Part 38 (2/2)

”I've got it,” she reported. ”As soon as I get out of here I'll come to your window and-”

”As soon as you get out of there you will go over the side. I don't know how far we are from land. Are you willing to risk it?”

”Risk be d.a.m.ned. I won't leave you here.”

Their faces were close together. She felt his breath warm on her cheek. ”You can't get me out. Even if you could, I would find it a trifle difficult to swim with fifty pounds of ironmongery attached to me. Are you crying? Don't cry, curse it! Do you know what they're planning?”

”Yes. That horrible old woman told me, at dinner. But I can't . . .” She knew he was right, though. She couldn't free him, and she was no good to him as a fellow prisoner.

”She told me, too. Or rather,” said Emerson complacently, ”she confirmed my deductions. I could have dropped-if I hadn't already been rec.u.mbent-when she told me who she was. It just goes to show that one should never leave old enemies lying carelessly about. Go on, now. Er-”

”a bientot, Father.”

”Er-yes. My dear.”

She was afraid to speak again, for she knew her voice would betray her. The faint slits of light at the shutters guided her. It took all her strength to force the blunt end of the bracket into the crack between shutter and window frame, and for a while she didn't think she could exert enough pressure to force the bar up. It gave all at once, and Nefret's heart stopped as it swung free, striking the shutter with a sound that seemed to her as loud as a pistol shot. Emerson heard it; he began to yell and bang on the door, making enough racket to drown out louder sounds than the ones she made climbing out the window. There was no one in sight on the narrow stretch of deck.

She felt as if some other ent.i.ty had taken control of her body, blocking off emotions she couldn't afford to feel. Smoothly and quickly, she closed the shutters and replaced the bar before she climbed over the rail and lowered herself into the water.

The shock of immersion took her breath away. Clinging to the side she looked round, trying to get her bearings. The moon was on the wane, a thin sliver of silver, but the stars were the bright stars of Egypt. Behind her, not far away, a low, dark bulk blotted out a section of sky. An island, and not a very big one-just long enough to hide the Isis from one direction.

Bare feet thumped on the deck, only a few inches over her head. Emerson's outburst must have drawn some of them away from their posts temporarily. They had silenced him now.

Nefret drew in a deep breath and pushed herself away from the boat in a long glide. When she was forced to come up for air she turned onto her back and paddled gently with her hands. Now she could see the ghostly outlines of the cliffs of the high plateau. They looked awfully far away. West bank or east? She floated, letting the current carry her for a few yards downstream. The cliffs were those of the West Bank, then. Maybe the eastern sh.o.r.e was closer. Something b.u.mped into her, something squashy and vile-smelling. Nefret fended it off, fighting revulsion. There were always dead animals in the Nile. She didn't want to see what this one was. Turning over again, onto her front, she started swimming toward the island.

It was only a sandbank, less than sixty feet long and a few yards wide, but reeds had rooted themselves and weedy plants struggled for sustenance. Nefret pulled herself out of the water and looked round. The eastern sh.o.r.e looked just as far distant. If there was a village on either bank, it showed no lights. The villagers couldn't afford to waste oil. She looked in vain for a familiar landmark. Emerson would have found one-he knew every foot of the river-but to her the cliffs looked all alike. To her left-north, downstream-she could see what appeared to be other small islands.

One thing was certain. She couldn't stay here. Once her absence was discovered they would look for her, and the reeds offered no concealment. She sat down and began struggling with the wet laces of her boots. It cost her a fingernail before she got them off. Hastily she stripped off her wet s.h.i.+rt and trousers, flattened them into a bundle, and used her belt to strap them onto her back. Silly, perhaps, but if she was fortunate enough to reach sh.o.r.e she didn't relish the idea of showing herself to a group of conservative villagers in wet, skimpy underclothing.

The sky over the eastern cliffs had paled. Dawn was near. She waded through the weeds, slid into the water, and started swimming toward the eastern sh.o.r.e, downstream, with the current and across it.

