He Shall Thunder in the Sky taps-12 Read online

  David was there as promised, wearing a tarboosh and a cheap, badly fitting tweed suit and sitting alone at a table. He was unable to conceal a start of surprise when he saw Ramses, and when the latter joined him he said at once, “Mukhtan is here. He’s seen you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You look very neat and respectable,” he added. “For a change.”

  “Tell me,” David said quietly.

  There was no putting it off; David knew he wouldn’t have risked coming there undisguised without a good reason. He got the news out in a single blunt sentence, before David could imagine even worse.

  David sat without moving for a time, his eyes downcast. Johnny had been his foster brother before he became his brother-in-law, but it was of Lia he was thinking now.

  “We’ll get you on a boat next week,” Ramses said, unable to bear the stoic silence any longer. “Somehow. I promise.”

  David raised his head. His eyes were dry and his face frighteningly composed. “Not until this is over and you’re in the clear.”

  “It’s over. I saw Russell before I came here and told him to go ahead. There’ll be no uprising.”

  “What about the Canal?”

  “That’s not our affair. I’m through. So are you.”

  “So you’re going to let Percy get away with it?”

  Ramses had always prided himself on schooling his features so as to give nothing away, but David could read him like a book. He started to speak. David spoke first.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night—and what you didn’t say, because I didn’t give you the chance. I can put the pieces together too. The house in Maadi, Percy’s extraordinary interest in your activities—he’s afraid you’re after him, isn’t he?”

  “David—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Ramses. Not to me. When I think of him smug and safe in Cairo , preening himself on his cleverness, while men like Johnny are dying, I feel sick. You aren’t going to let him get away with it. If you don’t tell me what you’re planning to do, I’ll kill the bastard myself.”

  “Do you suppose Lia would thank you for risking yourself to avenge Johnny? Killing Percy won’t bring him back.”

  “But it would relieve my feelings considerably.” David’s smile made a chill run through Ramses. He had never seen that gentle face so hard.

  “I have a few ideas,” Ramses said reluctantly.

  “Somehow I thought you would.” The smile was just as chilling.

  It didn’t take long to explain his plan, such as it was. As he listened, David’s clenched hands loosened. There were tears in his eyes. He could grieve for Johnny now.

  Oddly enough, it wasn’t Johnny’s face that Ramses kept remembering. It was that of the young German.

  From Letter Collection B

  Dearest Lia,

  At least a week will have passed before you receive this. What good is a letter? It’s all I can do. If I were with you I could put my arms round you and cry with you. There’s no use saying the pain will lessen and become, in time, endurable. What comfort is that to someone who is suffering here and now?

  You were there to comfort me when I needed you—selfish, ungrateful, undeserving worm that I was—and now I can’t be with you when you need me. Believe one thing, Lia—hold on to it and don’t lose heart. Someday, someday soon, there will be joyous news. I can’t say any more in a letter. I shouldn’t be saying this much. Just remember that there is nothing I would not do to bring us all together again.

  Chapter 14

  The Vandergelts left us immediately after breakfast next morning. They would have stayed had we asked them to, but I think Katherine understood we wanted to be alone with our grief. The worst of it was that we could do nothing for the loved ones who had suffered most. I had written, and Nefret had done the same; Emerson had cabled, and Ramses had taken the messages to the central post office in Cairo , so that they would arrive as soon as was humanly possible. It was little enough.

  Ramses came back in time to bid the Vandergelts farewell. He had left the house before daybreak, and I knew that before posting the letters he had looked for the message that would announce the final end of his mission. Meeting my anxious eyes he shook his head. Not today, then. It would be for tomorrow.

  Knowing he had eaten almost nothing before he left, I suggested we return to the breakfast room and give Fatima the pleasure of feeding us again. Her face brightened when I asked her for more toast and coffee.

  “Yes, Sitt Hakim, yes! You must keep up your strength. Will you go to Giza today? I told Selim you might not wish to.”

