The Ape Who Guards the Balance (48 page)

The wind was from the north, strong enough to make one stagger, cold enough to chill one’s bones. Even the level ground was slippery with mud, and very little of the ground was level. We splashed through a dozen small streams, fought our way up slopes that ran with water, fell and rose and fell again. However, I did not regret leaving the dry, sheltered room I had been in.

By the time we reached our destination I had identified my surroundings. We had passed scattered houses and seen lighted windows; the very contours of the landscape had begun to be familiar. I marveled at the woman’s audacity. She had taken me back to Gurneh, to the very house that had been her original headquarters in the village. Not so audacious, perhaps; it had been thoroughly searched before, and was now believed to be abandoned. If I had been able to locate myself earlier, I would have broken away from my companion and headed for Selim’s house, which was near the other. Where was he taking me? We had been walking—crawling and scrambling, rather—for what seemed an eternity.

Sethos slithered to a stop and took me by the shoulders. His face was so close to mine I was able to make out the words he uttered, though he had to shout. “You are as slippery as a fish, my dear, and as cold as a block of ice, so I won’t linger over my farewells. There is the door—do you see it? Don’t try to follow after me. Good night.”

Following was beyond even my powers. My teeth were chattering violently and my wet garments felt like a skin of ice. I wanted to be warm and dry and clean, to see light and friendly faces. All that and more awaited me within. The house was that of Abdullah. I squelched and staggered to the door and pressed the latch.

The light, from a pair of smoking oil lamps, was so bright after the utter darkness without that I had to shade my eyes. My sudden appearance—and such an appearance!—shocked them into temporary immobility. They were both there—Daoud and Abdullah—sitting on the divan drinking coffee and smoking. The stem of the water-pipe fell from Abdullah’s hand. As for Daoud, he must have taken me for a night demon, for he shrank back with a cry.

“I must apologize for my appearance,” I said.

I had begun to feel a trifle light-headed or I would not have made such an absurd remark. Abdullah cried out, and Daoud jumped up and ran toward me. I put up my hand to keep him away. “Don’t touch me, Daoud, I am covered with mud.”

Unheeding, he snatched me up and pressed me to his breast. “Oh, Sitt, it is you! God be thanked, God be thanked!”

Abdullah came slowly toward us. His face was impassive, but the hand he put on my shoulder trembled a little. “So, you are here. It is good. I was not afraid for you. But I am—I am glad you are here.”

They handed me over to Kadija, who fell on me with the loving ferocity of a lioness who has recovered a missing cub. She stripped off my filthy soaked garments and bathed me and wrapped me in blankets and put me to bed and fed me hot broth. At my request she admitted Abdullah after I was properly covered, and between spoonfuls of broth I told him what I felt he should know.

“So it was she,” Abdullah said, tugging at his beard. “She told us you had gone from the school, she did not know where. We had no reason then to doubt her. We have been searching for you ever since, Sitt. Emerson thought it was Sir Edward who had taken you.”

“Emerson must be warned,” I said urgently. “At once. He doesn’t know that female fiend is still alive. Abdullah, she murdered that woman in cold blood—drugged her, dressed her in her own clothing, and waited until Emerson was actually outside the door before she . . . I must get back to the house at once. Perhaps Kadija will be good enough to lend me something to wear.”

Abdullah’s lips had tightened. Now they relaxed and he shook his head. “Kadija’s robe would wrap twice around you, Sitt Hakim. Daoud has gone to find Emerson. I do not know where he is. He made us go home when the darkness fell and the rain came.”

“Oh dear,” I murmured. “Poor Daoud, out in this weather . . . You shouldn’t have sent him, Abdullah.”

“I did not send him. It was his choice. Sleep now. You are safe and I will keep you safe until Emerson comes.”

I looked from his resolute, bearded face to the strong brown fingers of Kadija, holding the bowl and the spoon. Yes. I was safe with them, safe, and suddenly as limp and sleepy as a swaddled baby. My heavy lids fell. I felt Kadija’s hands straighten the blanket and another hand, gentle as a woman’s, stroking my hair, before sleep overcame me.

Day had come before I woke, to see Kadija beside me. She rose at once and helped me to sit up.

