Part 8 (1/2)

”Rashad is no revolutionary,” David said contemptuously. ”All he does is make speeches and then scuttle into hiding. Wardani is intelligent enough to know he has to play politics now, not foment riots. Oh, he lets people like Rashad spout sedition, but I would be very surprised to learn that Rashad is still part of Wardani's organization.”

”Then you don't intend to become involved?”

David threw out his hands. His forehead was furrowed. ”d.a.m.nation, Ramses, I'm an artist-of sorts-not a fighter. I gave Lia my word I would stay away from Wardani. I told him the same thing. I haven't heard from him since. Now can we forget about politics and concentrate on more imminent matters?”

He placed a few coins on the table and rose. ”Come on. We're going to look for your exotic prison.”

”It will be a waste of time,” Ramses warned. David hadn't really answered his question. David wouldn't lie, not to his friend, but he was holding something back, and until he was ready to talk freely, it would be pointless and disloyal to press him.

”One never knows. Let's start with the-what was it?-the Sabil Khalaoun and try to retrace your steps.”

The coffeeshop was open and the tiny plaza was filled with people. Three streets, or alleyways, led into it. ”Which one?” David asked, acknowledging the salutation of an old acquaintance sitting by the sabil.

They covered the area as methodically as the crooked streets and byways allowed. The tall old houses of Cairo turned the alleys into man-made canyons, dim with shadows, roofed by screened balconies. Women leaned out of windows, calling to pa.s.sing sellers of food; donkeys jostled them and people brushed past on various errands. The bustling, busy streets were so different from the dark silence of his stumbling flight that they might have been in another city.

Finally David said in exasperation, ”Can't you remember a single landmark-a mosque, a shop?”

”I saw plenty of landmarks, including a pyramid and the sails of a felucca,” Ramses snapped. ”Opium does that. I had just enough wits left to know I was imagining them, but I was too d.a.m.ned busy trying to keep ahead of the fellow who was chasing me to distinguish between reality and hallucination. And no, I didn't mention them to the family. That would have confirmed their belief that the rest of it was also the product of my lurid imagination.”

”It wasn't.”

”No . . . h.e.l.l, David, I'm no longer certain how much of it was real.”

”One thing is certain,” David said practically. ”You were missing for hours and you weren't at the place to which the note directed you. That spells abduction to me.” He ducked his head under a tray of bread, carried at shoulder height by a strolling vendor. ”Well, it was worth a try. Let's pay a visit to the suk.”

”If you plan to question the antika dealers about Cyrus's jewelry, the parents have already done that, without result. They're a good deal better at intimidation than either of us.”

”But we are much more charming.” David grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.

They went on in single file, under balconies draped with laundry, until they reached the square before the mosque of Hosein.

”What's become of el-Gharbi?” David asked, without preamble.

”Who?” Ramses asked in surprise.

”That perfumed Nubian pimp who controlled the Red Blind district until the British stuck him in the prison camp at-”

”I know who he is,” Ramses interrupted. ”Who could forget el-Gharbi? What made you think of him?”

”He had a hand in everything illegal that went on in Cairo, and he shared information with you on several occasions.”

El-Gharbi was indeed unforgettable: perfumed and jeweled and dressed in a woman's white robes. One couldn't like or admire a man who ran his kind of business, but he had been a kinder master than some. ”Yes, he was useful, in his own fas.h.i.+on,” Ramses said. ”Unfortunately he's no longer in control here. Father got him out of the prison camp, in return for certain favors-it was always t.i.t for tat with el-Gharbi-and he was exiled to his village in Upper Egypt. I suppose he's still there, if he is alive.”

”Too bad.”

They made the rounds of the more prominent dealers. David explained that he wanted a bracelet for his wife, and ended up with several silver bangles, all of recent Bedouin workmans.h.i.+p. They were shown strings of faded faience ”mummy beads,” any of which, the merchant explained, could be made into bracelets. He had recognized them and didn't really suppose they would buy the wretched things, but it was worth a try. The Inglizi, even these, were unpredictable.

”I could have told you they wouldn't offer us Cyrus's bracelets,” Ramses said. ”They know who we are.”

”I suppose we haven't time to try our jolly old tourist disguises,” David said. He sounded regretful. Ramses laughed, but shook his head. ”Put it out of your mind, David.”

”Ah, well. Let's have lunch at Ba.s.sam's.”

”He won't be able to tell us anything.”

”But we will have an excellent meal. It will put me in a better frame of mind to spend the evening with Uncle Sethos.”