  “We could close down for the day,” Emerson said heavily. “It would be the proper thing to do.”

  “I doubt Johnny would care about the proper thing,” said Ramses. “But we might plan some sort of ceremony. Daoud and Selim would like it, and the others will want to show their affection and respect.”

  “Oh, yes, Sitt,” Fatima exclaimed. “They will all want to come. Those who did not know him have heard of him, of his laughter and his kindness.”

  “It is a nice thought,” I said, trying to conceal my emotion. “But not today. Perhaps in a day—or two—we will be able to bring stronger hearts to such a ceremony.”

  I was thinking of David. It would be infinitely comforting to have him with us again. How that part of the business was to be managed Ramses had not said, but if the authorities did not acknowledge his courage and sacrifice immediately, I would just have to have a few words with General Maxwell.

  “We may as well go to Giza for a while, then,” Emerson said. “Keep ourselves occupied, eh? We will stop at midday . I have other plans for this afternoon.”

  Ramses’s eyebrows shot up. “Father, may I have a word with you?”

  “You certainly may,” said his father with considerable emphasis. “Nefret, that frock is very becoming, but hadn’t you better change? If you are coming with us, that is.”

  It was not a frock, but one of her ruffled negligees. I had not reproached her for coming down to breakfast en dйshabillй, for she did not look at all well, her eyes shadowed and her cheeks paler than usual. However, she was quick to express her intention of accompanying us, and hurried off to change.

  With a wink and a nod, Emerson led us out into the garden.

  “I am bloody damned tired of this sneaking and whispering,” he grumbled. “What is it now, Ramses? If you tell me the business has been put off I may lose my temper.”

  “God forbid,” Ramses said. “No, sir, it hasn’t been put off, but there has been a slight change in plan. Russell wants to wait another day or two before he rounds up the malcontents. If that is what you had in mind for this afternoon, you will have to put it off.”

  Emerson’s heavy brows drew together. “Why?”

  “Well, they are harmless enough, aren’t they? They are waiting for word, which they won’t get because I won’t give it, and without weapons there isn’t much they can do.”

  Emerson was obviously not convinced of the logic of this. He was itching to hit someone, or, if possible, a great number of people.

  “You weren’t thinking of warning certain of them, were you?” he demanded. “You seem to have a soft spot for that fellow Asad.”

  “I am thinking,” said Ramses, whose narrowed eyes and flushed cheeks indicated that he was close to losing his temper, “that you should leave this in my hands.”

  To my astonishment Emerson shuffled his feet and looked sheepish. “Er—yes. As you say, my boy.”

  “There’s Nefret. Let’s go.”

  Once we were mounted and on our way, Ramses took the lead, with Nefret not far behind. It was a gray, misty morning, and the gloomy skies reflected my unhappy mood.

  “Let them go on ahead,” I said to Emerson. “I want to talk to you.”

  “And I to you. Proceed, my dear; ladies first.”

  “I was surprised to see you so meek with Ramses. Are you really going to take orders from him?”

  “Yes, I
am. And so are you. He has earned the right to give them. I have a great deal of—er—respect for the boy.”

  “Have you told him so? Have you told him you love him and are proud to be his father?”

  Emerson looked shocked. “Good Gad, Peabody, men don’t say that sort of thing to other men. He knows how I feel. What the devil brought this on?”

  “I was thinking of Johnny,” I said with a sigh. “When it is too late, one always wishes one had said more, expressed one’s feelings more openly.”

  “Damnation, Peabody , what a morbid thought! You will have ample opportunity to express any feelings you like to Ramses and David. The only thing left for them to do is to pass on the final message to Russell, so that he will know when to act.”

  “There was no message this morning, so it must be for tomorrow. Will the attack on the Canal occur at the same time?”

