and had cutlery and a plate brought from the galley.

The villagers thought this quite funny, and made a variety of crude jokes at Stephen’s expense. Although the young linguist managed to act as if he didn’t understand, and that he thought their laughter good-humored, his fair skin flushed with anger.

“Easy, old chap,” Daud cautioned him in English, keeping his tone light. “We don’t want to make them angry enough to leave. Remember Miss Benet and the risks she is taking.”

Stephen nodded, then something of a manic gleam came into his eyes.

“If they think I am such a fop and clown, then I shall provide them with ample amusement.” He clapped his hands to summon one of the cook’s assistants. “I want a finger bowl with lemon water, two clean napkins, a candle in one of the silver holders, and the low table that is on the upper deck.”

The assistant complied, clearly thinking that the Englishman had gone mad. When he returned with the requested materials, Stephen set himself a neat table. With a flourish, he tied one of the clean napkins about his neck and set the other by his left hand. Helping himself to roasted mutton, bread, and rice, he continued with his meal.

Riskali was torn between fascination and appalled curiosity, “What does the man do? Why does he go to such trouble to eat?”

Eddie, who understood precisely what Stephen was doing, shrugged incomprehension.

“Many English customs are strange. They eat their meals with many small tools when a good knife and spoon is enough. In some houses where I have been a guest, they use one fork for the salad, another for the meal, and still another for dessert. They use different knives as well—short, blunt ones for putting butter on bread, sharp ones for cutting meat, and long blunt ones for cutting vegetables or fruit.”

The villagers roared amused appreciation of this description.

“If they need all of those blunt knives,” Riskali’s youngest son gasped between gusts of laughter, “they must be very clumsy and fear cutting themselves.”

Similar jokes followed, and Eddie continued to spin tales—all completely true, but with the details exaggerated—that exploited the difference between the urbanized Britisher and the Egyptian fellahin. Daud occasionally contributed, but mostly he kept his silence, willing the villagers to forget both him and the camels.

For her part, Jenny had eaten earlier, and was now double-checking the saddlebags. Her own and Uncle Neville’s offered no surprises, but she had to set aside any number of Stephen’s books, the weight of which would have been an unnecessary burden to the camels.

With the noise of the banquet in her ears, she and her two assistants loaded the lighter, which was tied to the stern of the dahabeeyah, as far as possible from their guests. Then they rowed quietly for the shore.

Jenny knew that this was one of the two most dangerous moments in the whole venture. If any of the villagers—either on shore or aboard the
Mallard
—noticed their departure, any hope of carrying this off would be ended. Kneeling in the bow, she looked back, holding her breath, waiting for a cry of alarm. All that came was a burst of rowdy laughter and a strain of music as the sailor/musicians prepared to perform.

Her own sailors let the small boat drift downstream. Then, when a clump of reeds growing from a sandbar gave them some concealment, they paddled ashore, heading for an inlet that Eddie had scouted out earlier.

Once the boat pulled clear of the drag of the Nile’s current, they unloaded the saddlebags. The larger of the men carried two. Jenny struggled a bit under the weight of her own, too aware of the tenuous nature of her command to ask for help. The second man took only a single saddlebag, and moved ahead to scout.

The night was cool, so most of those villagers who had gathered on the riverbank to enviously gaze at what they could glimpse of the festivities had already retired to sleep. Those who remained were huddled under rugs with attention for nothing but the light, laughter, and good smells drifting from the
Mallard
.

A few dogs growled as the three passed the outskirts of the village, but perhaps the slaughtering of sheep, ducks, and chickens earlier had sated even them, for they did not bother to challenge—or perhaps they had learned the wisdom of staying away from those who moved with confidence in the darkness.

Therefore it was without arousing suspicion that Jenny and her escort made their way to the western edge of the village where the camels were hobbled. A low wall designed to keep the sand from drifting into the fields concealed the kneeling camels from casual observation. However, a flickering fire framed by two huddled figures revealed that Riskali had indeed set guards. Doubtless if asked he would say he had done this for the good of Daud, but Jenny did not doubt his motives were less pure.

The two night-watchmen sat close to the fire, something—probably a coffee pot—between them, their attitude that of complete dejection.

“Fools!” muttered the larger of her two sailors, laying his burden carefully on the ground. “They blind themselves by looking into the fire.”

Jenny set down her own saddlebags, and studied their surroundings, noting the position of the camels relative to the watchmen, confirming that there was no roving post. Then she bent and extracted her rifle. Its weight was familiar in her hands as she gestured with it towards the watchmen.

“We don’t dare let them make noise,” she whispered, “but we don’t want to harm them. Can each of you get a hold of one of them so they can’t yell, just for long enough for me to ‘reason’ with them?”

Two sets of teeth gleamed in the moonlight. The Arabs were conservative regarding the behavior of their own women, but their desire to make a profit meant that they were willing to make an exception for infidels. During the voyage up from Luxor most of Reis Awad’s crew had decided that Jenny belonged to her own category—not a boy, but not quite a woman, either.

With careful silence, the two sailors made their way across the sand, the larger circling to where he could grab hold of the farther guard. In a trice the guards found themselves trapped, one arm pinning their knife arms to their bodies, a broad, callused palm over their mouths. For a moment, the watchmen were too surprised to struggle. When they did, they found the contest uneven. Both guards were young men, fellahin farmers, strong enough, but lacking the corded muscles of the two sailors. One or the other might have managed to shout alarm, but even as the struggle began, Jenny walked into the firelight.

She lifted her hunting rifle, the sleek Winchester lines no less deadly for their lack of bulk. The prisoners fell slack immediately, eyes widening in grotesque horror as they realized that the person holding the rifle was a woman.

These were no sophisticated Cairo Arabs, no jaded merchants or sailors. These were fellahin of an isolated village whose only contact with Europeans was to watch the vessels that carried them on their incomprehensible journeys along the Nile. Even the tales told by their more traveled brethren had not lessened their isolation. In a sense it had increased it, for the Europeans had become creatures of legend along with genie, efreet, and sorcerers.

Jenny pointed her rifle at the smaller sailor’s captive, and tossed pre-cut sections of rope and a heavy length of cloth at his feet. The message was plain, and the young villager all but tied himself up rather than invoke the wrath of the lithe, deadly figure standing over him. The second fellow, crushed almost breathless within the grasp of the stronger sailor, was even easier to restrain.

The two bound men were propped beside the fire, ragged rugs that had served as cloaks around their shoulders. With luck, they would not be discovered until morning, and their only injuries would be stiff limbs and bruised pride.

The stronger sailor went back to the boat for the rest of the gear, while Jenny followed the other’s directions. In good order, they saddled four of the camels and settled the beasts’ saddlebags into place. The remaining two were loaded with extra gear and quantities of water.