He Shall Thunder in the Sky taps-12

by Elizabeth Peters

  “I know. Where?”

  “Palace.” His voice was so faint I could scarcely make out the word. “Ruin. On the road to…”

  “Yes, all right, I’ve got it. Don’t talk anymore.”

  “Hurry. Took me… too long…”

  “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll get him back.”

  He did not hear. His eyes were closed and his head rested heavy in her hands. Nefret kissed his white lips and rose. She looked as if she had been in a slaughterhouse, skirts dripping, hands wet, face streaked with blood—but not with tears. Her eyes were dry, and as hard as turquoise.

  “I’m going with you,” I said.

  She looked me over, coolly appraising, as she would have inspected a weapon to make certain it was functional. “Yes. Change. Riding kit.”

  Leaving Fatima with David, we hastened up the stairs. “Will he live?” I asked.

  “David? I think so.” She went into her room.

  I exchanged my tea gown for trousers and boots and shirt and buckled on my belt of tools. Nefret seemed to know where we were going. How, I wondered? David had not given us precise directions. I felt torn apart leaving him, even though he was in good hands. How much harder had it been for Nefret, who loved him like a brother and who had the medical skill he needed? There was only one thing on her mind now, however; I did not doubt she would have passed my bleeding form without a second glance if she had to make the choice.

  When I hastened to her room I found her lacing her boots. “Not your belt, Aunt Amelia,” she said, without looking up. “It makes too much noise.”

  “Very well,” I said meekly, and distributed various useful articles about my person. “Shouldn’t we try to reach Emerson?”

  “Write him a note. Tell him where we have gone.”

  “But I don’t know—”

  “I’ll do it.” She rose and snatched a sheet of writing paper from the desk. “Send Ali or Yussuf after him. Russell’s headquarters first. If he isn’t there, they must track him down. I’ll make a copy and leave it with Fatima in case the Professor comes back here before they find him.”

  She had thought of everything. I had seen her in this state before, and knew she would hold up until she had accomplished her aim… or had seen it fail. A shiver ran through my frame. What in God’s name would become of her if she were unable to save him?

  What would become of me, and his father?

  We paused in the drawing room long enough to give Fatima her final instructions. David lay where we had left him, covered with blankets and so still my heart skipped a beat. Nefret bent over him and took his pulse.

  “Holding steady,” she said coolly.

  “I have sent for Daoud and Kadija,” Fatima whispered. “I hope I did right.”

  “Exactly right. She has a healer’s hands, and Daoud is always a tower of strength. Don’t forget, Fatima , if the Professor rings instead of coming, read him that note.”

  “Yes.” She smiled a little. “It was good that I learned to read, Nur Misur.”

  Nefret hugged her. “Take care of him. Come, Aunt Amelia.”

  The horses were ready—Nefret’s Moonlight, and another of the Arabs. As Nefret swung herself into the saddle I said urgently, “Shan’t we take some of the men? Daoud will be here soon, and Ali is—”

  “No.” She had taken the reins in her hands and was so anxious to be off she was quivering like a hound at the traces; but she spared enough time to explain. “He’s not dead—not yet—I would know—but if the place were to be attacked openly, they would kill him at once. We must get into the house without being discovered, and find him before help arrives—if it does.”

  “And if it does not,” I said, “we will do the job ourselves!”

  I had heard of the place but I could never have found it without a guide, nor indeed would I have had any reason to seek it out, since it was without archaeological or artistic interest. How Nefret knew its location I had not had time to inquire. That she knew was all that mattered. Once we had passed the crossroads at Mit Ukbeh there were few people on the road and she let Moonlight out. Never once did she stop or slow her pace, even when she turned off the road onto a scarcely discernible track. Before long the cultivation was behind us and the track grew steeper. The waxing moon was high in the sky; its light and that of the stars must have been enough to show her where to go, for there were few landmarks—a huddle of tumbledown houses, a grove of trees. When she pulled Moonlight to a walk, I saw ahead a dark mass that might have been almost anything, so shapeless were its outlines. We drew nearer, and I began to make out details—fallen stones, a clump of low trees—and a light! The regularity of the shape indicated that it issued from a window somewhere beyond the trees.