  “I don’t know.” Emerson stroked his chin reflectively. “We cannot assume it will coincide with the hour of the uprising. They may want their little insurrection to get underway before they strike at the Canal. If it’s bloody enough, it will tie down the troops stationed in Cairo and perhaps necessitate sending reinforcements from the Canal defenses. Oh, the devil with it, Peabody ! There won’t be an insurrection, and if those idiots on the staff don’t know an attack is imminent they haven’t been paying attention.”

  “If you say so, my dear.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Your turn now. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  He replied with a question. “When is Lia’s child due?”

  “March. Unless grief and worry induce premature birth.”

  “You’d like to be with her, wouldn’t you? And with Evelyn.”

  “Of course.”

  “They say the steamers are fully booked, but I have some influence. We will sail early next week.”

  “Emerson! Do you mean—”

  “Well, curse it, Peabody , I want to be with them too. I want Ramses out of Egypt for a while. And I want to see the look on Lia’s face when David walks in the door.”

  “You would actually close down the dig?”

  “Er, hmph. I thought I might return for a brief season at the end of March. No need for you to come with me if you don’t want to.”

  “Stop for a moment, Emerson.”

  Embraces between two persons mounted on horseback are not as romantic as they sound. We managed it nicely, though. After Emerson had returned me to my saddle, I said, “You mean David to go with us next week. Can it be done, Emerson?”

  “It will be done.” Emerson’s jaw was set. “Since I am not to be allowed to arrest revolutionaries, I will call on Maxwell this afternoon and order—er—request him to start the legal proceedings. David will need official clearance and papers.”

  “But in the meantime, is there any reason why he cannot be here with us? Ramses saw him last night and told him about Johnny. He will be in deep distress. We could keep him hidden and feed and comfort him. Fatima wouldn’t breathe a word.”

  “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” Emerson grinned at me. “Let me hear what Maxwell has to say. If he won’t cooperate we will do it your way, and smuggle David out of the country in a packing case labeled ‘pottery sherds.’ ”

  “Or disguised as Selim, with Selim’s papers,” I mused. “A packing case would be very uncomfortable. Selim could then go into hiding until—”

  “Control your rampageous imagination, Peabody ,” Emerson said fondly. “For the time being, at any rate. One way or another it will be done.”

  A ray of sunlight touched his resolute smiling face. The sky was clearing. I hoped that could be regarded as another omen.

  Our efforts to distract ourselves with work failed miserably. Not even Emerson could concentrate, and Nefret and Ramses got into a violent argument about one of the photographs she had taken of the false door.

  “The lighting’s all wrong,” Ramses insisted. “What were you thinking of? I need more shadow. The lower part of the left-hand inscription—”

  “Do it yourself then!”

  “I will!”

  “No, you won’t. Give me that camera!”

  I was about to intervene when Nefret let loose her hold on the camera and passed a trembling hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t think I am in a fit state to work today.”

  “It is quite understandable, my dear,” I said soothingly. “Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all. I will tell Emerson we had better stop.”

  Fatima had prepared a large lunch, which no one ate much of. We were still at table when she brought in the post. She handed it to Emerson, who distributed the various messages. As usual, the bulk of them were for Nefret. She sorted rapidly through them, and then excused herself.

  Her desire for privacy was suspicious. I followed her.

  So had Fatima . As I approached I heard her say, “Do you know now, Nur Misur, whether you will be here for dinner?”

  “Yes,” Nefret said abstractedly. “Yes, it appears that I will be here after all.”

  She had opened one of the envelopes and was holding a sheet of paper. She started guiltily when she saw me.

  “Did you have an appointment for this evening?” I inquired. “You didn’t mention it to me.”

  Nefret stuffed the paper into the pocket of her skirt. “I’d almost forgot. It was of long standing. I rang earlier to cancel it.”

  This was not up to Nefret’s usual standard of prevarication. The cancellation had not come from her, or by telephone, but from her correspondent. Percy? He was the only one she was likely to lie about. At least I would not have to worry about her being out that evening.

