Part 31 (2/2)
”I only want to see the damage for myself.”
”To what purpose? David, please don't go alone. Get Ramses or Emerson to go with you.”
”Take the Father of Curses away from his excavations to play bodyguard? What can possibly happen that I can't handle? This is Luxor, not Gallipoli.”
I let out a sigh of exasperation. Masculine ego is a frightful nuisance. ”I am in no mood for argument or explanation, David. Just do as I say. Ramses is at the house working on his ostraca. That isn't far out of your way. And don't swear at me,” I added, for I saw the word forming on his lips.
They drew back into a shape that was at least partially caused by amus.e.m.e.nt. ”All right, Aunt Amelia, you win-as always. You are finished here for the time being, I expect. Shall I give you a lift back to the house?”
He mounted and offered me a hand. I backed away. ”No, thank you, dear boy, I have enjoyed that romantic but uncomfortable experience too often. Tell Fatima we will be lunching here. And eat something before-”
He gave me a grin and a mock military salute and rode off. Thoughtfully I returned to the workroom.
FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.
Once Ramses would have been happy to be left to work on the inscribed material, but he was unable to concentrate. He knew why his father had not insisted on his presence that morning. They had not discussed it; there was no need. Selim was still helpless and the children were vulnerable, and if an adversary wanted to get into the sprawling, unguarded house, there was no one to stop him except the women and Gargery. The dear old idiot would die to defend any one of them, but that was about all he could do-if he didn't shoot himself first.
After the others had gone to the Castle, Ramses wandered rather aimlessly around the perimeter of the grounds, ending up at the clinic. The waiting room was full. Nefret's reputation had spread; but the need was so great, the lack of decent medical care so extensive that any halfway competent physician would have more than she could handle. Ramses felt the same helpless rage Nefret must feel every day, every hour, when he saw the suppurating wounds and runny eyes, the sickly babies and the swollen bellies of girls in their early teens. Obstetrics was and would be a large part of Nefret's practice.
Nisrin came out of the surgery. Blood spattered the front of her white gown, but she greeted him with an unperturbed smile. ”Do you wish to see Nur Misur? She is sewing up this patient now.”
”No, I can see she's busy. Unless there is something I can do to help.”
She waved him away with the patronizing air of a trained nurse dismissing male incompetence, and he went to see how Selim was getting on. Sennia was with him, devouring honey cakes and discussing the Second Intermediate Period. She was doing most of the talking. Glancing at Ramses, she said indistinctly, ”We are up to the Hyksos.”
”So I hear,” Ramses said. A paw, claws fully extended, shot out from under her chair. Ramses skipped aside. Horus's filthy temper hadn't mellowed, but he was slowing down physically. ”Are you sure Selim wants to hear about the Hyksos?”
Sennia swallowed. ”He is very interested in Egyptian history. Aren't you, Selim?”
Selim rolled his eyes and grinned. ”The Little Bird is a good teacher.”
”I am good at taking care of sick people too,” Sennia said complacently.
”And the food here is excellent,” Ramses said, as she reached for another honey cake. ”You seem to be getting on nicely. Don't tire him, Little Bird.”
”I am tired of lying here,” Selim said. ”I feel well. Tell Nur Misur she must let me get up.”
The subject of his telling Nefret what to do was one he preferred not to pursue. He left.
His next stop was in the courtyard, where the children were playing. After a quarter of an hour Fatima made him go away, saying it was time for their luncheon and he was getting them too excited. The shrieks of protest that followed him did sound more vehement than usual. According to his mother, children were sensitive to atmosphere; the uneasiness of the adults was probably affecting them.
Having exhausted all means of entertainment, he went back to the study, and had just begun working when Gargery came in.
”There you are, sir,” he said accusingly. ”We have been looking all over for you. Mr. David-”
”You needn't announce me, Gargery,” David said.
”Are you lunching, sir? We did not expect you. May I ask-”
”No,” Ramses said. ”Run along, Gargery, and tell Fatima-”
”Tell her not to fuss,” David said. ”A sandwich will do.”
Gargery ”ran along,” sniffing. Ramses leaned back in his chair. ”May I ask . . .”
”I'm off to Luxor. We ran out of cotton wool and cloth. Aunt Amelia made me promise to take you along. But if you're busy-”
”You aren't going to get out of it that easily.” Ramses pushed the papers aside. ”I've been translating that horoscope text for Mother. Couldn't concentrate on anything more difficult. What made her suppose you needed me to come along?”
”I'm going to the railroad station.”
”And?”
”And nothing. I hope.”
”You think there will be trouble?”
David smiled slightly. ”I have a foreboding.”
It was more than an idle premonition, it was the knowledge of how easily a group of idlers could turn into an angry mob. A crowd would certainly gather, inspired by curiosity and the hope of scavenging. Ramses blamed himself for failing to follow the current news, as David had. The situation was already volatile. The slightest provocation, real or fancied, could start a riot.
And David would try to stop it. d.a.m.n it, Ramses thought, we don't need this. ”I'm with you,” he said. ”Whenever you're ready.”
By the time they reached the station it was early afternoon, and the temperature was in the nineties. They heard the uproar some distance away.
An irregular line of police held the crowd back from the tracks and the station, where several men in khaki were standing guard over the wreckage, ignoring the curses and waving fists with admirable British aplomb. How the soldiers had got there so quickly Ramses didn't know; Allenby must have taken the precaution of dispatching mobile columns into potential hot spots. The police officers in their shabby uniforms didn't look happy. Many of them were in sympathy with the protesters. Someone was waving a banner with a rude (and incorrectly spelled) description of the Inglizi. The sun beat down like a furnace and dust fogged the air, kicked up by the shuffling feet.
”Stop a minute,” Ramses said, catching hold of David before he could plunge into the thick of it. ”They're just letting off steam. What's going on?”
The man he addressed wore a ragged galabeeyah and a dirty rag wrapped round his head. He turned with a snarl on Ramses, recognized him, and turned the snarl into a propitiatory smile. ”We only wanted to take away the broken wood and the nails and bricks, Brother of Demons. What harm is there in that? But the accursed-uh-the British stopped us.”
”They want to find out what caused the explosion,” David said. ”You will be allowed to remove the wreckage when they have finished. Tell your friends to go home.”
”I? What sort of fool do you take me for? They are angry.”
”And enjoying themselves,” Ramses said to David in English. ”Nothing like a jolly riot on a hot day to alleviate boredom.”
”Someone is haranguing them,” David said, trying to see over the field of bobbing turbans, with an occasional red fez for contrast.
The fellow was no orator, but he was loud and indignant. Words like oppression and injustice-and the name of the exiled patriot Zaghlul-started an angry muttering. David swore and began to force his way through the close-packed bodies.
Ramses followed, shoving even harder and making suggestions. ”Go home, you fools. Get away from here. Think of your wives and children. Do you want to be shot?”
They made way for him, and a few took his advice to heart, but the orator was still screaming and the front ranks of the mob surged forward. The police weren't armed, but the soldiers were. Hoping none of them would mistake him and David for rioters, Ramses dodged the hands of a hot-eyed protester who was reaching for his throat and kicked the fellow's feet out from under him. The men in the front rank were the bravest, or, to look at it another way, the ones with the least sense. David flattened a few of them, fighting with the cool efficiency Ramses remembered so well. The ones nearest the victims began to have second thoughts. They backed off, leaving Ramses and David in the empty s.p.a.ce before the beleaguered policemen.
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