She had started for the door. She stopped, but did not turn. “Not this year.”
There seemed to be a certain tension in the air, though I could not understand why—unless it was the fact that her first and last attempt to supply that unattractive vegetable had been the Christmas before her ill-fated marriage. “It doesn’t hold up well in this climate,” I said. “The last time we had it, the berries turned black and fell off onto people’s heads.”
“Yes. I must go now,” Nefret said. “I won’t be late.”
“With whom are you—”
She quickened her step and got out the door before I could finish the question.
None of us did justice to Mahmoud’s excellent dinner. I could see that Ramses had to force each bite down, and my own appetite was not at its best. After we had finished, Emerson told Fatima we would have coffee in his study, since we intended to work that evening. Taking the heavy tray from her hands—a kindness he often performed—he told her to go to bed.
We had arranged a signal with David—two soft taps, a louder knock, and three more soft taps. Of course I could have unlocked the door with my own key, but I saw no reason to let its existence be known. My harmless little subterfuge was in vain; Ramses’s first question, once we were safely inside his room, was, “How did you get in last night, Mother? I had locked the door before I left the house.”
“She had a spare key, of course,” said Emerson, while I was trying to think of a way of evading the question. “You might have known she would. Now then, my boy, lie down and rest.”
He put the tray on a table and David offered Ramses a supporting arm. Ramses waved it away. “I’m all right. David, we’ll get you something to eat after Fatima has gone to bed. Where—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” I exclaimed irritably. “At least sit down, if you won’t lie down, and stop trying to distract me. I have a great many questions for all of you.”
“I’m sure you do,” Ramses said. He lowered himself carefully into an armchair. “Where is—ah, there you are.”
This remark was directed at the cat, who entered the room by way of the window. After giving his boots a thorough inspection she jumped onto the arm of the chair and settled down, paws folded under her chest.
“She’s been keeping watch on the balcony,” David said seriously. “But she must have thought I looked hungry, because she brought me a nice fat rat about an hour ago.”
I glanced involuntarily round the room, and David laughed. “Don’t worry, Aunt Amelia, I got rid of it. Tactfully, of course. Where is Nefret?”
“Gone out for the evening. I only wish to goodness I knew where, and with whom.” The boys exchanged glances, and I said, “Do you know?”
“No,” Ramses said.
“Leave that for now,” Emerson ordered. He had poured coffee for us; David brought a cup to me and one to Ramses, and Emerson went on, “David has told me—and you too, I presume, Peabody —about the scheme to supply arms to Wardani’s revolutionaries. There is no need to emphasize the seriousness of the matter. Your plan to prevent it was well worked out. What I want to know is: first, how many more deliveries are planned; second, how much progress have you made in discovering how the weapons are brought into Cairo ; and third, what went wrong last night.”
“Well reasoned, Emerson,” I said approvingly. “I would only add—”
“Excuse me, Mother, but I think that is quite enough to start with,” Ramses said. “To take Father’s questions in order: There are two more deliveries scheduled, but I haven’t yet been informed of the dates. By the end of January we will have stockpiled over a thousand rifles and a hundred Luger pistols, with ample ammunition for both. The Lugers are the 08 model, with an eight-shot magazine.”
“Good Lord,” Emerson muttered. “Yes, but how many of your—er—Wardani’s ragtag army know how to use a firearm?”
“It doesn’t require much practice to throw a grenade into a crowd,” David said soberly. “And some of the rank and file are former army.”
“As for your second question,” Ramses went on, “unfortunately the answer is: not much. Last night’s delivery point was east of the city, in an abandoned village on the outskirts of Kubbeh. The fellow in charge is a Turk who is approximately as trustworthy as a pariah dog, so I made a point of checking the inventory. He didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it except call me rude names.”
“Was it he who shot you?” Emerson asked.
