Part 40 (1/2)

”You are an infernal nuisance, Amelia, do you know that?”

”I believe I can be of some use,” I replied modestly.

I was the recipient of an extremely ambiguous glance from my son, who was at the tiller. ”Get out the oars,” he said.

The prevailing wind swelled the sail but the current was strong. With Bertie and Sethos rowing, we made good progress, and finally Ramses said, ”They've seen us. David, start playing wounded duck, but get well upstream of her before you drop the sail. Bertie, if anyone makes a hostile move or points a rifle at you, make sure you shoot first.”

We had two rifles, wrapped in oiled cloth, and extra ammunition. We would have had three if anyone had listened to me, but Ramses would not let me have one. Now he went on, ”Mother, for G.o.d's sake, stop staring, you don't make a very convincing male Egyptian-even with an eye patch.”

I raised one arm so that my full sleeve covered my face, but I peered out from over it. We flapped on past, close enough to see the faces of the crewmen, who had gathered to jeer at our erratic progress. Several of them were armed, among them Dr. Khattab, who appeared to be in charge. I ducked my head and heard him call, obviously in answer to a question. ”It is only a fis.h.i.+ng boat, madame. About to capsize, if I am any judge.”

Then we were past. ”Here we go,” Ramses said, and fell overboard with a startled cry and an impressive splash. The boat rocked, the sail collapsed, and David slid into the water. The rest of us were making as much noise as possible. Sethos cupped his hands round his mouth. ”Throw us a rope,” he shrieked. ”Help, we will all drown. For the mercy of G.o.d!”

There was no mercy on those hard faces. Laughing, one of them pointed at a pair of arms and a distorted face that rose above the water between us and the dahabeeyah. The arms waved pathetically and disappeared. Bertie was paddling wildly in circles. The audience found this even more amusing. They began offering advice, all of it rude, some of it quite vulgar. My arms over my head, I swayed and whimpered. My breath came hard and my heart was pounding.

Sethos's cries cut off abruptly. Peering round the hem of my sleeve, I saw two other people at the rail. Justin was wearing male clothing, but everything else about her-the way she stood, the gesture with which she pushed back her windblown curls-was so obviously female that I wondered how I could have been deluded. She had her arm round Maryam, who gripped the rail with both hands and stared fixedly at us.

Justin's pretty face wore a frown. ”Bring them on board or sink them,” she called, in idiomatic and accented Arabic. The accent was that of a Cairene.

One of the men raised a rifle; clearly he found the second alternative more interesting. Maryam whispered something to her sister. After a moment Justin nodded. ”I suppose you're right. Gunfire might attract attention.” She went on in Arabic, ”Do not fire. Throw them a rope.”

Bertie caught it on the second try. The men on the dahabeeyah made no effort to help; one of them had fastened the other end of the rope to the rail, leaving it to us to pull ourselves in-if we could. ”Now what?” Bertie whispered. ”Won't she recognize you?”

”Me and the lady with the eye patch,” said my brother-in-law in an equally subdued voice. ”Pull us in. When we are within ten feet, grab the rifle and start shooting.”

Bertie's lips tightened. It went against the grain for him to fire first, but he knew there really was no sensible alternative. We had to disable as many of them as we could before we boarded. At least the lad wouldn't have it on his conscience that he had fired at a woman. Justin and Maryam had left the deck.

Squatting in the bottom of the boat, Sethos unwrapped the rifles. I reached for the little pistol I had concealed under my rags. The next ten minutes would tell the tale: victory or defeat, life or death.

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

Ramses came up on the far side of the dahabeeyah and hung on, gasping for breath. He looked wildly around for David, and could have shouted with relief when David's head popped up a few feet away. He reached out a hand and pulled his wheezing friend to his side. David had lost his turban. His black head, sleek as a seal's, streamed water. Ramses removed his own dripping turban and pushed his hair back from his face.

There was no need for discussion, they had worked it out beforehand, trying to cover all possible contingencies. Ramses gripped the rail and pulled himself up till he could see the deck. There were three windows on this side, all open or ajar. None was the window to his father's cell; according to the plan Nefret had drawn, it was on the opposite side of the dahabeeyah. The deck was deserted; the show had drawn the crewmen to the other side. He could hear their yells, and the agitated shrieks of his cohorts. Then he heard a voice he recognized, issuing orders that made him hurl himself up and over the rail. David was close behind him. Fighting the instinct that demanded he go to his mother's help, whatever the odds, he climbed in the nearest window. They hadn't started shooting. It was small comfort, but he had to stick to the plan. Their best and only hope was to take a hostage of their own.

