He Shall Thunder in the Sky taps-12 Read online

  “Later… on the dig…” I began.

  “Precisely,” said Ramses. “David cannot possibly carry this off. If we were working at a larger site, such as Zawaiet, he might be able to stay at a distance, but we’ve only cleared one room of the tomb, and I’ve been—”

  “We will have to extend the area of our operations, that is all,” said Emerson coolly. “Leave it to me.”

  “But, Father—”

  “Leave it to me, I said.” Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. “If I understand the situation correctly, the important thing is that you must be seen today behaving normally and with no sign of injury.”

  Ramses stared at his father. “How much do you know?”

  “Explanations will have to wait. There is no time now. Am I right?”

  “Yes, sir.” The lines of strain (and temper) that marked his face smoothed out. Emerson has that effect on people; the very sight of him, blue eyes steady and stalwart frame poised for action, would have been reassuring even to one who did not know him as well as did his son.

  “In fact,” Ramses went on, “it would be helpful if David could put on a brief but very public demonstration of strength and fitness at some point.”

  “Any suggestions?” David added a few millimeters of false hair to his eyebrows.

  “You can rescue me,” I said. “I will persuade my horse to run away with me, or fall into a tomb shaft, or perhaps—”

  “Control yourself, Peabody,” said my husband in alarm.

  Laughing, David turned from the mirror and gave me a quick hug.

  Our performance at breakfast resembled some energetic children’s game—a combination of musical chairs and hide-and-seek. Mercifully Nefret was not yet down; I cannot imagine what we would have done if she had been at table, since I scuttled in and out with baskets of food and pitchers of water, while David and Emerson pretended to eat twice as much as they actually consumed and David sat hunched over his plate speaking only in monosyllables and Emerson distracted Fatima by breaking various bits of crockery (not an uncommon occurrence, I might add). My rapid comings and goings reduced Ramses to speechlessness (which was an uncommon occurrence). After I had made certain he had everything he needed I ordered him to go to sleep, left Seshat on guard, and locked his door before I went downstairs. Shortly after I took my place at the table Nefret came in.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  I put my spoon down and looked more closely at her. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes circled by violet shadows.

  “My dear girl, are you ill? Or was it one of your bad dreams? I thought you had got over them.”

  “Bad dreams,” Nefret repeated. “No, Aunt Amelia, I haven’t got over them.”

  “If you could come to an understanding of what causes them—”

  “I know what causes them, and there is nothing I can do about it. Don’t badger me, Aunt Amelia. I am perfectly well. Where is—where are the Professor and Ramses?”

  “Gone on to the dig.”

  “How is he this morning?”

  “Ramses? Just as usual. A trifle out of sorts, perhaps.”

  “Just as usual,” Nefret murmured.

  “Promise me you won’t lecture him, my dear. I have spoken with him myself, and any further criticism, especially from you—”

  “I’ve no intention of lecturing him.” Nefret pushed her untouched food away. “Shall we go?”

  “I haven’t finished yet. And you should eat something.” Emerson obviously had some scheme in mind for getting David out of the way, and since I did not know what it was I wanted to give him plenty of time.

  “Did you have a pleasant evening?” I asked, reaching for the marmalade.

  A line of annoyance appeared between Nefret’s arched brows, but she began to nibble at her egg. “It was rather boring.”

  “So you came home early.”

  “It wasn’t very early, was it?” She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Why don’t you just ask me straight out, Aunt Amelia? I saw a light under Ramses’s door and felt the need of intelligent conversation after a tedious evening with ‘the Best People.’ ”

  “So I assumed,” I said. “There was no need for you to explain.”

  “I’m sorry.” She pushed a loosened lock of hair away from her forehead. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Not only you, I thought, and went on eating my toast. Nefret gave herself a little shake. “As a matter of fact, I did meet one interesting person,” she said, looking and sounding much brighter. “None other than Major Hamilton, who wrote that rude letter to you.”

  “Is he one of the ‘Best People’?” I inquired somewhat sardonically.

  “Not really. He’s older than the others and less given to silly jokes—that’s how they spend their free time, you know, ragging one another and everyone else. Perhaps,” said Nefret, “that is why he talked mostly to me. He’s really quite charming, in a solemn sort of way.”

  “Oh, dear,” I said. “Nefret, you didn’t—”

  “Flirt with him? Of course I did. But I didn’t get very far,” Nefret admitted with a grin. “He behaved rather like an indulgent uncle. I kept expecting him to pat me on the head and tell me I’d had quite enough champagne. We spent most of the time talking about Miss Hamilton. Nothing could have been more proper!”

  “What did he say about her?”

  “Oh, that she was bored and that he didn’t know quite what to do with her. He’s childless; his wife died many years ago and he has been faithful to her memory ever since. So I asked him why he wouldn’t let Molly come to see us.”

  “In those precise words?” I exclaimed.

  “Yes, why not? He hemmed and hawed and mumbled about not wanting her to make a nuisance of herself, so I assured him we wouldn’t let her, and invited them to come to us for Christmas. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Well,” I said, somewhat dazed by this unexpected information, “well, no. But—”

  “He accepted with pleasure. I really don’t want any more to eat, Aunt Amelia. Are you ready to go?”