“Were you there all night?” I asked. “Kadija, you should not have—”

“Where else should I be? It rains hard, Sitt Hakim; stay there and I will bring food. And,” she added, her face breaking into a smile, “something you will like even better.”

But he had been listening for the sound of voices and came before she could bring him, pushing through the curtain at the doorway and dropping to one knee beside the bed. The joy of that meeting was so intense it was some time before I could speak. In fact, it was Emerson who spoke first.

“Just as well I came without the children,” he said, wrapping me again in the blanket. “You are in a scandalous and delightful state of undress, Peabody. What happened to your clothes?”

“You know perfectly well that it was Kadija who removed them, Emerson. How long have you been here? What has Abdullah told you? What—”

Emerson stopped my mouth with his. After a brief interval he sat back on his heels and remarked, “When you badger me with questions I know you are yourself again. I believe Kadija is hovering tactfully outside the door; would you like coffee before you continue the interrogation?”

The room was warm and rather dark, since the shutters had been closed against the rain and there was only one lamp. It felt quite cozy as we sipped our coffee together and answered one another’s questions. Emerson’s tale was the shortest. He had no reason to suspect Sayyida Amin’s veracity when she insisted I had never entered the house; the other ladies, Miss Buchanan and her teacher, and the false Mrs. Ferncliffe, had verified the statement and expressed alarm which, in the former case, was entirely genuine. He concluded that I had been seized by someone waiting in the closed carriage, for it was not there when he returned.

In fact, it must have been in that vehicle that I was removed, disguised as a roll of rugs. After a period of agitated inquiry, Emerson had found a witness who had seen such a carriage at the quay. He had hastened back to the school to collect Ramses and David, who were conducting a search of the place. Sayyida Amin had not only agreed to a search, she had insisted upon it.

“I was a damned fool not to recognize her,” Emerson declared. “She was veiled, of course, and she had darkened her face and hands, and—”

“And you believed she was dead. Small blame to you, Emerson. Your persistence prevented her from following me across the river.”

“We barely made it ourselves. The wind was blowing a gale and it had begun to rain heavily. We came back to the house and tended to the horses—poor creatures, they had been waiting in the open for hours—and changed clothing and tried to think what to do next. Since I believed it was Sethos who had abducted you, I had no idea where to begin looking. But I would have found you, my darling, if it meant demolishing every house on the West Bank.”

I expressed my appreciation. “But surely,” I inquired, “you were not under the misapprehension that Sir Edward was Sethos?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past that bastard,” Emerson said darkly. “And I never entirely trusted Sir Edward. He was too damned noble to be true. Wasn’t it you who said everyone has an ulterior motive?”

“I thought his ulterior motive was Nefret,” I admitted. “It appears I was mistaken. I—I have been mistaken about quite a number of things these past weeks, Emerson.”

“Good Gad!” Emerson put one big brown hand on my brow. “Are you feverish, Peabody?”

“Another of your little jokes, I presume. Time is passing, Emerson, and we must be up and doing. Do you want to hear about Sethos?”

“No. I suppose you had better tell me, though.”

The narrative took longer than it ought to have done because Emerson kept interrupting with muttered expletives and expressions of annoyance. When I finished he permitted himself a final vehement “Curse the swine!” before making a sensible remark.

“Who do you suppose he is—was—has been masquerading as?”

“A tourist, I expect. There are hundreds of them in Luxor. His disguise last night was one of his little jokes, I think. He was the image of Sir Edward, except for the mustache.”

Emerson went to the window and threw open the shutters. “The rain has stopped. I came last night, as soon as Daoud told me you were here, but the others ought to be along soon. We are rather in need of a council of war.”

“It is foolish for them to come here. Why don’t we go back to the house?”

“I doubt the children will wait much longer. They were very anxious about you, my dear. I admit it is difficult to tell with Ramses, but he blinked quite a lot. Nefret was beside herself; she kept saying she had been unkind and unfair to you and that she ought to have gone with you to the school.”

“Nonsense,” I said—but I confess I was touched and pleased.

“Anyhow,” Emerson said, returning to my side, “Kadija informed me that frivolous frock you wore yesterday is beyond repair. You can’t ride wrapped in a blanket. I could carry you across my saddle, I suppose, like a sheikh fetching home a new acquisition for his harem, but you wouldn’t find it comfortable.”