I EXPECT THE ONLY ONE who looked forward to that celebratory dinner was Sethos himself. I had prepared Walter as best I could, finding him fully recovered physically, if thoroughly bewildered. He took the news of his father's infidelity better than I would have expected-possibly because he, too, had suffered from the coldness of his mother-but despite my a.s.surances that Sethos had redeemed himself by his heroic services to his country and was now reformed, I could see Walter had reservations. (So did I, which may have weakened the effect of my a.s.surances.) It had been a rather tiring day, especially for those of us who took the children to the Museum. I had determined to accompany them, since I knew Emerson and Walter were likely to become absorbed in some antiquity or other and let the little ones wander off. I lost Davy twice, retrieving him on the second occasion from the interior of a huge granite sarcophagus. (I was tempted to leave him there for a while, since he could not get out of it, but Emerson would not let me.) At my insistence, we all a.s.sumed our most elegant attire and tried to behave as if this were a conventional meeting of long-parted friends and relations. Faultlessly attired in white tie and tails, Sethos was waiting for us when we stepped out of the lift, and swept us into the private dining room he had booked. The table positively glittered with crystal and silver, and there were flowers along its length and at every lady's place. Florid compliments bubbled from his lips; he insisted Emerson take the head of the table, and as soon as we were all seated, corks popped and champagne filled our gla.s.ses. Since it was obvious to the dullest wits that Emerson was not about to propose a toast, Sethos did so. ”To the King and the loyal hearts who serve him; to love and friends.h.i.+p!” Even Emerson could not refuse to honor that.

As the meal progressed, through course after course, I found it increasingly difficult to stifle my laughter. It may have been the champagne. However, to see the effect of Sethos's performance on various persons entertained me a great deal. He had set himself to win them over, and no one could do it better. Dear Evelyn, who would have forgiven Genghis Khan had he expressed repentance, succ.u.mbed at once to his charm, and Lia was visibly fascinated. He praised Walter's philological work, citing examples to prove he was thoroughly conversant with it; he spoke admiringly of Emerson's accomplishments-and mine-and paid tribute to the heroism of the younger generation.

”They are the children of the storm,” he declared. ”The storm has pa.s.sed, thanks to their sacrifice-not only the young men who risked, and gave, their lives, but the gallant women who suffered the even greater pain of waiting and of loss.”

Evelyn's eyes filled with tears. Nothing could have been more graceful than the acknowledgment of the death of her son in battle. Even Emerson appeared moved. The only face that did not soften was that of Ramses, though the tribute had obviously been meant for him and David as well. He glanced at me, his eyebrows tilted skeptically.

Before long, Emerson began to fidget. It was impossible to carry on what he would have called a sensible discussion-that is, a discussion about Egyptology-at a dinner party, and I could see he was itching to interrogate Sethos about quite a number of things. However-thanks to my frowns and winks and piercing looks-he contained himself until the last course had been removed before remarking in a loud voice, ”This has been very pleasant, no doubt, but let us get down to business. I want to know . . . Oh. Er. Amelia, did you happen to mention to Walter-”

”If you are referring to the theft of Cyrus's artifacts, she did,” Walter said cheerfully. ”A pity. But I daresay Amelia will solve the case soon.” He finished the last of his wine and gestured to the waiter.

”Hmph,” said Emerson. ”Walter, you have had quite enough to drink. Either go to bed or pay attention.”

”Then I will go to bed.” Flushed and smiling, he rose, and of course Evelyn rose too. ”Good night, all. And thank you for a most enjoyable evening, uh-er-brother.”

After they had left the room I suggested that perhaps we ought not discuss the matters Emerson was determined to discuss in the presence of the waiters. Resuming his chair, Sethos shrugged.

”I have nothing of importance to report.”

Emerson's scowl indicated he was not willing to accept this, so Sethos elaborated. ”I went the rounds this afternoon. As I already knew, my chief lieutenants were gone.”

”Gone,” I exclaimed. ”Do you mean-”

”Several of them died in France. Do you remember Rene? He was killed in the first week of the war.”

I did not conceal my distress. I had liked the young Frenchman. He had been a criminal and a thief, but he had been a gentleman.

”Your admirer Sir Edward is alive and well,” Sethos a.s.sured me. ”Never mind the others; suffice it to say they are out of the picture. The rank and file also suffered attrition. Without my guidance they grew careless and paid the penalty. A few of the antiquities dealers with whom I was acquainted are still in business, but they were never permanent members of the organization. To sum it up-and I hope I may be allowed to do so, since Nefret has been swallowing her yawns for several minutes-I can think of no one in Cairo to whom Martinelli might have taken the objects.”

”Can we believe that?” Emerson asked bluntly.

”You will have to” was the equally brusque reply. ”There are certain persons with whom I had private dealings, but they are scattered, some in Europe, some in America, some elsewhere in the Middle East. I will continue my inquiries, but not just now. I must return to Constantinople tomorrow. My business there was unfinished.”

”I don't suppose you would care to tell us what it is,” I said.

”You are, as always, correct, Amelia,” said Sethos, his smile broadening.

”Then we will say good night,” I said, cutting off Emerson's incipient protest.

I had no intention of letting Sethos get away so easily. Thinking that he might speak more openly if the others were not present, I sent them off to their rooms-getting an extremely fishy look from Ramses-and turned to my brother-in-law.

He antic.i.p.ated me, as he so often did. ”Yes, Amelia, we have a few things to say to each other.”