Close Up the Sky (40 page)

"I remember
that barge," Summerhour confessed. "Damn! We were that close!"

"Where's
Ipu?" Matt asked.

Taylor took his
hand and squeezed it. For the first time in days she felt happy. "It's a
small city less than a hundred miles north of here," she said in English,
"The Egyptians have a mine there and a fairly extensive temple. There’s
desert to the east, then the Red Sea. The caravan will have to cross what we
know as Saudi Arabia, eventually reaching the junction of the Euphrates and
Tigris Rivers. From there they'll make their way south until they're in the
vicinity of the place the Egyptians call the village of the sea people. I don't
know what that is, but I'm beginning to have some suspicions." She shot a
narrow-eyed glance at Summerhour.

Matt also gave him
a quizzical look. "I know what it is," he said.

Summerhour met his
gaze without flinching.

Taylor was
shocked. "
You
know what it
is?"

"Yes, but
this isn't the time or place to explain. I'll tell you everything as soon as
we're out of here."

"What is this
language?" Ramses demanded. Even though he now saw Taylor and her companions
in a different light, he was still Pharaoh of Egypt and he demanded the respect
due his status.

"It is the
language of my people, great one," Taylor responded. She reverted to using
one of Ramses's many titles in an effort to appease him. She had told him of
her great power, but here in his court, away from modern support, her boast was
nothing more than words. She and the others were still completely subject to
his authority. "My companion is not fluent in your language," she
offered.

The answer seemed
to satisfy Ramses. "Very well. Let us move forward. We have struck a
bargain, Taylor, and I will rely on your promise. What do you require of
me?"

"Transport by
your swiftest ship to Ipu, and from there, a caravan to follow the one that
took Edward Leahy to the sea. We will also require provisions for the
trip."

"There's one
other thing," Matt put in.

Taylor seemed
surprised. "What is it?"

Matt looked at
Ramses and spoke in the best Egyptian he could manage. "Three innocent men
are being detained in the prison where I was held, Your Majesty. One of them is
called Setari. He can identify the other two. They have been falsely accused of
stealing from one of your officials. I know this charge is untrue. I would
consider it a great personal favor if you would look into their cases.”

“How do you know
they are innocent?” Ramses asked.

"I am
innocent, yet I was imprisoned on the word of a desert brigand. I am a court
official in my own land, and have dealt with many criminals. After hearing
their story, I tell you without reservation that I believe these men are
innocent of the crime for which they were imprisoned. They are only guilty of
having something of value that someone else with power desired. It is a story
as old as the world."

Ramses nodded. "Just
so. I, too, have seen this kind of corruption. I will look into the matter. You
may rest assured that it will be taken care of, and the guilty party
punished."

Taylor squeezed
Matt’s hand and looked at him with open admiration. “You’re okay, Matt Leahy,”
she whispered in English. “Even if I wasn’t already extremely prejudiced I’d
still say so. After all you’ve been through, you don’t forget your friends.”

Ramses smiled. He
did not understand the language, but he understood Taylor’s expression. "I
will assign Balkem, my most trusted general, to the details of your voyage,” he
said. “Go and gather whatever personal possessions you may have and return here
by midnight. The ship and provisions will be ready by then. A detachment of my
personal guard will accompany you, and will remain with you at all times. I
will not risk your safety by allowing you to leave the palace without an
escort."

They turned to
leave, but Ramses stopped them. "Before you go, Taylor." He took her
hand and pressed the St. Christopher medal into it. He spoke gently, almost
fatherly. "I always knew you were something more than what you appeared to
be. I know that I may not see you again, but I shall never forget you."

Taylor closed her fingers around the medal and placed her other hand over
the old scar on Ramses's forearm. They exchanged smiles, each understanding the
other. No further words were required. She and the others bowed at the waist as
they departed, and in recognition of their status, Ramses returned the gesture
with a bow of his own.

When they were out
of the palace Matt gave them a summary of what had occurred after they were
separated by the sandstorm, including the ordeal with the Morruks and his trial
before Memhotep. During his struggle with the guards, he had seen Nessif steal
the pistol magazines and pager off Memhotep's bench and slip away through the
outer room. "I believe Nessif followed me through the desert and then
along the riverbank to Thebes,” he told them. “A couple of times during the
voyage here I thought I saw a man pacing our boat just inside the tree line. He'll
probably try to go back the same way he came. Rats always work that way."

"He must be
one hell of a good runner," Williams observed.

"You wouldn't
believe how good," Matt responded. “We need to get to the docks before he
gets away.”

“The pistol is bad
enough," Summerhour said, "but it's imperative that we get the pager
back. Even if he can’t use it in the conventional way, there’s a possibility it
could be accidentally activated if he tries to disassemble it." He turned
and spoke to the commander of their escort. "It is urgent that we go to
the docks immediately," he said. "Something has been stolen from this
man, and there is a possibility that the thief may still be in the
vicinity."

The officer was
reluctant to agree to the request, but when he saw that the four strangers
would go with or without him, he acquiesced. "Very well," he said,
"but we must hurry. My orders are to have you at the dock well before
midnight."

With that, they struck off up a wide street that led to the river.