He stood smiling down at me. His blue eyes shone with sapphirine intensity, his black hair waved over his brow. “I do love you so much, Emerson,” I said.

“Hmmm,” said Emerson. “They won’t be here for a while yet, I think . . .”

They came only too soon for me. There was barely time for Emerson to rearrange the blanket before Nefret burst into the room and flung herself at me. Ramses and David stood in the doorway. David’s face broke into a smile, and Ramses blinked twice before Emerson pushed them out and pulled the curtain.

Nefret had brought clean clothing for me. Only another woman would have thought of that! She had even brought my belt of tools, and as I buckled it round my waist I swore I would never go out again without it. Then my story had to be retold. Some of it was new to Abdullah and Daoud as well, and so it was long in the telling. Before I finished the sun broke through the clouds, casting a watery light into the room.

“That man again!” Abdullah burst out. “Will we never be rid of him?”

“It is just as well we weren’t rid of him,” Ramses said. “Forget about Sethos, at least for now. Bertha is the real danger.”

“That may no longer be the case,” I said soberly. “Sethos knows her present identity, and so does Sir Edward. I cannot believe they have failed to take steps to apprehend her.”

“We had better make certain,” Ramses said.

“Yes, quite,” Emerson agreed. “She has eluded Sethos, and us, too often. This time . . .”

His teeth snapped together. There was no need for him to say more. One should temper justice with mercy, but in this case I could find no pity in my heart for Bertha. She would kill as ruthlessly and remorselessly as a hunter dispatching a harmless deer.

It was decided that we should cross at once to Luxor. Daoud and Abdullah were determined to accompany us, and when we emerged from the house we saw a half dozen of our other men waiting, obviously with the same intention. Selim was there; he hailed us with a shout and a smile and fell in step with David as we started down the path.

I was distressed to see what devastation the storm had left in its wake. The ground was drying rapidly but the rain had dug deep trenches into the hillside, and several of the poorer houses, built of reeds and sun-dried brick, had subsided into heaps of mud. The residents of Gurneh were out in full force, surveying the damage and discussing it, and even, in some cases, starting to remove the debris.

“I hope no one was injured,” I said to Abdullah, who was walking beside me.

“There was time for them to get out and other places where they could go,” Abdullah said indifferently.

“Yes, but . . .” I stopped. Next to one pile of shapeless earth a woman crouched, rocking back and forth and keening in a high-pitched wail. “Good heavens, Abdullah, there must be someone buried under there.”

Abdullah’s wordless shout made the others spin round, but it was too late; they were only a few feet away, but they could not have reached her in time to stop her. Her finger was on the trigger as she straightened, and she did not even wait to hurl a final curse at me, she fired three times before she was crushed under the weight of several men.

I heard the sound of the bullets strike—but I did not feel them, for it was not my body they struck. One step was all there was time for, and there was only one man who could have taken it. He fell back against me and I threw both arms round him as we sank to the ground together. I was aware of raised voices and running forms, but only as a remote irrelevance; my eyes and my whole mind were fixed on the body of the man whose head I cradled in my arms. The white robe was crimson from breast to waist and the stain spread out with hideous quickness. Nefret knelt beside us, her hands pressing hard on the spurting wounds. I did not need to see her ashen face to know there was no hope.

Abdullah’s eyes opened. “So, Sitt,” he gasped. “Am I dying?”

I held him closer. “Yes,” I said.

“It is . . . good.” His eyes were dimming but they wandered slowly over the faces that bent over him, and it seemed to please him to see them there. His gaze returned to me. His lips moved, and I bent my head to hear the whispered words. I thought he was gone, then, but he had one more thing to say.

“Emerson. Watch over her. She is not . . .”

“I will.” Emerson took his hand. “I will, old friend. Go in peace.”

It was he who closed Abdullah’s staring eyes and folded his hands on his breast. I gave him over to Daoud and Selim and David; it was their right to care for him now. They were all crying. Nefret wept against Ramses’s shoulder, and Emerson turned away and raised his hand to his face. Ramses’s grave dark eyes met mine over Nefret’s bowed head. He had not shed a tear—nor had I.