“I don’t know. It may have been. Farouk—one of my lieutenants—is another candidate. He’s an ambitious little rascal. It happened just after I left them; they were supposed to take the weapons on to Cairo. …” He picked up his cup. The coffee spilled over, and he quickly replaced it in the saucer. Emerson took his pipe from his mouth.
“Do you want to rest awhile? This can wait.”
“No, it can’t.” Ramses rubbed his eyes. “David needs to know this, and so do you. In case…”
“David, there is a bottle of brandy in that cupboard,” I said. “Go on, Ramses.”
“Yes, all right. Where had I got to?”
He sounded drowsy and bewildered, like a lost child. I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Never mind,” I said. “Get into bed.”
“But I haven’t told you—”
“It can wait.” I took the glass from David and held it to Ramses’s lips. “Drink a little.”
He revived enough to study me suspiciously from under his lashes. “What did you put in it?”
“Nothing. But if you are not asleep within ten minutes I will take steps. David, can you get his boots off?”
I began unbuttoning his shirt. He shied back and pushed at my hand, to no avail. I have had a good many years practice dealing with stubborn male persons. “All right, Mother, all right! I will do as you ask, providing you stop that at once.”
“I am not leaving this room until you are in bed.”
He scowled at me. I was pleased to see him feeling more alert, so I said graciously, “I will turn my back. How’s that?”
“The best I can get, obviously,” muttered Ramses. “There’s one more thing. The weapons are cached in one of the abandoned tobacco warehouses. At least that’s where they are supposed to be. David knows which one. Someone should go round there to make certain. Someone has to tell Russell about—”
“Certainly, my boy.” Emerson tapped out his pipe and rose. “Here, let me help you.”
“I don’t need—”
“There you are,” said Emerson cheerfully. “Nicely tucked up, eh?”
I turned round. Ramses snatched at the sheet, which Emerson was trying to tuck in. They had got his clothes off, anyhow. I decided not to inquire further.
“You had better get some rest too, David,” I said. “We will carry out the same procedure tomorrow. I will be here at… Oh, dear, I almost forgot. You haven’t had any supper. I will just slip down—”
“I’ll do it,” said Emerson. “Back in a minute, boys. Peabody , off to bed with you.”
“One last question—”
“I thought you wanted him to rest.”
“I do. But—”
“Not another word!” Emerson picked me up and started for the door. Just before it closed behind us I heard a muffled laugh from David, and a comment from Ramses which I could not quite make out.
I waited until we had reached our room before I spoke. “Very well, Emerson, you have had your way.”
“Not yet,” said Emerson. “But I will get David a bite of food first. Don’t stir from this spot, Peabody .”
He put me down on the bed and slipped out before I could object.
He was not gone long, but I had ample time to consider what I meant to say, and I was ready for him when he returned. “Do not suppose, my dear Emerson, that you can distract me in the manner you obviously intend. You have avoided my questions thus far, but—”
“My darling girl, we have not had a moment to—”
; “Endearments now!” I cried, pushing his hand away.
“And why the devil not?” Emerson’s blue eyes snapped. “Curse it, Peabody —”
“And leave off interrupting me!”
“Damnation!” Emerson shouted.
“Don’t bellow! Someone will hear you.”
Emerson sat down on the edge of the bed and seized me by the shoulders. A formidable scowl distorted the face that was now only six inches from mine. He was breathing heavily, and I must confess that rising ire had caused my own respiration to quicken.
After a moment his thunderous brows drew apart and his narrowed eyes resumed their usual look of sapphirine affability. “There is nothing unusual in our shouting at one another,” he remarked. “May I assist you with your buttons and bootlaces, my dear?”
“If you continue to converse as you do so.”
“Fair enough. What is your first question?”
“How did you know where to find David?”
He took my foot in his hand. Emerson’s little explosions of temper always relieve him; he was smiling as he unlaced my boots with the delicacy of touch he always demonstrates with antiquities and with me. “Do you remember the house in Maadi?”