She had known everyone used the Nile as a trash depository, but it was one thing to know, and quite another to be in the middle of the mess, nose to nose with rotting vegetation and dead branches and other things she preferred not to think about. Organic objects that had sunk rose when the gases of decomposition swelled them. She had heard her first lecture on that interesting subject from her mother-in-law, years ago; Emerson had been absolutely scandalized . . .

The thing came at her from behind, floating downstream. It struck her upraised arm a numbing blow and caught her again on the s.h.i.+n as she went under, her mouth filling with water. She fought her way back to the surface, her lungs heaving. The thing was beside her, turning idly in a little eddy-a section of palm trunk, with a few fronds still attached. Dizzy with pain, and half-drowned, Nefret caught hold of a handful and with the last of her strength pulled herself far enough forward to throw one arm over the rounded trunk. Swimming was out of the question, her right arm hurt and her stomach was in knots and she was tired. So tired. She hung on, letting the impromptu raft draw her along with it, saving what was left of her strength, expending only as much energy as was necessary to keep her head above water. The sky began to brighten. Her left arm ached. Everything ached. Ankle, leg, right arm, back.

A sudden jar broke her numbed hold. Her head went under water and her feet jolted against a solid surface. She stood up, wobbling on one leg, and pushed the streaming hair out of her eyes. The log that had been both disaster and savior had run up against a muddy bank. It was not either of the river banks-just another d.a.m.ned island.

A wave lapped her ankles. The log dipped, as if nodding a courteous farewell, and floated away. Nefret leaned over and threw up.

Once she had rid herself of the rest of the water she had swallowed, and all of the meal she had eaten, she realized she was ravenous. A brief, hobbling survey of her current position offered no hope of relieving her hunger or her thirst. This island was a little larger than the other, but not much, and she was still in the middle of the river, no closer to either sh.o.r.e than she had been, though she was some distance downstream. The only other inhabitants were birds, snowy white egrets, and a few kingfishers. She startled a nesting goose, which rose flapping and honking. In the strengthening light Nefret considered the clutch. No, she wasn't that hungry. Not yet.

She sat down and examined her bare leg. It hurt like the devil, but there was no break, just a bruise the size of her closed fist. Swearing and wincing, Nefret probed the injured arm, and diagnosed a bruised bicep. She wouldn't be using that arm for a while. But there would be boats on the river soon. She ought to be able to hail one of them, making d.a.m.n good and sure before she did so that it was not a dahabeeyah the size of the Isis.

It did not take her long to discover that the main channel was too far away for her faint calls to carry. She grew hoa.r.s.e from shouting. Against the gray-green reeds her body was essentially invisible. She had nothing bright to wave, no way of starting a fire.

When the sun was high overhead, she saw the Amelia go past. She went on waving and calling until it was out of sight, and then sank down and hid her face in her folded arms.

I DECIDED I COULD ABANDON my post for a short time, and summoned the others to the saloon. No one was hungry, but it is necessary to keep up one's strength when strenuous endeavor may lie ahead.

”You mean a fight?” Cyrus asked. ”I sure would like one, but has anybody figured out what we're actually going to do if-when-we catch up with them?”

”Run them aground,” Selim said. It had taken a direct order from me to remove him from his engines. He allowed me to take his pulse and feel his brow for signs of fever, but refused to let me do more; and indeed there was not much more I could do. Black smears of oil stained his clothes, from his turban to the hem of his galabeeyah, but so far as I could tell he was holding up well.

Daoud scooped up a portion of chicken and vegetables with a bit of folded bread and popped the whole thing neatly into his mouth. He nodded in agreement.

”Let's see where we stand,” Sethos said. He had finished eating. Now he reached for the map Nasir had pushed aside when he served us. ”The Isis was seen at Tukh yesterday afternoon. Reis Ha.s.san swears she didn't pa.s.s Qena today. If we take his word, and I gather you are all inclined to do so, there are only two possibilities. She has changed her name and her appearance, or she is lying low somewhere between here and Tukh.”

