He Shall Thunder in the Sky taps-12 Read online

  She had pressed her hands to her face. I caught hold of her swaying form and lowered her into a chair.

  “I’m not going to faint.” I had to strain to hear the low voice. Slowly she lowered her hands. “It’s all right.”

  “Have a cucumber sandwich!” I snatched up the plate and offered it to her.

  “No, thank you.” Her face was glowing with perspiration, but calm. She let out a long breath and smiled. “Cucumber sandwiches, Aunt Amelia?”

  “We need to keep up our strength.”

  “Yes, of course. I am frightfully thirsty too. Can we trust the water, do you think?”

  The change in her was astonishing. She had exerted her will, under the dominance of an even stronger will, and was now an ally on whom I could depend.

  “I believe we can. As you see, he has left a little note.”

  It read, “You probably won’t believe me, Amelia dear, but the water is not drugged. Neither are the cucumber sandwiches.”

  I handed it to Nefret, who actually laughed when she read it. “He is an amazing individual. Did he… If you don’t mind my asking…”

  “He did not.”

  “Oh. He did kiss you, though? When he told me to turn my back?”

  I did not reply. Nefret took a sandwich. “He kissed me on the brow,” she muttered. “As if I were a child! He is strong, isn’t he? And tall, and—”

  “He is a spy and a traitor,” I said. “We must stop him before he leaves Cairo . If you have fully recovered, Nefret, let us get to work.”

  We had a sandwich or two (they were very good, though the bread was beginning to go stale) and a sip of water, before exploring the chamber more intensively than I had done earlier. Nefret tore the place to pieces, in fact, flinging mattress and cushions onto the floor, overturning chairs and, at last, repeatedly dashing a small brass table against the wall until it broke apart. Selecting one of the metal supports, she went to the shutters and began prying at them. Her actions were vigorous but controlled; she appeared to be in a much calmer frame of mind than she had been earlier—calmer than my own. Her statement that Ramses and Emerson had not returned by the time she left had frightened me more than I dared admit even to myself. Emerson was easily distracted by ruins, but Sethos’s claim that he had known of their purpose aroused the direst of forebodings.

  Nefret’s efforts succeeded at last. She let out a cry of triumph. One of the shutters had given way. I hurried to her side as she flung it back and leaned out the window.

  It did not open onto the Sharia Suleiman Pasha, but onto a narrower street that had not so much traffic. However, our cries finally attracted attention; a turbaned porter, bent under a load of pots and pans, stopped and looked up. I addressed him in emphatic Arabic. When I told him what I wanted, he demanded money before he would stir a step, and we dickered for a bit before I persuaded him to accept an even larger payment upon the completion of his errand. He was gone some time, and Nefret was knotting the satin sheets into a rope when he finally returned, accompanied by a uniformed constable.

  There are advantages to being notorious. As soon as I identified myself to the constable, he was ready to obey my commands. However, by the time our rescuers began banging on the door of the flat I was almost ready to take my chances with Nefret’s rope.

  My cries of encouragement and impatience directed them to the bedchamber. They got that door open too, and I rushed out, searching the faces of the men who had entered the sitting room. One of them was familiar—but alas, it was not the face I had hoped to see. Mr. Assistant Commissioner Thomas Russell was in evening kit, and this annoyed me to an excessive degree. I seized him by his lapels.

  “Enjoying an evening out?” I demanded. “While others risk life and the appearance of… Curse it, Russell, while you were lollygagging about, the Master Criminal has escaped! And where is my husband?”

  Russell kept his head, which was, I admit, rather commendable of him under the circumstances. He pushed me back into the bedchamber and closed the door.

  “For the love of Heaven, Mrs. Emerson, don’t tell your business to every police officer in Cairo ! What is all this about master criminals?”

  “He is the Count de Sevigny. Sethos is the Count. The Master Criminal is Sethos.”

  “Allow me to get you some brandy, Mrs. Emerson.”

  “I don’t want brandy, I want you to go after Sethos! He is probably in Alexandria or Tripoli by now—or Damascus —or Khartoum —it would not surprise me to learn that he knows how to fly one of those aeroplanes. You must shoot him down before he reaches enemy lines.”