  Nefret stopped and dismounted and gestured me to do the same. When I would have spoken, she put her hand over my mouth. Then, from her lips, issued the soft but penetrating whistle Ramses used to summon Risha.

  It was not long before the stallion’s familiar shape emerged from the night. He came toward us, stepping lightly and silently, and Nefret caught hold of his bridle and whispered in his ear.

  If the noble beast could only speak! His presence proved that Ramses was here, somewhere in that ruinous blackness.

  There was no need for us to confer; the lighted window was our guide and our destination. We left the horses and crept forward. Once, after stubbing my toe on an unseen rock, I tugged at Nefret’s sleeve and held out my torch. She shook her head and took my hand.

  The window was on the ground floor of a small structure well inside the outer walls. It might once have been a pavilion or kiosk. Crouching, picking our way with painful slowness, we approached; then, cautiously, we raised our heads just enough to look inside.

  It was a strange place to find in an abandoned palace of the eighteenth century—a poor imitation of a gentleman’s study, with leather chairs and Persian rugs and a few sticks of furniture. In the center of the floor was a large copper brazier or shallow tray; it must have served the former function quite recently, for it was filled with ashes and bits of scorched paper, and the stench of their burning was still strong. Of more immediate interest was the fact that the room was occupied.

  Two of the men were unknown to me. One of them was tall and heavily built, gray-bearded and fair-skinned as a European under his tan. The other wore traditional Senussi garb. The third man…

  The hair of bright auburn, artistically dulled by gray, was a wig, and his face was turned away, but I would have known that straight, lithe form anywhere. I felt a pang—yes, I confess it. Though he had all but openly confessed his treachery, I had cherished a forlorn hope that I might have misunderstood. There could no longer be the slightest doubt. He was guilty, and if Ramses was a prisoner here, Sethos was one of his captors.

  “That is the lot, then,” Graybeard said, in heavily accented but fluent English. “What sort of incompetent is this man? Keeping the documents was bad enough; leaving us to destroy them while he amuses himself with the prisoner is inexcusable. I am tempted to let the thrice-accursed British catch the thrice-accursed imbecile.”

  There was not a sound from Nefret, not even a catch of breath. I did not need the painful pressure of her fingers to warn me I must be equally silent.

  “One is certainly tempted,” the false Scot agreed. I would have ground my teeth had I dared make the slightest sound. I ought to have known that Sethos would have more than one identity; no wonder he had agreed so readily to give up that of the Count! In his other role he had taken even greater pains to avoid me.

  Hamilton , as I knew he must be, continued in the same lazy drawl. “We can’t risk letting him fall into the hands of the police. He knows too much about us, and they won’t have to beat him to get the information out of him; he’ll squeal like a pig.”

  The Senussi’s lips curled. “He is a coward and a fool. So we take him with us?”

  “By force, if necessary,” Sethos said. “And you had better go at once. Leave the back entrance u
nlocked for me. I’ll have a final look round to make certain he hasn’t left anything else incriminating.”

  “What about the prisoner?” Graybeard asked.

  “I’ll take care of him on my way out—if there’s anything left of him.”

  The gray-bearded man nodded. “Rather you than me.”

  “Squeamish?” Sethos inquired softly.

  “This is war. I kill when I must. But he is a brave man, and he deserves a quick death.”

  “He will get it.” Sethos opened his elegantly tailored coat, and I saw the knife strapped to his belt.

  There was no exchange of farewells or instructions. Graybeard and the Senussi simply walked out of the room, leaving Sethos standing by the smoking brazier. After listening for a moment, his head cocked, Sethos turned, knelt, and began sorting through the half-burned scraps, tossing them carelessly onto the floor after examining each. Whatever it was he was looking for, he did not find it; a soft but heartfelt “Damn!” was heard, and then he rose to his feet.