  I could delay her no longer, and I confess my heart was beating a trifle more quickly than usual as we approached the Great Pyramid. There were already a good number of tourists assembled. The majority were gathered at the north face, where the entrance was located, but others had spread out all round the structure, and as we rode to the south side I heard Emerson bellowing at a small group that had approached our tomb. Some visitors appeared to be under the impression that we were part of the tourist attractions of Giza .

  “Impertinent idiots,” he remarked, as they scattered, squawking indignantly.

  I dismounted and handed the reins to Selim. Had there been, among those vacuous visitors, one who had come our way for a more sinister purpose than curiosity?

  “Where is Ramses?” Nefret asked. “Inside?”

  “No,” Emerson said. “I received disquieting news this morning, my dears.” He hurried on before she could ask how he had received it. “It seems someone has been digging illicitly at Zawaiet el ’Aryan. I sent Ramses there to see what damage has been done. He stopped here only long enough to pick up a few supplies.”

  Zawaiet was the site a few miles south where we had worked for several years—one of the most boring sites in Egypt , I would once have said, until we came across the Third Dynasty royal burial. Strictly speaking, it was a reburial, of objects rescued from an ancient tomb robbery, but the find was unique and some of the objects were rare and beautiful. Fragile, as well; it had taken us an entire season to preserve and remove them. Many of the private tombs surrounding the royal pyramid had not been excavated, and although it was not part of our concession, Emerson felt a proprietorial interest in the site.

  “Goodness gracious, how distressing,” I exclaimed. “Perhaps I ought to go after him and see what I can do to help.”

  “You may as well,” said Emerson casually. “Selim can help Nefret with the photography. Er—try not to let anyone
shoot at you or abduct you by force, Peabody .”

  “My dear, what a tease you are,” I said, laughing merrily.

  As I rode along the well-known southward path over the plateau, I was filled with relief and with admiration for Emerson’s cleverness. The excuse was valid, the explanation sufficient. A good number of people, including our own men, had seen “Ramses” astride Risha, looking his normal self; he could spend most of the day away without arousing suspicion, and when he returned… Perhaps Emerson had already worked that out with David. If he had not, I had a few ideas of my own.

  Since I was in no hurry I let the horse set its own pace. It was still early, the air cool and fresh. The sun had lifted over the Mokattam Hills and sparkled on the river, which lay below the desert plateau on my left. The fertile land bordering the water was green with new crops. From my vantage point above the cultivation I could see traffic passing along the road below—fellahin going to work in their fields and shops, and tourists on their way to Sakkara and the other sites south of Giza . Part of me yearned to descend and follow that road back to the house, but I dared not risk it; I could not get to Ramses without being seen by Fatima or one of the others.

  Zawaiet is only a short distance from Giza ; it was not long before I saw the tumbled mound that had once been a pyramid (though not a very good one.) David had been looking out for me. He came hurrying to meet me, and I slowed my steed to a walk so that we could exchange a few words without being overheard by the small group of Egyptians waiting near the pyramid. They must be local villagers, hoping for employment.

  As David approached I wondered how two men could look so much alike as he and Ramses, and yet look so different! He was wearing Ramses’s clothes, and his pith helmet shadowed his face, and their outlines were almost identical—long legs and narrow waists and broad shoulders—but I could have told one from the other just by the way they moved.

  “A few of the local lads turned up,” David explained.

  “I suppose one ought to have expected that. They are always anxious for work, and extremely curious.”

  “It’s all to the good, really. More unobservant and uncritical witnesses.”

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  David grinned. “Start them clearing away sand. There’s plenty of it. Perhaps you’d care to interrogate them about the illicit digging while I stalk about scribbling notes and looking enigmatic.”

  “Was there illicit digging?”

  “There always is.”

  There always was. Under my expert questioning, one of the villagers broke down and admitted he and a few friends had found and cleared a small mastaba over the past summer. I demanded he show me the place and made a great fuss about it, though if he had not lied to me (which was entirely possible), the tomb was not likely to have contained anything of value, being one of the smaller and poorer variety. We had found very little ourselves, even in the larger tombs.

  I was forced to wait until midday , when the men went off to eat and rest, before I could have a private conversation with David. There was no shelter, not even a patch of shade, so I put up my useful parasol and we made ourselves as comfortable as we could with our backs up against the pyramid, and got out the sandwiches and tea David had brought with him.

  “Now,” I said. “Tell me everything.”

  “That’s rather a tall order, Aunt Amelia.”

  “Take all the time you like.”

  “How much has Ramses told you?”

  “Nothing. He was too ill. Now, see here, David, I fully intend to get it out of you, and if Ramses does not like it, that is too damned—er—too bad.”

  He choked on the tea he was drinking. I patted him on the back. “I am glad to see you, even under these circumstances,” I said affectionately. “I presume Ramses has kept you informed about our loved ones back in England . Lia is doing splendidly.”