  Nefret put her arm round me and murmured soothingly, but it was Russell’s incredulous question that made me realize I might not have taken the right approach. “Are you telling me, Mrs. Emerson, that you and Miss Forth came alone to the flat of a man you knew to be a spy and—er—Master Criminal?”

  “Not together,” I said. “When I failed to return home, Miss Forth came to rescue me.”

  “The devil she did!”

  “The devil I didn’t,” Nefret said with wry amusement. “Rescue her, that is. I confess neither of us behaved sensibly, Mr. Russell. Don’t scold, but get your men after him. Our imprisonment and his flight are, surely, evidence that he is guilty of something.”

  Russell gave a grudging nod. “Very well. Go home, ladies, and get out of my… That is, go home. I will send one of my men with you.”

  “But what of Emerson?” I demanded. “He and Ramses ought to have been back hours ago.”

  “Ramses went with him?” Russell’s cold eyes grew even frostier. “Where?”

  “Into the Eastern Desert. They were looking for—”

  Now it was Mr. Russell who was in danger of forgetting himself. I cut short his incoherent anathemas with a useful reminder.

  “I will take Miss Forth home, as you advised. You will let us know at once if you—when you hear.”

  “Yes. And you will send to inform me if—when they return. They had no business… Well. Good night, ladies.”

  As we passed through the sitting room, one of the constables spoke. “Look here, sir. The man was a criminal! In his haste he forgot his implements of crime.”

  They were set out on the tea table: handcuffs, a coil of rope, a little pistol, and a long knife.

  “Those are mine,” I said, holding out my hand. “Except for the knife. It belongs to Miss Forth.”

  For some reason this harmless statement brought Russell’s temper to the breaking point. He bundled us out the door and directed a constable to put us in a cab.

  All along the homeward path I looked for a yellow motorcar being driven at breakneck speed toward the Count’s flat. No such vision rewarded my search. When we arrived home we found, not Emerson and Ramses, but Fatima, Selim, Daoud, and Kadija. All of them except the ever-calm Kadija were in a considerable state of agitation. They took turns embracing me and Nefret and peppered us with questions, while Fatima produced platter after platter of food. It took us considerable time to convince them we were unharmed, and then we had to apologize for failing to tell them where we had gone.

  “You did not come home for dinner,” Fatima said, fixing me with an accusing stare. “Ramses and the Father of Curses did not come back. Then Nur Misur went away. What was I to do? I sent for Daoud, and Selim, and—”

  “Yes, I see. I appreciate your concern, but there is nothing to worry about now. It is very late; good night and thanks to you all.”

  Selim and Daoud exchanged glances. “Yes, Sitt Hakim,” the former said.

  After they had left the room, Nefret said, “They won’t leave, not until Ramses and the Professor are safely back. Go to bed, Aunt Amelia. Yes, I know, you won’t sleep a wink, but at least lie down and rest. If they lost their way, they may have decided to wait until daylight before starting back.”

  Hoping that she at least would rest, I agreed, and we went to our respective rooms. I was removing my crumpled frock when she tapped at my door.

  “
See who I found, asleep on my bed. I thought you might like her company tonight.”

  She was carrying Seshat.

  It was unusual for the cat to be in my room or Nefret’s unless she was in search of something or someone. This did not appear to be the case now; when Nefret put her down on the foot of the bed she curled herself into a neat coil and closed her eyes. Feeling somewhat comforted and more than a little foolish, I stretched out beside the cat, although I knew I would not sleep a wink.

  As I neared the top of the cliff I looked up to see a tall, familiar form silhouetted against the pale blue of the early-morning sky. I was in Luxor again, climbing the steep path that led to the top of the plateau behind Deir el Bahri, and Abdullah was waiting. He reached out a hand to help me up the last few feet, and sat down beside me as I sank panting onto a convenient boulder.

  He looked as he always did in those dreams—his stalwart form that of a man in the prime of life, his handsome, hawklike features framed by a neatly trimmed black beard and mustache. They remained impassive, but his black eyes shone affectionately.