”Why?” The question came from Ramses, who was standing at the window, looking out, his hands clasped behind him. He swung round. ”Why should they delay? What are they after? Would they have collected all of us, one by one, if Father hadn't spoiled their plans? Or did he? G.o.dd.a.m.n it, we're sitting here studying maps and timetables, and Cyrus is the only one who's asked a sensible question. Supposing we do catch her up. Then what? Fire a cannon across her bows? That would be entertaining, if we had a cannon. Board her, with cutla.s.ses between our teeth?”

He broke off, breathing hard. I went to him and slipped my arm through his. ”That has always struck me as an impractical procedure,” I said. ”One would have to have extremely hard teeth and strong jaw muscles, and even then an involuntary movement might easily result in the loss of teeth and jaw.”

For a moment I feared my attempt at a little joke had been misplaced. His black eyes blazed with anger. I said, ”I too am very worried.”

The hard lines around his mouth softened. He bowed his head. ”I'm sorry, Mother. It's selfish of me to be glad that Father is with her, but . . .”

”I am also glad of it,” I said. It was partly true. ”I don't know what it was that made Emerson realize Nefret might be in trouble, but it is just like him to go rus.h.i.+ng to the rescue all by himself. One good thing has come of his impetuosity. The villains know we will be hot on their trail. Whether it was their original intention or not, they will not . . . they will keep them as hostages.”

Walter coughed. ”I have been thinking,” he said.

”Yes, Walter?” I gave him an encouraging smile. He was so anxious to be of use, poor man, but he had only succeeded in getting in everyone's way. Selim had politely but firmly rejected his further a.s.sistance after he burned his arm on the heated metal of the engine, and his attempt to use the sounding stick had almost got us run onto an invisible sandbar.

”I'm not good for much else, you see,” Walter explained matter-of-factly. He adjusted his eyegla.s.ses. ”We have been operating on the a.s.sumption that revenge is the motive for this.”

”What other motive could there be?” I asked.

”The Isis is an expensive operation,” Walter said. ”And revenge loses its force after so many years. They are after something more rewarding. What else could it be but the princesses' treasure? And if that is the case,” he went on, raising his voice a trifle to be heard over Cyrus's oaths, ”it alters our entire strategy. Let us say that M. Lacau finishes loading the artifacts today. If he is in sufficient haste, he will try to get a few miles downstream before nightfall. I think the Isis, under a new name, will intercept the steamer tonight, under cover of darkness.”

”Suppose Lacau doesn't leave until tomorrow morning?” David asked.

”Then they will strike tomorrow night. The point is-” Walter raised an admonitory forefinger-”that they don't know his schedule either. They will have to lie in wait for the steamer and follow it until it stops for the night, whichever night that may be. We must turn back. We may not be able to identify the Isis in her new guise, but we can't miss the government steamer, and if I am right, the dahabeeyah will be nearby.”

”What if you're wrong?” I asked, half convinced but reluctant to abandon the pursuit. ”We would never catch them up if they have gone on ahead.”

”I think he's right,” Sethos said. He gave Walter an approving nod. ”There is definitely a streak of larceny in the family. I'm ashamed I didn't think of it myself. I vote for heading back upriver.”

”No,” Ramses said. He went back to the window.

I looked at David. He had seen it too, the increase of tension to such a point that Ramses was beyond reason. The idea of retracing our route was unbearable.

David took him by the shoulders and spun him around. Ramses's eyes were dead black, without a spark of awareness. He swung at David; David dodged the blow and struck back, hard enough to set Ramses back on his heels.

”It takes a blunt instrument to stop him when he's in this frame of mind,” David explained coolly.

Ramses's eyes came back into focus. He rubbed his cheek and blinked at David. ”Did you have to do that?”

”My friend, you have been half out of your mind for hours. Stop and think. Father's theory provides the first rational motive we've found. Everything fits, don't you see? Even blowing up the railroad station. An armed a.s.sault on the steamer will be attributed to terrorists. We have to gamble, but this is our best hope. If we start back straightaway, we can reach Qena before dark.”

<script>