“What house? Oh—you mean the one where Ramses took little Sennia and her mother after he got them away from that vile procurer?”
“Until the bastard tracked them down,” Emerson said grimly, starting on the other boot. “I went there one day with Ramses; we hoped Rashida might have returned to the only refuge she knew—a doomed hope, as you know. Ramses admitted that he and David had used the place before, during the years when they were roaming round the suks in various disguises. I thought it likely they would use it again, since it is an excellent hideout; the old woman who owns it is half blind and slightly senile.”
By this time Emerson had proceeded with his other suggestion, and I felt a pleasant lethargy seize my limbs. I opened my mouth to speak, but found myself yawning instead.
“Close your eyes,” Emerson said softly, doing it for me. His fingers moved from my eyelids to my cheek. “You didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, and tomorrow will be another busy day. There. That’s right. Good night, my love.”
Through the veils of sleep Emerson’s gentle hands had wrapped round me I was conscious of a vague sense of irritability. His explanation had been reasonable, so far as it went, but… I was too weary to continue the discussion. Of all the questions that still vexed me, one of the most inconsequential pursued me into slumber. How the devil had Ramses got away from Mrs. Fortescue?
Chapter 5
From Manuscript H
He’d been as rude as he could manage and rougher than he liked. Most women would have taken offense at his frequent glances at his watch during dinner, but she appeared not to notice. After they had dined he led her straight to the most secluded alcove in the Moorish Hall. He expected at least a token protest, but she moved at once into his arms, and when he kissed her she kissed him back with a force that made his teeth ache. Further familiarities aroused an even more ardent response, and he began to wonder how far he would have to go before she remembered where they were and what sort of woman she was supposed to be. Nefret would have broken his arm if he’d handled her so cavalierly.
Nefret. The memory of that night, the only night they had been together, was imprinted in every cell of his body, so much a part of him that he couldn’t touch another woman without thinking of her. His caresses became even more mechanical, but they had a result he had not anticipated; she brought her lips close to his ear and suggested they retire to her room at the Savoy .
He took out his watch. It was later than he’d thought, and annoyance, at himself and at her, provoked him into direct insult. “Damn! I beg your pardon, madam, but I am late for an appointment with another lady. I will let you know when I am free.”
He made his escape, collected his hat and coat from the attendant, and slipped out the side door. Another story to go the rounds of society gossip, he supposed; she wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself, but she would certainly revise it to make him appear even more of a boor. Attempted rape in the Moorish Hall? There were a number of people in Cairo who would believe it.
David was waiting for him in a part of the hotel grounds no guest ever saw, between a reeking heap of refuse and a stack of bricks designed for some repair job that had never been begun. A sickly acacia tree shadowed the area and provided convenient limbs on which to hang objects temporarily. “You’re late,” he whispered. “What happened? I told you—”
“Shut up and hold this.” A rat ran across the top of the bricks.
“Has she left the hotel?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. Watch out for her.”
They made the exchange of clothing as they spoke. Ramses had simplified his cumbersome evening garb as much as possible; his shirt had attached collar and cuffs, and buttons instead of links. Under it he wore the loose shirt and drawers of a peasant. David handed over his robe and knife belt and sandals. Forcing his stockinged feet into Ramses’s shoes, he grumbled, “Couldn’t you buy evening pumps one size larger? I’m getting blisters.”
“You should have mentioned it before. Here, take my coat and hat. I’ll see you later.” He pulled a woolen scarf from his coat pocket and wound it round his face and throat.
“Good luck.”
“And to you. Take care.” They clasped hands briefly but warmly, and Ramses slid away into the darkness.
His demand to be put in touch with the man running operations in Cairo had been rejected. He’d thought it was worth a try, but he hadn’t really expected they would agree. They didn’t trust Wardani any more than Wardani would have trusted them. It had been the Turk who turned up at Aslimi’s, with the information about the time and place of the first delivery.