  “Finally!” I exclaimed, when I had got my breath back. “Abdullah, I have wanted so much to see you. It has been too long.”

  “Long for you, perhaps, Sitt. There is no time here, on the other side of the Portal.”

  “I haven’t the patience for your philosophical vagueness tonight, Abdullah. You claim to know everything that happens to me—you must know how frightened I am, how much in need of comfort.”

  I held out my hands to him, and he enclosed them in his. “They are well, Sitt Hakim, the two you love best. Soon after you wake you will see them.”

  I knew I was dreaming, but that reassurance carried as much conviction as the evidence of my own eyes would have done. “Thank you,” I said, with a long breath of relief. “It is good news you give me, but it is only part of what I want to hear. How will it end, Abdullah? Will they live and be happy?”

  “I cannot tell you endings, Sitt.”

  “You did before. You said the falcon would fly through the portal of the dawn. Which portal, Abdullah? There are many doorways, and some lead to death.”

  “And from it. One may pass in or out of a portal, Sitt.”

  “Abdullah!”

  I tried to free my hands. He held them more tightly, and he laughed a little. “I cannot tell you endings because I do not know them all. The future can be changed by your actions, Sitt, and you are not careful. You do foolish things.”

  “You don’t know?” I repeated. “Even about David? He is your grandson—don’t you care?”

  “I care about all of you. And I would like my grandson to live to see his son.” His sober face brightened, and he added smugly, “They will name him after me.”

  “Oh, it is to be a boy, is it?”

  “That is already determined. As for the rest…” His eyes dwelt on my face. “I should not tell you even so much as this, but mark my words well. There will come a time when you must trust the word of one you have doubted, and believe a warning that has no more reality than these dreams of yours. When that time comes, act without hesitation or doubt.”

  He rose to his feet, drawing me to mine, and carried the hands he held to his lips. “You may tell Emerson of this kiss,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “But if I were you, Sitt, I would not tell him of those others.”

  Instead of vanishing into the depths of sleep, as he and his surroundings had done before, he turned and walked away. He did not stop or look back as he followed the long path that led to the Valley where the kings of Egypt had been laid to rest.

  When I opened my eyes, the room was filled with the pearly light of early morning. Seshat sat beside me, holding a fat mouse in her mouth. Sluggish with sleep, I was unable to move in time to prevent her from placing it neatly on my chest.

  That got me up in a hurry. Seshat retrieved the mouse from the corner where I had flung it, gave me a look of disgust, and went out the window with it. My inadvertent cry—for even a woman of iron nerve may be taken aback by a dead mouse six inches from her nose—brought Nefret bursting into the room. After I had finished explaining and Nefret had finished laughing, she took me by the shoulders.

  “You look much better, Aunt Amelia. You did sleep.”

  “I dreamed.”

  “Of Abdullah?” Nefret was the only one I had told of those dreams, and of my half-shamed belief in them. “What did he say?”

  “Lia’s baby is a boy.”

  Nefret’s smile was fond but skeptical. “He has a fifty-percent chance of being right.”

  “Emerson and Ramses are safe. He said I would see them soon after I woke. And don’t tell me the same odds apply to that prediction!”

  “No. I am certain he was right about that.”

  “You needn’t humor me, Nefret, I know there is no truth in such visions. But—”

  “But they comfort you. I’m glad. I wish I could dream of the dear old fellow too.” She gave me a hug. “ Fatima is cooking breakfast. They’re still here—Daoud and Selim and Kadija—and several of the others turned up.”

  However, before we reached the breakfast room, our ears were assaulted by one of the most horrible noises I have ever heard. It grew louder and louder. I was about to clap my hands over my ears when it stopped, and in the silence I heard another sound—a sound as sweet as music to my anxious ears—Emerson’s voice bellowing my name.

  Nefret must have recognized the significance of the racket before I did. She ran to the door. Ali had opened it, and stood staring.

