Part 37 (2/2)
She expected a reprimand, if not another slap, but the old woman only smiled. Her collection of wrinkles looked like a map of Cairo, with its curving lanes and intersecting alleys. They were the result, Nefret thought, of weight loss in a woman who had once been stout and strong. She was by no means feeble, though. Her hand was all bones and sinew.
”I could have Francois pinch your nose and pour it down your throat,” her hostess said. ”But that would spoil the effect. Maryam-Justin . . .”
Ceremoniously they raised their gla.s.ses and drank.
The first course was soup of some kind. It was tepid and overflavored with onion. Even the cook must be one of the gang, Nefret thought. The wine was excellent, a pale hock, and Nefret allowed herself a sip. The sounds of activity outside were more muted now.
”What was it I didn't drink to?” she asked. ”And who the h.e.l.l are you? Bertha's avenger?”
”Do you suppose I would go to so much trouble for the sake of revenge?” The old woman leaned forward, withered hands planted on the table. ”Sentimentality is a weakness of the young. I had no objection to Justin arranging her cunning little accidents and epiphanies. She only succeeded in killing one of the men who had murdered Bertha, but some of the others were seriously inconvenienced and she enjoyed your fear and confusion. I stopped caring about such things a long time ago.”
”If it's money you want,” Nefret began.
”I want it and I intend to get it. This is an expensive operation,” she went on, in a voice as practical as a banker's. ”It took every penny I had saved and all the money Maryam inherited from her doting old husband. I believe it will prove a worthwhile investment.”
The waiters removed the soup plates and replaced them with fish, white-eyed and dry as a mummy. Nefret was glad she had forced herself to finish the soup. She didn't think she could deal with that dead fish, and she definitely needed to keep her wits about her. She said, in the same matter-of-fact voice as the old woman's, ”Perhaps we can come to an agreement. I can match-”
”Perhaps you could, though I doubt it.” ”Mrs. Fitzroyce” glared at the fish. ”Disgusting. Take it away. Money isn't all I want. I am not, it appears, as impervious to emotion as I had believed. Three of you were primarily responsible for the death of the woman I loved like a daughter and admired as my leader. Not the poor fool who struck the actual blow; the ones who had tormented and foiled her. The satisfaction I felt when I beheld one of them in my power at last, helpless and suffering as she had suffered, took me by surprise. It would give me even greater pleasure to lay my hands on the others.”
A calloused brown hand slapped a plate of beef down in front of Nefret. Blood formed a repulsive puddle around it.
”You were one of Bertha's aides,” Nefret said slowly. ”A member of her notorious organization of women. You took it over after she died. You must be . . . I've forgotten your name.”
”It was a nom de guerre. We never met formally, but you may remember the nurse who was in attendance on a pregnant lady. Pregnant with that one,” she added, frowning at Maryam. Her eyebrows squirmed like blind white caterpillars. ”Sit up straight, girl. What are you sulking about? The failure of your romantic fantasy? I trust you aren't having second thoughts.”
”It wasn't a fantasy,” Maryam said sullenly. ”It would have worked.” Her wide hazel eyes moved from the old woman to Nefret and back.
”Nonsense. In any case, it's too late now.”
”Matilda,” Nefret breathed. ”That was the name. Mother told us about you. It's she you want. Mother and-”
”The man who abandoned my girl for her. Her lover.”
”They were not lovers,” Nefret said indignantly.
The old woman cackled with laughter. ”No? The more fool she, then. I took rather a fancy to him myself, but of course he never gave me a second look. I wonder . . . Would he be willing to exchange himself for you, little Maryam? Then you can have your precious Ramses, supposing you are woman enough to win him.”
Maryam's mouth tightened. ”He wouldn't agree. They must know now I'm as guilty as you.”
”We can think of something,” Justin said eagerly. ”I'd like to know him better. Much better.”
”Control yourself,” Matilda said severely. ”Revenge is all very well, but it must not interfere with our primary aim.”
Nefret didn't have to ask what that was. Emerson had been right. There was only one way they could recoup their ”investment”-by seizing the princesses' treasure.
”How are you planning to capture the steamer?” she asked casually.