  “No, she’s not.” He bowed his head, and I saw there were lines in his face that had not been there before. “She’s lonely and worried and frightened—and so am I, for her. I should be with her.”

  “I know, my dear. Perhaps you can be soon.”

  “I hope so. A few more weeks will tell the tale. By then we will have succeeded or failed.”

  “That is a relief,” I said, trying not to think about the second alternative. “Now, David, start at the beginning.”

  David hesitated, looked at me, and sighed. “Oh, well, I’ve never been able to keep anything from you, have I? Ramses has been playing the role of a certain person—”

  “Kamil el-Wardani? Aha, I thought I must be right. But why?”

  “The Germans and the Turks are hoping to provoke an uprising in Cairo , to coincide with their attack on the Canal. If any man could bring such a thing off, it is Wardani. They approached him first last April. Oh, yes, they knew war was imminent, and they knew Turkey would come in; there was a secret treaty signed in early August. They think ahead, these Germans. I got wind of the plan from Wardani himself, so of course I told Ramses.”

  “It must have been difficult, betraying the confidence of a friend.” I added quickly, “You were absolutely right to do so, of course.”

  “Ramses is more than my friend. He is my brother. And there were other reasons. For all his rhetorical bombast, Wardani was not a believer in violent revolution when I joined the movement. He had changed. He kept talking about blood being necessary to water the tree of liberty… It made me sick to hear him. A revolt could not have succeeded, but before it was put down, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of deluded patriots and innocent bystanders would have been slaughtered. I want independence for my country, Aunt Amelia, but not at that price.”

  I had long admired David’s strength of character; now, as I studied his thin brown face and sensitive but resolute lips, I was so moved I took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. “My dear,” I said. “You learned of Lia’s expectations, so greatly desired by you both, in September. You could have withdrawn from the scheme then. No one would have blamed you.”

  “Ramses urged me to do so. We had quite an argument about it, in fact. He didn’t give in until I threatened to tell Lia the whole story and ask her to make the decision. He knew she’d insist I stand by him. He’s walking a tightrope, Aunt Amelia; there’s a river filled with crocodiles under it, and vultures hovering overhead, and now it looks as if somebody is sawing at the rope.”

  “Poetic but uninformative, my dear,” I said uneasily. “Precisely who is after him?”

  “Everybody. Except for the few people who are in on the secret, every police officer in Cairo is trying to arrest Wardani. The Germans and the Turks are using him for their own ends; they’d do away with him in an instant if they thought he was playing a double game. Then there are the hotheads in the movement itself. He has to keep them inactive without arousing their suspicions. If they believed he had softened toward the British they would—they would find another leader.”

  “Kill him, you mean.”

  “They would call it an execution. And of course if they ever learned his real identity, that would be the end of him.”

  “And of you. David,” I cried, “it is insane for you and Ramses to take these risks! You said yourself that Wardani is the only man who could lead a successful revolt. Let it be known that he has been captured. His followers will be left leaderless and ineffectual, Ramses will be safe, and you can sail at once for England , and Lia. A pardon or amnesty can be arranged—”

  “That is what will happen eventually. But it can’t be done just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “The enemy has begun supplying Wardani with arms—rifles, pistols, grenades, possibly machine guns. We must hang on until we get those weapons into our hands, and find out how and by whom they are being brought into Cairo .”

  I caught my breath. “Of course! I ought to have realized.”

  “Well, yes, you ought,” David said, with an affectionate smile. “Without arms there can’t be a revolution, o
nly a few hysterical students preaching jihad, and Ramses is doing his best to prevent even that. He doesn’t like seeing people hurt, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “If we act too soon, the Turks will find other supply routes and other recipients. Ramses thinks that one of his own lieutenants is trying to supplant him, and Farouk is not the only ambitious revolutionary in Cairo . The first delivery—two hundred rifles and the ammunition to go with them—was supposed to take place last night.”

  “And Ramses was there?”

  “Yes, ma’am. At least I assume he was. You see, Ramses took Mrs. Fortescue to dinner at Shepheard’s last night. The idea was… I told him it wouldn’t work, but he…” David gave me a sidelong look from under his lashes. “I don’t think I had better tell you this part.”

  “I think you had better.”

  “Well, he had to leave at eleven in order to be at the rendezvous. Obviously I couldn’t take his place with Mrs. Fortescue. A substitution at such close quarters… er. So the idea was that he would offend the lady by making—er—rude advances, so she would storm out and leave him—me, that is—to sulk silently but visibly in the bar. Unfortunately she…”

  “Was not offended? David, how can you laugh when the situation is so desperate? Confound it, I believe you and Ramses actually enjoy these machinations!”

  David got himself under control. “I’m sorry, Aunt Amelia. I suppose in a way we do. The situation is so damned—excuse me—deuced desperate, we have to find what humor we can in it. Someday you must get him to tell you about the time he turned up at a meeting disguised as himself.”

  “With that gang of cutthroats? He didn’t!”

  “Oh, yes, he did. Gave them a lecture on the art of disguise while he was about it.”

  “I do not know what is the matter with that boy! So how did he get away from her? You need not go into detail,” I added quickly.