  Nefret was trembling, but she remained motionless, and her well-nigh superhuman restraint helped me to control my own fury and anxiety. We could not take the slightest chance, not now. I had my pistol and she her knife, but Sethos had other weapons of strength and skill that could overcome us both. We must wait until he left the room and then follow him and catch him off-guard before he could carry out his grisly promise.

  Sethos drew back his foot and gave the brazier a hard kick that scattered ashes across the rug. He was in a temper! So much the worse for us, or for anyone else who got in his way. He took one of the lamps from the table and strode out of the room, leaving the door swinging on its hinges.

  Nefret pulled herself up and over the sill, as quickly and neatly as a lad might have done, and then reached down a hand to assist me. Through the open door I saw what appeared to be a narrow hallway, with another door opposite. I indicated this to Nefret, raising my eyebrows inquiringly. Her lips tightened, and she shook her head.

  “This way,” she whispered, and led me along the hallway to a flight of narrow stone stairs. The light from the open door of the room we had left and the light of the lantern below enabled us to descend them quickly and noiselessly. There was no sign of Sethos when we reached the bottom of the stairs. He must have entered the room from whose open door the lantern glow came.

  Nefret darted forward, with me close on her heels. She did not even pause in the doorway but flew like a stone from a catapult at the man we had followed, pushing him aside with such force that he dropped the knife he held and staggered back. I do not believe she saw him as an individual, only as an obstacle between her and her goal. Standing on tiptoe, she drew her own knife and sawed at the ropes binding Ramses’s wrists to a hook on the wall. His bare back was a sickening sight, covered with blood and raised weals, and he appeared to be unconscious; when his hands were free he sank to the floor, clasped tightly in her arms.

  I leveled my pistol at the man who stood against the wall. “Don’t move! I might have known I would find you here!”

  “And I ought to have anticipated you would turn up.” He had the effrontry to smile at me. “We always meet under the most extraordinary circumstances. Perhaps someday—”

  “Be quiet!” I shifted position slightly, so that I could keep him covered while I shot quick glances at the tableau slightly behind me. Ramses lay sprawled across Nefret’s lap, her arms pressing him to her breast and his head resting against her shoulder. His face was bruised and bloodstained and his eyes were closed—but I saw his lips move, in a sigh or a groan, and I knew he lived.

  “See if you can rouse him, Nefret,” I ordered. “We must make haste, and I doubt we can carry him. You might try… Oh.”

  “He is less of a man than I believe him to be if that doesn’t rouse him,” Sethos remarked. “I assure you, Amelia, your kisses would bring me back from the dead.”

  Nefret’s bowed head hid Ramses’s face, but I saw him raise one arm and place it over her shoulders. The ensuing conversation was extremely incoherent. Most conversations of that nature are. I do not believe Ramses was aware of where he was or why he was there, but I will say for him that he went straight to the point.

  “I love you. I was a fool. Forgive me.”

  “No, it was my fault, all of it! Tell me you love me.”

  “I did. I do. I—”

  Her voice rose. “So you went off, without a word, when you knew you might never come back?”

  “That wasn’t how… I didn’t intend… Damn it, I left you a letter!”

  “Telling me what? That you loved me and were sorry you were dead?”

  “Yes, well, what about you? Coming here with that filthy—”

  “Stop it at once!” I ordered. “There will be ample time for that sort of thing later. At least I hope there will. Nefret, did you hear me! Oh, curse it! Ramses!”

  “Yes, Mother,” Ramses murmured. He looked round, blinking. “Good Lord. It is Mother. What’s going on? Is David—”

  “He’ll be all right,” Nefret said. She kissed him, and for a time I was afraid I would have to shout at them again. However, Ramses seemed to have got a grip on reality at last. Leaning on Nefret, he got slowly to his feet.

  “I need you to bind and gag this villain while I hold him at gunpoint,” I explained.

  Sethos’s smile faded. “Amelia, you are on the verge of making a disastrous mistake. I came here to—”

  “To murder my son, you villain,” I cried. “You have betrayed your country and broken your word to me.”

