The Mummy or Ramses the Damned (29 page)

“I’m sorry, my Queen. My gentle Queen. Believe me, I am.”

When she looked up she saw the sadness in his face. He stood helplessly before her, the lamp behind him filling the edges of his brown hair with an uneven golden light.

“Let it be for now, Ramses,” she said desperately. “I can’t
bear it, the knowledge that he did it. Let it be, I beg you. I only want us to be in Egypt together.”

He sat down on the settee beside her, towering over her, and gently he turned her and this time when he kissed her she melted completely, letting him enfold her, letting him breathe into her that powerful heat. She kissed his face, his cheek where the flesh was so taut over the bones, and then his closed eyes. She felt his hands tighten on her naked shoulders and she realized he was pushing her gown down and away from her breasts.

She drew back, ashamed. She had led him on and she hadn’t meant to.

“I don’t want it to happen,” she said, her tears coming again.

Not looking at him, she pushed the satin sleeves upwards. When finally their eyes met, she saw only patience, and that faint half smile, now tempered by the same sadness she’d seen before.

He reached out for her, and she stiffened. But he merely adjusted the sleeves of her dress for her. And straightened the pearls around her neck. Then he kissed her hand.

“Come out with me,” he said in a low, soft voice, kissing her tenderly on her shoulder. “The wind is cool and fresh. And they are playing music in the public rooms. Can we dance together to the music? Ah, this floating palace. It is paradise. Come with me, my Queen.”

“But Alex,” she said. “If only Alex …”

He kissed her throat. He kissed her hand again. He turned her hand over and pressed his lips to her palm. The heat coursed through her again. To stay in this room would be folly, unless, of course. But no. She could not let it happen, until it was really what she wanted with her whole soul.

She might lose her soul utterly; that was the horror. There was a dim sense again of her world being destroyed.

“Let’s go, then,” she said drowsily.

He helped her to her feet. He took her handkerchief from her and wiped her eyes with it as if she were a child. Then he picked up her white fur from the arm of the chair and put it over her shoulders.

They walked together along the windy deck and into the corridor and towards the grand ballroom—a lovely confection of gilded wood and satin wall panels, of drowsing palms and stained glass.

He moaned as he looked at the distant orchestra. “Oooh, Julie, this music,” he whispered. “It enslaves me.”

It was a Strauss waltz again, only there were many musicians here, and the sound was louder and richer, flooding the great room.

No sign of Alex, thank God. She turned to him, and let him take her hand.

With a great sweeping turn, he began to waltz with her, beaming down at her, and it seemed then nothing mattered. There was no Alex; there was no Henry; there had been no terrible death for her father which must be avenged.

There was only this moment of dancing with him, round and round, beneath the soft iridescent chandeliers. The music surged; the other dancers seemed perilously close around them; but Ramses’ steps were perfect for all their great breadth and strength.

Wasn’t it enough that he should be a mystery? she thought desperately. Wasn’t it enough that he’d torn the veil away completely? Did he have to be irresistible? Did she have to fall so hopelessly in love?

Far away, from the deep shadows of the darkly panelled bar, Elliott watched them dancing. They were going into the third waltz now, and Julie was laughing as Ramsey led her recklessly and madly, driving the other dancers out of his path.

No one seemed to take offense at it. Everyone respects those who are in love.

Elliott finished his whisky, then rose to go.

When he reached Henry’s door, he knocked once and then opened it. Henry sat hunched over on the small couch, a thin green robe wrapped around him, his legs naked and hairy beneath it, his feet bare. He appeared to be trembling, as if he were terribly cold.

Elliott was appalled suddenly at the heat of his own anger. His voice came out hoarse and unfamiliar.

“What did our Egyptian King see?” he demanded. “What happened in that tomb when Lawrence died!”

Henry tried to turn away from him, in a pathetic moment of hysteria, as if he could claw his way through the wall. Elliott turned him around.

“Look at me, you miserable little coward. Answer my question. What happened in that tomb!”

“I was trying to get what you wanted!” Henry whispered. His eyes were sunken. There was a great bruise on his neck. “I was … trying to persuade him to advise Julie to marry Alex.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Elliott said. His left hand clutched at the silver walking stick, ready to lift it, to wield it like a club.

“I don’t know what happened,” Henry pleaded. “Or what it saw! It was wrapped up in the damned mummy case. What the hell could it have seen! Uncle Lawrence was arguing with me. He was upset. The heat … I don’t know what happened. Suddenly he was lying on the floor.”

He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he sobbed. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean to hurt him! I did what I had to do.” He bowed his head, fingers meshed in his dark hair.

Elliott stared down at him. If this had been his son, life would have no meaning. And if this miserable creature was lying … But he didn’t know. He simply could not tell.

“All right,” he murmured. “You have told me everything?”

“Yes!” Henry said. “God, I have to get off this ship! I have to get away from it!”

“But why does it despise you? Why did it try to kill you, and why does it seek to humiliate you?”

There was a moment of silence. All he heard were Henry’s desperate broken gasps. Then the thin white face was turned up again, the sunken dark eyes imploring him.

“I saw it come alive,” Henry said. “I’m the only one other than Julie who really knows what it is. You know, but I’m the one who saw it. It wants to kill me!” He stopped, as if he feared losing control altogether. His eyes were dancing as he looked at the carpet. “I’ll tell you something too,” he said, as he slumped back again on the couch. “It’s unnaturally strong, that thing. It could kill a man with its bare hands. Why it didn’t kill me the first time it tried, I don’t know. But it could succeed if it tried again.”