Being late, he risked taking a cab for part of the distance. After the driver had let him off near the station at Demerdash he proceeded on foot, running when he could do so without attracting attention. It took less than half an hour to cover the two miles, and another five minutes to assume the rest of his disguise. He’d done it so often he didn’t even need a mirror: beard and mustache, a neatly wound turban, a few lines and patches of shadow rubbed round his eyes.
The village was off the main road; it had been abandoned for years, and like many villages in Egypt , it had been built of stone vandalized from ancient ruins. Segments of remaining walls stood up like jagged teeth around the roofless house that had been designated as the rendezvous.
The others were already there. He could hear low voices and the sounds of movement. He’d hoped to arrive in time to spot the wagon, which might have given him a clue as to where it had come from. Too late now. Damn Mrs. Fortescue.
His own men welcomed him with unconcealed relief. Farouk was particularly effusive, clasping him in a close embrace and inquiring solicitously after his health. Ramses shrugged him off and turned to exchange brief, insincere greetings with the Turk. The big man was obviously in a hurry to be gone. Urged on by his low-voiced curses, Wardani’s men had almost finished unloading the wagon into the smaller donkey carts they had brought. Ramses climbed into the wagon and began unwrapping one of the long cloth-wrapped bundles.
“Here! What are you doing? There is no time for—”
“There is time. Why the hurry? Did you run into trouble with one of the camel patrols?”
“There was no trouble. I know how to avoid it.”
It was a less informative reply than Ramses had hoped for, but he did not pursue the matter. The bundle contained ten rifles. He freed one from the wrappings and examined it. It was one of the Turkish models that had been used in the 1912 War, and it appeared to be in good condition. He passed it into the eager hands of Bashir. How the poor fools loved to play soldier! Bashir probably didn’t know which end to point.
“Ten in each. Two hundred in all. Where’s the ammunition?”
The Turk kept up a monotonous undercurrent of cursing
as Ramses checked the other bundles and located the boxes of ammunition and grenades. There was another, larger box.
“Pistols?” Ramses pried the top off with the blade of his knife.
“A bonus,” said the Turk. He spat. “Are you satisfied now?”
“I wouldn’t want to detain you,” Ramses said politely. “When do we meet again, and where?”
“You will be notified.” The Turk climbed onto the seat of the wagon and picked up the reins. The mule team started to move.
Turning, Ramses was annoyed to see that his enthusiastic followers were passing round the pistols and trying to insert the clips. “How does it go?” Asad asked.
“In the grip. Like this.” It would be Farouk, Ramses thought. The others followed his lead, much more clumsily, and Ramses snapped, “Put those back and close the box. By the life of the Prophet, I would be better off with a bunch of el-Gharbi’s girls! Can I trust you to cover the loads and get moving? You’ve a long way to go and a lot to do before morning.”
“You aren’t coming with us?” Asad asked. A vagrant ray of moonlight shone off his eyeglasses as he turned to his leader.
“I go my way alone, as always. But I will know whether you carry out your orders. Maas salameh.”
He could still hear the creak of the wagon wheels and he too had a lot to do before morning.
He hadn’t gone more than fifty yards before there was a shout: “Who’s there?” or “Who’s that?” Ramses stopped and looked round. Not a sign of anyone. Had the damned fools got the wind up over a wandering dog or jackal? He started back, intending to put the fear of God into them before they roused the whole neighborhood. When the first shot was fired he didn’t bother to take cover, but when a second and third followed, they came close enough to remind him that there were several people around who didn’t like him much. Discretion being the better part of valor, he turned tail and ran.
He’d waited a little too long. The impact of the bullet spun him sideways and knocked him to the ground. He managed to roll into a convenient depression beside a wall and lay there, unable to move and expecting at any moment to see a shadowy form looking down at him and the dark glint of light on the barrel of a gun.
He Shall Thunder in the Sky taps-12 Page 15