  “Wrong as usual, my obstinate darling. But do you think this is an appropriate time for a discussion of my character?”

  “Possibly not,” I admitted.

  “Definitely not,” Ramses said. “Though I was not entirely myself at the time, I got the impression that my amiable host was dragged away by two large angry men. However—”

  “However,” said a voice from the doorway, “he got away from them. You didn’t suppose I would allow someone else the pleasure of finishing you off, did you?”

  Chapter 15

  His well-bred friends would have had some difficulty in recognizing him. His coat was torn and his shirtfront speckled with small drops of blood; the features I had once thought bore a slight resemblance to my own were dark and distorted with choler and his lips were drawn back over his teeth. “Put your little gun away, Aunt Amelia. Now be honest for once; you never suspected me, did you?”

  Rapidly I appraised the situation. It was not promising. Percy’s gun was one of those large ugly German weapons and at such close range he could hardly have missed any target he selected. At the moment he appeared to have selected me. If I shot him, Sethos would overpower me before I could fire again, even supposing Percy did not kill me first.

  “Not of this,” I said. “I had not believed that even you could stoop so low.”

  Ramses straightened, with what effort I could only imagine. “Give it up, Percy. The game is over. You’ve lost.”

  “To you?” His lips writhed. “No. Not to you, damn you! I’ll get out of this. No one would believe—”

  “Russell knows,” Ramses said. “He knows about this place. My failure to report back to him will confirm my accusations.”

  The words fell as quietly and deadly as stones piled on a grave. Another sort of man might have heeded them, but not Percy. His face was twitching uncontrollably and a look of cunning narrowed his eyes.

  “Report back,” he repeated. “Not for a while, though, eh? Aunt Amelia and dear little Nefret are all the rescue party? Excellent. There’s plenty of time for me to get to the border. I can still be of use to them, and the reward they promised is waiting for me—a handsome villa in Constantinople , with everything I’ve ever wanted.

  “Let me see now,” he mused. “How shall I go about this? One bullet for dear Aunt Amelia and one more for the lovers, so closely entwined? Or shall I shoot the gun out of her hand first? It will be extremely painful, though perhap
s not as painful as watching me put half a dozen bullets into her son. Then there is Nefret. I hold a grudge against her, for tricking me. A more suitable punishment would be to let her live—with me, in that pleasant villa. Yes, I think I’ll take her along when I leave Cairo .”

  “Over my dead body,” I exclaimed.

  “Precisely what I had in mind,” said Percy.

  I grasped at the last frail straw. “Your confederate is unarmed. I will shoot him if you don’t drop your gun.”

  Sethos, who had not moved, now shook his head and sighed. Percy laughed.

  “Go ahead. You would probably miss, but our association was about to end anyhow. All right, Ramses, old chap, here’s your chance to die like a hero. Shove her out of the way and let me have a clear shot, or I’ll put a bullet through the two of you.”

  The gun turned in their direction. Mine turned back toward Percy. Before I could fire, the weapon was swept from my hand and a hard shove sent me staggering back. Unable to keep my balance, I sat down with such force that I was momentarily paralyzed, and my ears were deafened by a series of explosions so rapid they sounded like those of a machine gun. Too many things were happening at once. My eyes would not focus. Where was Nefret? Where was Sethos? Percy was screaming and pawing at his chest, but he was still upright and the gun was in his hand. Ramses launched himself at Percy and the two fell to the floor. Ramses could not hold him; they rolled over and as his scored back struck the floor Ramses cried out and lay still. Percy crouched by him, groping for the gun he had let fall—and as I half-crawled, half-stumbled toward them, Nefret ran back with her knife in her hand.

  The look on her face stopped me like a blow. It was as remote and merciless as that of the goddess whose High Priestess she had once been. Raising the knife in both hands, she brought it down with all her strength, up to the hilt into Percy’s back. For a moment she stood unmoving. Then her face crumpled like that of a frightened child, and she turned with a cry into the arms of…

  Emerson?

  Emerson! He was not alone. Men in uniform pushed into the room. There were others in the corridor outside.