Part 38 (1/2)
Neither of us looked at the other. Our eyes were fixed on the sh.o.r.eline. Nestled in the shelter of palm groves, amid the green of growing crops, were the whitewashed houses of a village. Above the rooftops rose the minaret of the mosque. Two black-robed women bearing jars on their heads descended the bank toward the river.
”Why are we slowing down?” I demanded.
”Looking for our first signal,” Sethos replied. ”That insignificant hamlet is Tukh. The channel is close to the West Bank here, and when a vessel is spotted all the local entrepreneurs take to their boats, hoping to sell some piece of junk to the tourists.”
We all crowded to the left side of the boat (it is properly termed starboard, I believe, or perhaps port). A water buffalo wallowed in the shallows, and above it, on the bank, were several figures capering up and down, waving a banner. It was bright green.
”They saw her,” I cried. ”She pa.s.sed this way. But when?”
”Green means yesterday,” Sethos said coolly.
”Not much help,” I muttered, waving away the platter of bread Nasir shoved under my nose.
”We're two hours down from Luxor,” Sethos said. ”That means she pa.s.sed here late in the afternoon. And we know we're going in the right direction. There was always a chance she'd turn and go upstream.”
”But they are at least six hours ahead of us, even if they stopped last night.”
”They must have done,” Sethos said impatiently. ”Don't be such a pessimist, Amelia, it isn't like you. No captain would risk his boat trying to navigate this river after dark.”
”Then she would have to put in last night . . . where?”
”Somewhere around Qena,” Ramses replied. ”Three hours away, at our present speed. We daren't go faster, none of us knows the river well enough. Eat something, Mother.”
I took a piece of bread, since Nasir would not leave me alone, and went back to my post on the other side of the boat.
Sunlight sparkled on the water. Our speed had increased, once we were in mid-channel. I could not take my eyes from the pa.s.sing scene, and I wished I had another pair of them in the back of my head. We had men stationed at the prow and the stern and along both sides, watching as keenly as I, but that wasn't enough for me; I felt I could trust no eyes but my own. The water, which looks so clear and sparkling at a distance, was a muddy brown and as littered as a Cairo alley. The river constantly s.h.i.+fts, eating away at one bank or the other; we pa.s.sed a once-flouris.h.i.+ng grove of palm trees, some precariously balanced on less than half their root base, others already fallen, their leaves trailing in the water. Withered palm fronds and dead branches floated past, with an occasional dead animal for interest. I am sure I need not tell the Reader that my eyes followed each such object with morbid dread, and each time I held my breath until I had identified it.
The river was not the populous thoroughfare it had been during my early years in Egypt, when it had been the only means of travel and transport. The railroad was cheaper and quicker, except for short distances. In Middle Egypt one would still see barges carrying sugar cane to the factories, but below a.s.siut only small local boats and an occasional tourist steamer used the river. We came up on one of the latter, flying the British flag, and I recognized one of Cook's vessels, the Amasis. We pa.s.sed her so close I could see the pale, staring faces of the pa.s.sengers standing at the rail-too close for the captain's taste, apparently, since he waved his fists and yelled at us.
Ramses came to me. He had lost his hat and his hair blew wildly about his face. ”I let David take over,” he said. ”I hope he can do better than I.”
”We are going too fast. That was a good-sized island we pa.s.sed. Shouldn't we have investigated the other side of it?”
Ramses turned to face me, one arm resting on the rail-but his eyes, like mine, continued to scan the banks. ”We cannot circle every island and sandbank, there are too many of them. With an inexperienced hand at the tiller there's a good chance we would run aground. That would slow us even more.”
”What is the point of this pursuit then?” I demanded.
”Could you have remained in Luxor, knowing that every minute, every hour was taking them farther away?”
A flush of shame warmed my face. He and I were the ones most deeply affected, and he was taking it better than I-externally. I was not deceived by his impa.s.sive countenance and cool voice.
”No more than you,” I said.
His expression did not change. ”There is relatively little traffic on this part of the river, and it's possible, even probable, that a conspicuous vessel like the Isis would have been observed. What I'm praying for is that she ran aground. Though it's more likely that we will. Mother, you will wear yourself out standing here. Come to the saloon and have something to eat. Nasir keeps cooking; I can't stop him.”
”I will wait until we reach Qena. How is Selim?”