The cabin was a woman's. Various female garments were scattered about, and the hat his mother had given Maryam hung on a hook by the door. Without pausing he went to the door and listened before easing it open. Then he heard the sound he had been dreading, that of rapid rifle fire, and abandoned caution, bolting straight down the corridor toward the saloon, with David close on his heels.

They were there, all three of them-the old woman, Justin, and Maryam. And the doctor. Ramses left him to David, heard a grunt and a thump, and caught Justin by the throat. ”Order them to stop firing,” he panted. ”Maryam, tell them I'll kill her if they don't surrender.”

Without a word or a look, Maryam darted out. After a moment the firing stopped. Ramses loosened his hold, feeling like a brute. She stood quiet in his grasp; her throat was soft and slender, and her blue eyes were reproachful.

”You wouldn't hurt me, would you? Your pretty little Hathor?”

”You've lost,” Ramses said. ”It's over.”

She laughed at him, showing even white teeth. David was standing by the old woman, who hadn't moved from her chair. She looked contemptuously at the knife David held to her throat.

”Put that away, boy. Neither of you would harm a woman, and we hold the ace in this little game. If you want the Professor back in one piece, you will surrender to us. Once we have what we are after, we will set you ash.o.r.e, unharmed.”

”You're lying,” Ramses said. ”Give me the keys to his room.”

”They are in the drawer there.”

He started toward the bureau and Justin laughed again. ”They won't do you any good. The Professor is not alone, you see. Francois is with him, and if anyone opens that door without giving the agreed-upon signal, he will cut your father's throat. He can't defend himself,” she added brightly, ”because he is chained hand and foot.”

Ramses couldn't think. The sounds on deck had subsided, but Maryam hadn't come back, and his mother might be . . . Torn in two by conflicting filial concerns, he was about to tell David to go out and see what had happened when the curtains at the window were pushed aside and his mother poked her head in. She had lost her turban, her hair was straggling around her shoulders, and there was blood on her face-but the eye patch was still firmly in place.

”Ah, there you are,” she said, brandis.h.i.+ng her pistol. ”I presume everything is under control.”

”Well, no, not exactly,” Ramses said, struggling for breath. ”Mother, are you . . . Sethos and Bertie-”

”Both wounded, but not seriously. They have subdued the crew.” His mother climbed nimbly through the window. ”This isn't my blood,” she added. ”My dear boy, you are white as a sheet. You weren't worried about me, were you?”

”Worried? About you?” He ran out of breath again.

”Thank G.o.d,” David exclaimed. ”But the Professor is-”

The pound of feet along the pa.s.sageway stopped him. Emerson burst through the door. ”I heard gunfire. Where-d.a.m.nation, Peabody, I knew it was you! Why are you wearing that idiotic eye patch?”

She dropped the pistol, and Ramses, dizzy with relief, was treated to the spectacle of his eminent parents, both of whom resembled survivors of a small war, rus.h.i.+ng into each other's arms. Their incoherent remarks were, he realized, completely in character.

”How dare you do this to me, Peabody? Ramses, why did you-never mind, you couldn't have stopped her. My darling Peabody, are you injured?”

Interspersed were her own comments. ”Another s.h.i.+rt . . . Oh, my dearest Emerson, what have they done to you?”

”And what has happened to Francois?” Ramses asked. ”They told us you were shut in with him.”

”Well, I had to kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, didn't I?” Emerson detached himself from his wife's embrace and ran a bloodshot eye over the room. Unconquerably Emerson, he gave the old woman a stiff bow. ”Good morning, er . . . Matilda.”

The old woman sat with a face like death. ”So you have won. The last battle.”

”Have we won, Ramses?” Emerson inquired.

”Yes, sir, I believe so,” Ramses said. ”But how-you were chained and locked in, weaponless-”

”I didn't need a weapon for a piece of sc.u.m like that,” his father said magnificently. ”I did have one, though. And she had freed me, early this morning. When they put Francois in with me, I had to-”

”She? Who?”

”Little Maryam, of course. I told you the child was . . . But where is she? She was following me.”

”And where,” said his wife, ”is Justin?”

She had taken advantage of their distraction to slip away, and so had Khattab. They found Maryam lying in the corridor. She had been struck unconscious-it wasn't hard to guess by whom-but she was beginning to come round, and when Emerson lifted her, she caught hold of him and tried to speak. ”Quick . . . You must go. She has lit the fuse.”

MATILDA JUMPED UP AND RAN for the door. She was quite agile for an elderly person; the prospect of imminent death, I have observed, lends wings to the feet. Ramses was quicker. He took her by the shoulders and shook her, none too gently.

”Where has she gone?”