  Ramses and Emerson were still at table when I returned. “What was that all about?” the latter inquired. “You went pelting out of here like a hound on the scent.”

  Nefret had expressed her intention of going to her room for a little rest, so I could speak freely. I told them of my suspicions.

  “You are always making mysteries,” Emerson grumbled. “Haven’t we enough on our minds?”

  Ramses’s inexpressive countenance had gone even blanker. “Excuse me,” he said, and pushed his chair back.

  “Where are you going?” I demanded.

  “I’ve finished. Is it necessary for me to wait for your permission before leaving the table? I’ll be in my room if you want me for anything.”

  His brusque tone did not distress me. I gave him a forgiving smile. “Have a nice rest.”

  I had meant to have one myself, but I could not settle down. A troubled mind is not conducive to slumber. When I was not thinking of Johnny and his bereaved parents I was worrying about Lia and the effect of shock on her unborn child, and about David, grieving alone in some squalid hut, and about the Turks’ advancing, and Ramses… doing something I would not like. I did not trust him. I never had.

  After a while I gave it up and went out to work in the garden. Gardening can minister to a mind diseased, as Shakespeare puts it (referring, in his case, to something else), but when I got a good look at what the camel had done to my flowers I lost the remains of my temper. What the cursed beast had not mashed he had eaten, including several rosebushes. To a camel, thorns are a piquant seasoning.

  I went in search of the gardener, woke him up, and brought him and several gardening implements, with me back to the violated plot. It would all have to be dug up and replanted. Feeling the need for further relief, I took up a rake and sailed in myself. I was still at it when Nefret came hurrying out. She was wearing street clothes, a hat, and gloves.

  “There you are!” she exclaimed. “Good heavens, why are you digging up the garden?”

  I plunged my pitchfork into the earth and wiped the perspiration from my brow. “I became bored with nasturtiums. Where are you going? I was under the impression you meant to be here for dinner.”

  “Sophia rang; they just brought in a woman who may require surgery. I must go at once. I don’t know when I will
be back.”

  “Good luck to her, and to you, my dear.”

  “Thank you. You’ll be here this evening? All of you?”

  “Why, yes, I believe so.”

  She looked as if she would have said more, but nodded and hurried off.

  I watched her until she was out of sight. Then I left Jamal to his digging and went into the house. When I got through to Sophia, she was obviously bewildered that I had taken the trouble to tell her Nefret was on her way. She thanked me very nicely, though.

  At least I knew Nefret had not lied to me this time. Where the devil had she been—and, more important, with whom had she been—the previous afternoon? Whatever she was doing, for whatever reason, I must put a stop to it. My only excuse for having avoided a confrontation was my preoccupation with the other matter, and that was over now. Tonight, I thought. As soon as she comes home.

  After my brisk exercise in the garden a nice soak in the tub was now not a luxury but a necessity. I had not seen Emerson all afternoon; he had gone to his study to work or to worry in private. I decided to surprise him by assuming one of the pretty tea gowns Nefret had given me for Christmas. He had expressed his particular approval of a thin yellow silk garment that fastened conveniently down the front. (Convenient to put on, that is.) Sunny yellow is always cheerful. I have never believed in wearing black for mourning; it is a poor testimonial to a faith that promises immortality for the worthy.

  When Emerson joined me in the parlor, the brightening of his countenance assured me my selection of attire had been wise. I was about to pour when Ramses came in.

  “I won’t be here for dinner. I told Fatima .”

  His face was so guileless I was immediately filled with the direst of forebodings. He was wearing riding breeches and boots, tweed coat and khaki shirt, without a collar or waistcoat—an ensemble that might have been designed for camouflage. I said, “You aren’t dressed for dinner.”

  “My engagement is with one of the Indian N.C.O.s. They aren’t allowed in the hotels, you know; we are meeting at a cafй in Boulaq.”