”I can't stop him either,” Ramses admitted. ”He won't leave his engines. He seems to be all right.”
Another hour pa.s.sed. I counted off every minute, willing the hands of my watch to move faster. There might be news at Qena. A rotten log floating by had the exact shape and size of a human body.
Cyrus was the next to approach me. ”Come and have luncheon, Amelia,” he said, covering my clenched hand with his. ”We've got a dozen people keeping watch, you can't do any good here.”
”Soon. We are nearing Qena, I believe. That is Ballas, on the West Bank.”
Qena is a prosperous town, set in a well-cultivated countryside and noted for the quality of clay in the area. All along the bank lay row upon row of pottery vessels, round-bellied pots and tall water jars, ready for transport. Beyond the rows of pots a banner was raised, held high on long poles by two men. It was white. The Isis had not been seen.
The other men had gathered round. Bertie let out a m.u.f.fled oath, and Daoud invoked his G.o.d. ”Does this mean the boat did not come this far?” he asked.
”Not necessarily,” Ramses said. He leaned out over the rail, squinting against the sunlight. Water traffic was heavier here, vessels coming in to load, and departing with their cargoes of pots, a steamer slowing for the landing ahead, where tourists would disembark for a visit to the temple of Denderah. Feluccas glided like large white b.u.t.terflies around the larger boats. One of them appeared to be heading straight for us.
Ramses let out a shout. ”Stop! Tell Selim to stop the engines.”
The boat was heading straight for us. Standing upright, one hand on the mast, the other arm waving in emphatic gestures, was a man whose face and st.u.r.dy frame were oddly familiar. His bearded face split in a grin when the Amelia began to slow. The little craft came neatly alongside. The man grasped one of the hands that reached down for him, and scrambled nimbly on board.
”Reis Ha.s.san,” I cried. ”How did you-”
”The word has gone down the river with the speed of a flying bird. We have been watching for you. What have you done to my boat?”
”Nothing yet, but we had a few close calls,” Ramses said, with the first genuine smile I had seen on his face for hours. ”Marhaba, Reis Ha.s.san-welcome and thrice welcome. Something told me we might see you here.”
”Nothing told me,” I admitted. ”Yet I ought to have known. Thank you, my friend, worthy son of your father.”
He shrugged my thanks away. ”This is not a time for talk. What is the plan? Where do you want to go? And who”-his voice cracked-”who is steering my boat?”
FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.
Nefret had asked for more oil for the lamp. She hadn't got it. They had also refused her request to see Emerson, but she knew where he was-in the room next to hers. As they led her along the pa.s.sageway she had raised her voice in a string of swear words, and got an immediate, equally profane, response. The doctor added a few curses of his own before he pushed her into her room.
At least she knew he was still alive and conscious, and she had been able to rea.s.sure him about herself. The lamp was burning low. It wouldn't last much longer. She examined the wall that separated the two rooms, inch by inch, and could have laughed aloud when she heard a steady sc.r.a.ping sound at the base of the part.i.tion. Lying flat on the floor, she retrieved the last of the h.o.a.rded nails from her shoe.
At the first sound from her, the sc.r.a.ping stopped. Three soft knocks sounded. She knocked back, three times, wondering what system of communication he had in mind. Tapping through the alphabet would take forever.
Apparently Emerson came to the same conclusion. The sc.r.a.ping resumed. Her ear against the panel, Nefret located the source of the sound and began digging with her nail. The wood of the part.i.tion was thin, but neither of them had a proper tool; it seemed like, and probably was, hours before a sharp point jabbed into her hand. She pulled it back, and heard splinters snap as Emerson enlarged the hole. When she heard his voice she lay flat and pressed her ear to the small opening.
”Nefret, my dear. Can you hear me?”
”Yes. Father, are you hurt?”
”Perfectly fit, my dear. Pay attention, time is running out on us. It will be light before long. They had me in that room for a bit earlier on. I believe you can lift the bar on the outside of the shutters.”
”I haven't anything to use as a lever. I tried to steal a knife at dinner, but-”
”Pay attention, I said. There's a lamp bracket next to the washbasin. I managed to loosen it a trifle. If you keep bending it back and forth, it ought to come off. Do it now.”
”Yes, sir.”
The last of the oil flickered out as she wrenched at the metal strip. It came away from the wall so suddenly, she staggered. She had to feel her way back to the hole.