Mr Impossible (27 page)

“
You have a
remarkable animal magnetism,” she went on into the taut
silence. “I’ve had no practice with that sort of thing.
I’m sorry for misleading you. I was taught moral principles. I
ought to be capable of adhering to them. I shall do so in future, I
promise you.”

He walked a few
steps away and came back. He kicked a pebble. He said something under
his breath. He picked up the rifle and brushed off sand.

“
This will
want a thorough cleaning,” he said. His voice was dry,
detached. “Where the devil are the servants?”

He whistled, and
Udail/Tom came running. Minutes later, Daphne found out what had kept
the party engaged for so long after she’d stopped shooting.

One of the guards
had them enthralled with a story— about a white-haired ghost
who’d caused a boat to collide with a sandbank and sink near
Minya a week ago.

THE GHOST, THE
guard said, had a very small beard, even though it appeared as a
full-grown male. It was tall— almost as tall as the English
sir—and dressed like a foreigner. It was very pale and wearing
chains. Several people had seen it, the guard said.

Some on shore had
seen the apparition on the boat as it was sinking. They saw two men
jump into the water and swim away in terror. The ghost appeared again
upriver later the same night, floating toward the tombs, then again a
few nights later, going to the river. Everyone avoided the tombs
beyond the red hill now, because of him.

Ordinarily, Daphne
would have simply smiled at the tale. Egyptians’ lives were
thickly populated with supernatural beings. But the “white”
hair and small beard gave her pause, and she asked for a fuller
account.

As she translated
for Mr. Carsington, she saw the stiff, distant expression fade from
his countenance and an arrested look come into his dark eyes. He,
too, had guessed the ghost’s identity. Like her, though, he was
careful to show no more than a mild interest in the tale.

But when the guard
was done and had rejoined the others, Mr. Carsington said in a low
voice, “Your brother, I collect.”

Her heart
thrummed—with hope, anticipation, and fear, too. She composed
herself, met his gaze, and nodded. “The guard says the boat
broke apart when it stuck on a sandbank. Several corpses have turned
up but no survivors, apparently. He must have escaped.”

“
He played a
ghost to keep people away,” Mr. Carsington said. “Very
wise of him.”

“
Miles has a
vivid imagination,” she said. “When it comes to solving
practical problems, he can be amazingly sharp and quick, often
ingenious.”

“
That’s
good,” Mr. Carsington said. “From all I’ve heard,
Minya isn’t a safe place for a solitary European.”

In truth, even with
a large, armed escort and Mr. Carsington towering over everybody,
Daphne had been glad to leave the town behind.

Leena hadn’t
exaggerated about the people. Daphne had never before seen in one
place so many one-eyed individuals or so many sickly and stunted
children. She knew the eye disease opthalmia was one of Egypt’s
perils, and she’d brought sulphate of copper and citron
ointment, the medicines recommended to treat it.

The Egyptians had
no medicines and took no precautions against disease. Magic and
superstition ruled. She’d seen too many small children—even
helpless babies—with flies clustered upon their eyes. She’d
seen a mother prevent a child from brushing them away. She’d
also heard that some boys were deliberately mutilated to make them
ineligible for conscription into Muhammad Ali’s army.

The flies and
scarred faces were reason enough to pass through the town quickly,
even had it been friendly. It was not friendly. The people were
sullen and evasive.

Miles, who’d
been in charge of planning their journey, had told her about the two
hundred miles of marauders. No wonder he’d done what he could
to keep people away.

“
The
Egyptians believe in an immense variety of
jinn
, good and
bad,” she told Mr. Carsington. “Ghosts, ghouls,
and
afreets
—demons—are species of
jinn
.
They frequent graveyards and tombs.”

“
Well, he’s
not haunting the burial ground at the moment,” Mr. Carsington
said. “I daresay he only comes out at night.”

“
There are
tombs a short distance southward,” she said, pointing. “Near
the red mound, the Kom el Ahmar.”

“
Then we’d
better have a look,” he said.

IT WAS DANGEROUSLY
close to sunset before they found any sign of Archdale, and then it
was clear they’d come too late.

As the day waned,
their Egyptian entourage had grown increasingly reluctant to continue
the search. At present, the guards waited outside the tomb. Most of
the crew ventured only a few feet inside the entrance. Only Tom and
another young servant, Yusef, carrying the torches, had bravely
followed Rupert and Mrs. Pembroke into the interior.

Deep within the
tomb they found the remains of a cooking fire and other signs of
habitation. This was not unusual, Rupert knew. Foreign explorers
often took up residence in tombs and temples, as did some natives.

But this tomb held
pieces of chain, as well as the remnants of English clothing of high
quality. While dirty and torn, it was royal raiment compared to what
the average Egyptian peasant wore. No native tomb dweller would have
left such riches behind, in plain sight.

At the moment, Tom
and Yusef stood in a corner, talking in subdued tones.

Mrs. Pembroke had
the ragged garments and pieces of chain in her hands. She was staring
at them, her torch-lit countenance bleak.

The heartbroken
look only added to the nasty stew of emotion Rupert was experiencing.

He’d rather
not think about how he felt or she felt. He wanted to get out of here
and on to the next thing. But he had to do something, say something.
She’d started the search so eagerly and hopefully, and she was
so bitterly disappointed.

Not to mention that
Rupert was still disturbed about what had happened earlier.

