The Buried Pyramid (42 page)

Am I somehow becoming Alphonse, now that I’ve taken on his venture?
Neville thought uneasily.

“Are you prepared, then, to shoot a human being?” he asked, trying not to let Jenny sense his own internal unease. “It’s not the same as shooting a duck or gazelle.”

Jenny’s violet eyes met his straight on. “If that human being was about to harm any one of us, I’d feel worse about shooting the duck. It, at least, would have done nothing to deserve a bullet.”

The measured brutality of her answer left Neville feeling chilled. Then he remembered Alice and Pierre, dead not from accident or sickness, but from the deliberate calculation of human beings, and thought he understood.

Understanding didn’t make him the least bit more comfortable, but it stilled his tongue, and he turned without further comment to help erect their shelter against the innocent ferocity of the rising sun.

Jenny was relieved when Uncle Neville didn’t press the point about her clothes or weapons. The fact was, she wasn’t going to go unarmed—not out here, not with that certainty she felt that they hadn’t seen the last of the Protectors of the Pharaoh.

She’d planned on appealing to Eddie Bryce if necessary. She thought he’d be practical rather than proper—but she was glad not to need to do it. Uncle Neville might not believe it, but she didn’t much like arguing with him. He was all the family she had left, and with increased familiarity she saw her lost mother in him. The lines were toughened and masculine, but the kinship was indisputable.

Stephen was probably more shocked than Uncle Neville had been, since he’d never seen anything but her hunting rifle and derringer (that last now tucked in her under-bodice as a weapon of last resort). Jenny doubted he’d ever seen a woman in trousers, either, but figured he was woman-ridden enough to know better than to comment on a woman’s choice of attire—at least when there was another man around who’d already drawn the unhappy responsibility for that honor.

They dined lightly on cold roast mutton, flat bread, and onions, Jenny giving some of her share to Mozelle, whose needle sharp fangs reminded her whenever she doled out the shredded meat too slowly.

“I wonder,” she said drowsily, “if Mozelle’s too young for such fare.”

Stephen stopped unlacing his boots long enough to glance over where the kitten now slept, belly visibly rounded.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t think she’d be so cat-atonic, if she didn’t think it purr-fectly fine.”

Jenny tossed one of her own soft-sided boots at him.

“Nice,” he said, handing it back. “Indian work?”

“Apache,” Jenny replied. “Hardened sole but softer sides, fastens by wrapping the lace around a button, easier than lacing and unlacing.”

Stephen was obviously feeling his way to another pun, when Eddie interrupted.

“I’ll take the first watch, since I’m most adjusted to this climate. I’d considered taking one of the village dogs along to help, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it keep quiet while we were getting away.” He grinned, “Not to mention, Jenny’s kitty-cat might have had a problem with it.”

Jenny, stretched out on her bedroll now, boots placed where she could reach them, the tops folded over to keep out scorpions and other night creatures, stuck her tongue out at him.

“Wake me next if you want, Eddie,” she said around a yawn. “I got plenty of practice sleeping in little bites when I was training with Papa.”

Bryce nodded. “Fine. You next, then you wake your uncle, and Stephen will take last. We’ll get moving again soon after dark, so Stephen, it’ll be your job to wake the lazy bones.”

“Right,” Stephen said. “Do you know how to find the Hawk Rock without light?”

“I took compass readings,” Eddie reassured him, “but in general, we should be able to keep on course by the stars.”

Stephen chuckled, the over-tired laugh of one who is starting to find anything humorous. “We’re the three kings, following the stars. Eddie, you’ll have to be one of the camels or we’ll have too many and Jenny’ll shoot us if we say she’s just a queen.”

“Go to sleep, Stephen,” Eddie advised kindly.

Jenny fell asleep quickly, but dreamed of jackal-headed sphinxes that wrote her notes in her father’s elegant French hand, of women dressed in trousers and stars, and of camels that spat tea. She was distinctly relieved when Eddie woke her.

“Nothing moving,” he said. “Except your kitten. I think she’s hungry again.”

Jenny nodded, tried to rise, discovered her muscles were protesting the long night of camel-riding, and raised herself more carefully. Eddie offered no support or coddling, but went immediately to his own bedroll. She thought she should be more flattered.

To keep herself from stiffening further, Jenny paced under the shaded edges of the pavilion. The sand outside was blindingly hot, so she was glad for her smoked glasses. Periodically, she checked back along the way they had come, but the desert remained empty; even the tracks of their passage were blurring as the sand shifted beneath a gentle wind.

Deeper into the desert, the Hawk Rock bulked large in the bright light, an island surrounded by endless seas of golden sand. She wondered if they would reach it tonight, but could acquire no sense of distance in the trackless waste. She remembered, though, that there had been plants growing on the rock when Uncle Neville had been there before. They were still far enough that the only hints of green might simply have been the natural discoloration of the rock.

Eventually, she woke Uncle Neville, and dropped back onto her bedroll. She was aware of Mozelle curling up beside her, then of Stephen gently shaking her shoulder.

“It’s dusk,” he said. “Eddie’s getting the camels ready.”

Rising on legs she thought didn’t feel quite as stiff as they had earlier, Jenny discovered that Stephen had taken the initiative to make a small fire and a pot of tea. They all so evidently needed the stimulant that Eddie said nothing about the unauthorized use of water, but Jenny could tell from how he looked between the pot and the nearest water bag that he was estimating just how much had been lost to evaporation.