  I did not blame Ali for staring. Never had the Father of Curses appeared in such a contrivance. Motorcycles had always reminded me of enlarged mechanical insects. This one, which was bestrode by a pale young man in khaki, had a bulging excrescence on one side. The sidecar, as I believe it is called, was occupied by Emerson. A delighted grin indicated his enjoyment of the experience.

  It took three of us, including Ali, to get Emerson out of the contraption. He is so very large that he fitted rather tightly, and—as I soon observed—he had not the use of his left arm. Eventually we extracted him, and I thanked the young man who was still sitting on the vehicle. He turned a glazed stare toward me.

  “Are we there?” he asked stupidly.

  “You are here,” I replied. “Dismount, or get off, as the case may be, and have breakfast with us.”

  “No, thank you, ma’am, I was told to come straight back.” He shook his head. “He kept shouting at me to go faster, ma’am. I never heard such—such…”

  “Language,” I supplied. “I don’t doubt it. Are you sure you wouldn’t like—”

  The motorbicycle roared and rushed off in a cloud of dust.

  “Splendid machine,” said Emerson, gazing wistfully after it. “I wanted to drive it, but the fellow wouldn’t let me. We must have one, Peabody. I will take you for a ride in the sidecar.”

  “Not while there is breath in my body,” I informed him. “Oh, Emerson, curse you, how could you worry me so? What happened?”

  Nefret had not spoken. Now a very small voice uttered a single word. “Ramses?”

  “Coming,” Emerson replied. “He insisted on bringing Risha home himself. The brave creature will want a day or two of pampering; he had a tiring experience.”

  “So did you, I see,” I remarked, inspecting him more closely. He was not wearing a coat. One arm was fastened to his body by strips of cloth. His shirt was torn and dirty, his face bruised, his hands scraped.

  “I apologize for my appearance,” Emerson said cheerfully. “They offered us baths and bandages and food and so on, but I was determined to relieve your mind as soon as I could.”

  “Considerate of you,” I said. “Come upstairs.”

  “Upstairs be damned. I haven’t eaten a decent meal since yesterday morning. You can clean me up after breakfast. I hope there is a great deal of it.”

  There was a great deal, and Emerson ate most of it. Nefret hovered over him, trying to examine him, but there was no
t much she could do when he refused to lie down and stop gesticulating. He was still eating when Ramses arrived. He had borrowed a mount and was leading Risha. He turned the stallion over to Selim, who crooned to the noble beast as he led him to the stable.

  “You don’t look much better than your father,” I said. “What happened to your shirt? And your nice new tweed coat? That one you are wearing doesn’t fit.”

  “Let him eat first, Aunt Amelia,” Nefret said somewhat snappishly.

  “Thank you,” Ramses said. “I will just put on a clean shirt before I have breakfast; this is Father’s coat, and you are quite right; it doesn’t fit.”

  It hid the bandages and the scars of his recent injury, however. I decided I had better go with him and make certain he was not in need of immediate medical attention, for he was not likely to tell me if he was.

  He was waylaid in the courtyard by the entire family, including Emerson. After embracing him, Daoud announced, “I will go home. It is well now that you are here.”

  “Hmph,” said Emerson indignantly. “What about me?”

  Ramses glanced at his father; his lips parted in a smile so wide I would have called it a grin if I had believed my son’s countenance capable of that expression. Then he slipped away and started up the stairs.

  I started after him. Emerson caught me by the arm and whispered into my ear, “Don’t ask him about his coat.”

  Emerson’s whispers are audible ten feet away. Everyone in the courtyard heard him, including Nefret. “Why not?” she asked.

  “He left it, you see,” Emerson gabbled. “Forgot it. New coat. Fuss at the boy…”

  I left him telling lies and went after Ramses.

  His door was open. I was somewhat startled to hear him say, “Most kind. However, I am about to eat breakfast. Perhaps we might put it aside for later.”

  He was standing by the bed holding a dead mouse by the tail.

  “So that is what she did with it,” I remarked. “I was the first recipient, and I fear I did not accept the gift as graciously as you. I wish you wouldn’t talk to the cat as you do to a human being, it is very disconcerting. Take off that coat and let me have a look at you.”