While he wasn’t
a saint, he did have rules, simple sporting rules regarding what a
gentleman did and did not do. A gentleman didn’t bed an
unmarried lady, for instance. He did bed unwed women who weren’t
ladies: actresses, ballet dancers, courtesans, and such. He might bed
a married lady—but Rupert had always shied away from such
liaisons, deeming them far too complicated. Widows, though, weren’t
complicated. Virginity breached, husbands permanently out of the
picture, they were supposed to be fair game.

He was desperately
in lust with this widow. She’d shown clear signs that she
wasn’t indifferent to him. She wasn’t easy to seduce, and
the challenge made her even more attractive.

Besides, she had
the face and figure of a goddess and a gigantic brain. Everyone knew
goddesses were more difficult and dangerous than the common run of
females. Look at what happened in the Greek myths. You couldn’t
expect an extraordinary woman to behave like an ordinary one.

If she’d hit
him with the rifle butt or bloodied his nose or at the very least
given him a blistering scold earlier, he would have accepted the
punishment cheerfully. He’d misbehaved, after all, using a
minor accident as an excuse to take an outrageous liberty.

Instead, the
baffling creature blamed herself and apologized to
him
, of all
things! She was vexed with herself instead of with him. This made no
sense. Worse, it made him feel all wrong inside.

He was experiencing
the ghastly sensation he remem-bered from boyhood: conscience. It
hadn’t troubled him in years. Now it yowled at him and tied his
innards in knots.

Because of a bit of
a grope with a widow who’d said in plain English that she liked
him physically!

“
Well, we’re
a few days late, it seems,” he said finally. “Still,
looking on the bright side, we know we’re on the right track:
he isn’t being held captive in Cairo. He’s less than a
week ahead of us.”

“
Or behind
us,” she said. “He might be trying to return to Cairo.”

Or he might be
dead. Or he might have moved on to another hiding place. The cliffs
were riddled with tombs. It was a miracle they’d found any sign
of Archdale after only half a day’s search.

But she knew this
as well as Rupert did, and if he didn’t say something to rouse
her spirits, she’d lose heart. Her face would get the
dead-white, taut look that upset him almost as much as actual
weeping.

“
You’d
think Noxious would have found him by how, then,” Rupert said.
“You’d think he’d be looking diligently. Everyone
stops at Minya. Surely he’d have heard about the boat mishap,
and put two and two together. It hardly takes a genius. After all,
I
worked it out.”

She looked up, and
he saw her come out of whatever dark place of her immense brain she’d
gone into. Her countenance brightened. Even in the wavering
torchlight Rupert could see her remarkable eyes shifting back and
forth.

“
Good grief,
I’d forgotten about him,” she said. “But there’s
been nothing to remind me. No one’s mentioned him. Isn’t
that odd? His boat is distinctive, you said. He’s been up and
down the Nile several times. People would recognize his boat.
The
kashef
would know him.”

“
Not so
strange,” Rupert said. “The locals aren’t the most
forthcoming lot of Egyptians we’ve ever encountered.”

“
Then we’ll
have to make them talk,” she said. Clutching her brother’s
effects to her bosom, she hurried out.

AS THEY WERE
returning to the landing place, Daphne was calculating her stores,
debating whether she ought to sacrifice another set of the pistols or
perhaps some of Miles’s instruments as bribery. She was glad to
have a plan of sorts, something productive to think about.

She had not
realized how deeply—painfully so—she’d hoped, until
the hope was dashed. She had not realized, truly, how much she missed
Miles until she held his filthy shirt in her hands. Then to see the
broken pieces of chain… and imagine what he’d endured,
and feel so helpless… She’d told herself not to succumb
to despair, to be grateful she had not found his body. She’d
told herself not to weep. It would avail nothing.

But never had she
wanted so much to sink to her knees and cry until she had no tears
left.

She was recovered
now, though, thanks to Mr. Carsing-ton’s mentioning Lord
Noxley.

His lordship had
pointed out how quickly news traveled here. It was odd that no one in
Minya had said a word about him. His boat must have stopped there for
supplies. Otherwise, they must wait until they reached Asyut, nearly
a hundred miles away.

Calculating bribes
and speculating about his lordship kept her mind occupied all the way
back to the landing place. As they neared the water, a young woman
pushed past the men and thrust a baby wrapped in dirty rags in
Daphne’s face.

“
Help my
child,” the woman cried in anguished Arabic. “Give the
babe your magic, English lady.”

Some of the men
tried to push the woman away.

Mr. Carsington’s
arm went around Daphne’s shoulders.

“
Her baby’s
sick,” Daphne said.

“
I can see
that,” he said. “But they’re all sick, and I don’t
trust anybody. Tom, get a coin from my coat, and give it to her.”
He drew Daphne closer. “Come away.”

Daphne started to
go with him but glanced back. The woman was young, little more than a
girl. She shook her head at Udail/Tom, who was holding out a coin.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “My baby,” she cried.
“Please, English lady.”

Daphne glanced up
at Mr. Carsington.

He wore a pained
expression.

Then to the woman
she said, “Come with us.”

RUPERT COULD SEE
that the mother was young, poor, and desperate. He didn’t want
to turn his back on her. But it might be a trap. Or it might lead to
trouble. If the babe died—and it looked very near to drawing
its last feeble breath—any of a number of things might happen,
none of them good. Tom and Leena hadagreed that blood feud was
popular in the countryside.