The Earl didn’t respond.

He turned and left the stateroom. He went out onto the deck. The sky was black over the sea, and the stars were, as always on a cloudless night over the ocean, wonderfully clear.

He leaned on the railing for a long time, and then drew out a cheroot and lighted it. He tried to reason things out.

Samir Ibrahaim knew this thing was immortal. He was travelling with it. Julie knew. Julie had been swept off her feet. And
now in his sheer obsession with this mystery, he had let Ramsey know that he knew as well.

Now, Ramsey clearly felt affection for Samir Ibrahaim. He felt something for Julie Stratford, though what that something was, still wasn’t clear. But what did Ramsey feel for him? Maybe he would turn on him as he had on Henry, “the only witness.”

But somehow that didn’t make sense. Or at least if it did, it didn’t frighten Elliott. It only fascinated him. And the whole question of Henry continued to puzzle him and repel him. Henry was a convincing liar. But Henry wasn’t telling the whole truth.

Nothing to do but wait, he figured. And do what he could to protect Alex, his poor vulnerable Alex, who had failed so miserably at dinner to conceal his growing hurt. He had to help Alex through this, make it clear to his son that he was going to lose his childhood sweetheart, for there was no longer the slightest doubt of that.

But oh, how he himself was loving this. How secretly and completely it thrilled him. The truth was, no matter what the outcome, he was experiencing a rejuvenation because of this mystery. He was having the best time he’d had in years and years.

If he leafed back through the happy memories of his life, there had been one time only, when simply being alive had been this wondrous and strange. He’d been at Oxford then; he’d been only twenty; and he’d been in love with Lawrence Stratford, and Lawrence Stratford had been in love with him.

The thought of Lawrence now destroyed everything. It was as if the icy wind off the sea had frozen his heart. Something had happened in that tomb, something Henry did not dare to confess to him. And Ramsey knew it. And no matter what else happened in this dangerous little venture, Elliott was going to discover the truth of the matter.

Y THE fourth day out, Elliott realized that Julie would not dine again in the public rooms; that she would take all her meals in her stateroom from now on, and that Ramsey was probably dining with her. Henry had also disappeared from view altogether. Sullen, drunk, he remained in his room round the clock, seldom wearing anything other than trousers, a shirt and a smoking jacket. However, this did not prevent him from running a fairly steady card game with members of the crew, who were not anxious to be discovered gambling with a first-class passenger. The gossip was that Henry was winning quite a lot. But that had always been the gossip about Henry. He would lose sooner or later, and probably everything that he had made; that had been the rhythm of his descent since the beginning.

Elliott could also see that Julie was going out of her way to be gentle with Alex. She and Alex took their afternoon walk on the deck, rain or shine. She and Alex danced now and then in the ballroom after supper. Ramsey was always there, watching with surprising equanimity, and ready at any moment to step in and become Julie’s partner. But clearly it had been agreed that Alex should not be neglected by Julie.

On brief shore excursions, which Elliott could not physically endure, Julie, Samir, Ramsey and Alex always traveled together. Alex invariably came back faintly repelled. He didn’t like foreigners very much; Julie and Samir had been thoroughly entertained;
and Ramsey was overwhelmed with enthusiasm for the things he’d seen, especially if he’d been able to find a cinema or an English-language bookshop.

Elliott appreciated Julie’s kindness to Alex. After all, this ship was no place for Alex to understand the full truth, and clearly Julie realized it. On the other hand, perhaps Alex already sensed that he’d lost the first major battle of his life; the truth was Alex was too pleasant and agreeable a person to reveal what he was feeling. Probably he did not know himself, Elliott figured.

The real adventure of the voyage for Elliott was getting to know Ramsey, and watching Ramsey from afar, and realizing things about Ramsey which others didn’t appear to notice. It helped immensely that Ramsey was a ferociously social being.

By the hour Ramsey, Elliott, Samir and Alex played billiards together, during which time Ramsey discoursed on all manner of subjects and asked all kinds of questions.

Modern science in particular interested him, and Elliott found himself rambling on by the hour about theories of the cell, the circulatory system, germs and other causes of disease. The whole concept of inoculation fascinated Ramsey.

Almost every night Ramsey was in the library, poring over Darwin and Malthus or popular compendiums on electricity, the telegraph, the automobile and astronomy.

Modern art was also of more than passing interest. He was powerfully intrigued by the Pointillists and the Impressionists, and the novels of the Russians—Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, only newly translated into English—swept him up utterly. Clearly the speed of his reading and absorption was magical.

About the sixth day out, Ramsey acquired a typewriter. With the captain’s permission he borrowed it from the ship’s offices and thereafter he typed by the hour lists of what he meant to do, some of which Elliott managed to glimpse on trips to Ramsey’s cabin. Common enough were entries such as “Visit the Prado in Madrid; ride in an aeroplane as soon as possible.”

Elliott finally realized something. This man never slept. He didn’t have to. At any hour of the night Elliott could find Ramsey doing something somewhere. If he was not in the cinema or in the library—or typing away in his room—then he was with the crew in the map room or the radio room. They had not been on board two days before Ramsey knew all the crew by name; and most of the staff as well. His capacity to seduce people into almost anything could not be overestimated.