Breakfast was smoked fish and flat bread for all but Mozelle, who had—more by accident than skill—caught an unwary jerboa. Jenny took pity on the kitten’s tiny teeth and slit the mouse-like rodent open with her Bowie knife. Growling with almost comic ferocity, the kitten dined on her kill.

They mounted the camels as the westering sun was reddening the sands, and the stars were spilling out against the darkening blue-black. The sunset contained none of the spectacular colors Jenny had seen elsewhere. There was simply not enough moisture in the air.

With the setting sun behind it, the Hawk Rock bulked blacker and more solid than the darkness, which nonetheless eventually swallowed it into itself.

After another full night of travel, they still had not reached the Hawk Rock, but when the sun rose their destination was close enough that they could better appreciate its stark majesty.

“I’ll look ahead for a campsite,” Eddie said.

“Can’t we just go on?” Stephen asked—rather bravely, Jenny thought, for she had seen him limping earlier.

“Be better to rest,” Eddie said.

“But it’s so close,” Stephen protested. “We could arrive in a few hours, and be ready to start exploring come evening.”

“I doubt you’d see much with sun-blinded eyes,” Eddie said dryly. “This time of year, light rather than heat is what makes the desert dangerous—light, and dryness that sucks the moisture from you without your knowing. It’ll get hot enough, though, when the sand starts throwing the heat back at you. Take my advice and sleep out the worst of the day. We’ll be there soon enough, and gone again, too. You forget, this isn’t the end of the journey.”

Stephen sighed. “It’s so close.”

“May seem so,” Eddie said, “but I suspect it’s farther than you believe.”

As they settled in for the day’s rest, Jenny thought about what an interesting traveling companion Eddie was proving to be. On the journey up the Nile he had proved a good tour guide and superlative dragoman, making arrangements that anticipated every contingency. However, she had never realized what a devoted follower of Islam he was until they had struck out into the desert.

Five times a day at the appointed hours he stopped whatever he was doing and unrolled a small prayer rug that had been woven for him by Miriam. Positioning himself so he was facing Mecca, he recited the appropriate prayers in flawless, sing-song Arabic, completely unlike his usual country English accents.

Jenny, who had woken to take her turn on guard, watched with interest.

“You’re serious about that, aren’t you?” she asked. That night’s journey hadn’t been as stressful as the previous night’s determined escape, and her normal curiosity was resurfacing—and anything that would stop her from thinking about the Hawk Rock and what might wait for them there or beyond was very welcome.

Eddie finished rolling his prayer rug away and smiled.

“Yes, I am. I converted so I would be permitted to marry Miriam, but somewhere along the way the Prophet’s teachings started making more and more sense.”

“Aren’t there some pretty odd restrictions you have to follow,” Jenny asked, “like converting all unbelievers or something?”

Eddie smiled. “I’m not saying that all of it makes sense, any more than some of Jesus’s more extreme pronouncements made sense. How many of you would ‘turn the other cheek’ if challenged?”

Jenny, who had been carefully cleaning sand from her rifle, grinned ruefully.

“I think many Christians try to follow the spirit if not letter of Jesus’s teachings,” she protested.

Eddie chuckled. “That must be why so many Christian nations maintain flourishing militaries, and why there is not a city in Europe without some form of law enforcement.”

“Those are hardly fair examples,” Jenny protested. “Nations have the right—the duty, even—to protect their citizens from those who would break the social contract.”

“I didn’t say they didn’t, Miss Paine,” Eddie replied. “I was just pointing out that Christianity has its share of extreme pronouncements that the majority of Christians are willing to overlook.”

“Touché,” Jenny agreed, grinning as she realized the martial import of her own choice of words. “For example, I’m not willing to sell all I have and give the money to the poor just to be a good Christian. I rather like traveling in style with Uncle Neville.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Eddie said, moving toward his bedroll. “I don’t think the churches are willing to try that one either, whether they are Christian or Islamic.”

Stephen’s voice broke in, almost shyly, and he sat up rumpled on his bedroll, “What about the provision that lets you have more than one wife? Would you take a second wife if you could afford her?”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t think I would, even if I could find another father as willing as Miriam’s was to accept an Englishman as a suitor for his daughter. I won’t say the idea hasn’t crossed my mind when I’ve seen a pretty girl, but . . .”

“I don’t think it’s a very fair system for the women,” Jenny interjected, amazed to hear herself sounding angry.

“Some women claim to like it,” Eddie said evenly, “or so Miriam says. She says that they say there is always someone to share the work and care for the children. I really couldn’t say, not from experience. I think I’m too British to be comfortable with more than one wife—though now that I think of it, I’ve known many a British military man who has managed the equivalent. They’ve had a wife at home, and a woman with whom they live abroad.”

Stephen coughed. “Do you think that is an appropriate topic to mention in a lady’s hearing?”

“You raised the matter,” Eddie said.

Jenny laughed. “Stephen, I don’t know whether to kiss you for thinking me a lady or to kick you for thinking me a moron who’s never seen the world.” She paused. “I don’t think I’ll do either. It’s too hot to risk making you blush.”

Stephen said hurriedly, “Eddie, don’t you miss a good pork chop or a glass of fine wine?”

“I did at first,” the other admitted, “but not anymore. Still, I’m not saying that if we were out here starving and the only thing between me and death was a haunch of wild pig, I’d starve rather than disobey a dietary provision. Now hush up, you two, I’m not as young as you and I need my sleep.”

Stephen snorted something that was probably disbelief that Eddie ever got tired, and lay down again. After a while, Jenny heard their breathing quiet and regularize. She was half-drowsing herself when the sound of Mozelle alternately hissing and growling brought her alert again.