Matilda grinned at her. ”Clever girl. Since you're so clever, you figure it out. It will give you something to occupy your mind for the remainder of your stay with us.”
WE WERE ON BOARD BEFORE daybreak. I do not believe anyone had slept, despite my admonitions. I know Ramses had not. The dark stains under his eyes looked like smears of charcoal. Waiting with forced patience for that moment when there was enough light to distinguish a black thread from a white, I stood at the railing looking toward the outline of the western mountains and reviewing our preparations to make sure nothing had been overlooked. The messengers were on their way to villages down- and upstream; signals had been arranged, so that any news could be immediately relayed to us. We had a crew of twenty, all thirsting for blood; we might have had fifty, had there been room for so many. Cyrus had brought his entire a.r.s.enal of pistols and rifles.
The greatest difficulty had been persuading some members of the family to remain behind. My orders had less effect than Ramses's appeal.
”If something goes wrong, the children mustn't be left without all their parents and grandparents. Lia-Aunt Evelyn-promise you will look after them.”
At this point Gargery burst into tears.
”You too, Gargery,” Ramses said resignedly.
”With my life, sir, with my life,” Gargery sobbed. ”But, sir, don't talk so discouraged-like. You'll come back.”
”Not without her,” Ramses said. He turned away.
I loved Nefret like a daughter, but it was of Emerson I thought in those last dark moments before sunrise. If I knew my spouse-and I did-they could not have taken him without a struggle. Did he lie even now wounded and suffering in some hastily contrived and horribly uncomfortable prison? Or had they already . . . No. I would not think that.
Our force consisted of Cyrus and Bertie, both of whom were good shots, Ramses, who was even better when he overcame his dislike of firearms, David, Selim and Daoud, Sethos, our twenty loyal men, and of course myself. I was fully armed, with pistol, knife, belt of tools, and the sword parasol I had retrieved from Evelyn. My blood was up, and I hoped I would have a chance to use the last item. Only hand-to-hand combat would satisfy my righteous wrath.
Ramses joined me at the rail. ”You are grinding your teeth,” he remarked.
”My blood is up,” I explained. ”I am going to tell Selim we are ready to push off.”
”You don't have to tell Selim anything.” The breeze freshened, blowing the hair back from his brow; we were in motion, gliding gently away from the dock. ”I only wish we had a helmsman. Bertie and David know a bit, and so do I, but you had better pray we don't go aground.”
The sun peeped over the eastern hills, blood-red, as suited my mood. Gradually the temples of Luxor faded into the morning mist.
If the Reader has a map before her (or, as it may be, him) she will see that the Nile does not run directly northward from Luxor, but in a gentle curve to the northeast. After approximately sixty miles it swings westward, in a sharper curve. What the Reader may not see are the innumerable smaller bends, curves, and bays-or the islands and sandbanks that interrupt the smooth flow of the river. A feature that looks small on a map occupies hundreds of yards on the ground. The vessel we sought might be concealed anywhere-or it might be miles ahead, steaming at full speed toward some unknown destination.
The wind tugged at my garments. The Amelia was capable of a fair turn of speed, especially downstream. How satisfying it would have been to race in pursuit, the rapidity of our progress keeping pace with our raging anxiety! It was a luxury we could not afford. We had to watch for signals from our scouts along the bank, and for the missing dahabeeyah.
After a time Sethos came to stand beside me. ”Nasir has made coffee. Shall he bring you a cup?”
”Yes. No. Nasir should not be here. He is no fighter, he is only a steward, and not a very good one.”
”Fatima sent him. Along with enough food to nourish a regiment for a week.”
”Each of us serves in her own way,” I murmured gratefully.
”Quite. Now, Amelia, gripping the rail in that white-knuckled fas.h.i.+on isn't going to help. I'll be right back.”
When he returned, Nasir was with him, trying to balance a tray. I rescued the cup before it slid off, and thanked him-amd observed with alarm that the boy had strapped to his narrow waist a knife as long as my forearm.
”Oh dear,” I said to Sethos, as Nasir staggered off. ”We must keep him from engaging in combat.”
”Be honest, Amelia.” Sethos leaned forward, arms resting on the rail. ”You would sacrifice Nasir or anyone else if it were necessary to save Emerson.”
”Yes,” I said.
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