Nessif had
successfully avoided apprehension by the prison guards as he made his way
through the hallways and into the public street. Like all thieves, he
continually looked over his shoulder as he moved stealthily along. By now the
arrogant stranger who called himself Yosemite Sam would be dead or beaten to
within a heartbeat of dying. He had complete confidence that he would never see
him again. The man had escaped death twice: Once from the fire pit, and once
because the giant who had slain his men had spared him. There would not be a
third time. That pipsqueak of an Egyptian judge would just as soon have a man
killed as look at him. Nessif snorted and spat on the ground. There was no
justice in Egypt. They had not even paid him for his valuable information. But
he had taken care of his own reward. He felt under his robe and ran his hand
over the pistol magazines. He grinned and imagined how much loot he would take
in the coming days. The weapon would make him invincible to all but a large
force of men.

He raised his nose
and sniffed the air. The smell of the river was strong, and a few minutes later
he saw the shimmering water just ahead. The moon had risen, driving away all
but the deepest shadows. He darted across open spaces like a phantom, hugging
the walls of buildings, taking care to avoid passersby and city patrols. Memhotep
would undoubtedly know by now that he had stolen the items that had been taken
from the stranger, and would probably have every soldier in the city looking
for him. But they would never find him. By the time daylight came he would be
many miles from Thebes, on his way back to the flat mountain and his tribe.

In the darkness he
saw a group of men and women approaching. He crouched in a dark doorway and
waited for them to pass. He could smell the wine they were drinking as they
passed his hiding place. One of the women laughed and dodged away as her
companion grabbed for a bare breast. The others chided him for missing his
target, and they all laughed uproariously as they walked past the crouching
Morruk. It made Nessif
think
of his own women and the
pleasures of their bodies. He grinned, thinking of the things he intended to do
with them when he returned to his mountain. And with the new weapon, his
supremacy as chief of the Morruks would be ensured for many years. There would
be food, wine, more women, and all the loot he could carry just for the taking.

The ruse he had
pulled in the Egyptian court gave him great satisfaction. He had disposed of
the foreigner without having to soil his own hands, and had acquired dozens of
the small cylinders that made the weapon operate. The other item was still a
mystery. He had not had time to examine it, but if fortune smiled on him it
might also be of value.

At last he came to
the great gateway that led to the docks. Several guards were on duty, but they
were occupied examining carts of merchandise whose owners were seeking entrance
to the city. Hundreds of other people were milling about, shouting and laughing
as they went about their business. Those passing out of the city were usually
not detained unless there was some pressing reason to do so. He doubted that
there had been enough time for an alert to
have reached
the outer gate. For that reason, he straightened himself and walked boldly past
the guards. No one bothered to stop him. When he was out of sight, he broke
into a trot and headed north along the river.

Earlier, before he
had entered the city, he had dug a shallow hole and buried the pistol and his
other possessions. The place was only a short distance from the gate, so he
reached it quickly. He searched around in the moonlight until he found the
stone he had used to mark the hole. He moved it away, then sat down and dug in
the soft earth with his hands until the cloth he had used to wrap his goods was
uncovered. He removed the pistol and examined it in the moonlight. There had
been ample opportunity to study the mechanism of the weapon while he had been
hiding from the entity in the desert. Of course it would have been better if he
could have forced the stranger to train him in its use, but he felt that he had
learned enough to experiment. He placed his thumb on the magazine ejector
button and pressed it. The empty magazine popped out. He laid it aside,
retrieved a fresh one from his robe, and examined it closely. He pressed on the
top cartridge with the tip of his thumb and removed it from the magazine. He
held it up in the moonlight and gazed at it for a few seconds. The brass casing
gleamed like gold. One by one he removed the other bullets and counted them. There
were sixteen in all. He nodded in satisfaction. There were enough of them to
last a long time if he was conservative in selecting whom to kill. He replaced
the cartridges and shoved the magazine into the pistol. He had already learned
how to work the slide, so he moved it backward and chambered a round.

He was admiring
the weapon when he heard a sound from behind him. It was soft, almost
inaudible. He remained perfectly still, listening, and it came again from some
bushes a few yards away. A long moment passed, and when the sound did not
repeat itself he dismissed it as an animal foraging for food. The thought of
food reminded him that he had not eaten since the day before. The stress of
dealing with the Egyptians and the flight from Memhotep's court had left him
hungry. Maybe he could catch whatever was moving around in the brush. He knew
he could not light a fire even if he caught the animal, but the thought of
eating raw meat did not bother him. He dropped to his hands and knees and
crawled toward the bushes from which the sounds had emanated. When he was close
he reached beneath his robe and removed a razor-sharp knife from its scabbard. With
the gun in one hand and the knife in the other he reached out and gently parted
the bushes.

A monstrous hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed him by the throat. The
movement was so sudden that he did not even have time to scream. He felt his
windpipe close as he was lifted off his feet. His eyes bulged from their
sockets as the moonlight illuminated the most hideous face he had ever seen. A
bulging forehead hung over facial features that could only have been arranged
by a demon. The nose was long and twisted, with huge flaring nostrils. The
eyes, large and bulging, were half obscured by drooping lids. They looked as
though they might burst from their sockets at any moment. Twisted yellow teeth
protruded from a mouth that was no more than a jagged gash in the lower face. Coarse
shoulder-length hair hung from the head in oily strings. In his last seconds of
life, Nessif realized that he was in the grasp of the giant from the desert. Somehow
he had managed to follow him here. He stabbed at the face with his knife, but a
mighty hand tore it from his grasp. Darkness began to close over him and he
felt himself descending into a bottomless pit. In his last feeble effort to
ward off death, he brought the pistol up and squeezed the trigger.

Matt and the
others had just reached the city gate when they heard gunfire in the distance. They
halted abruptly and tried to get a bearing on its direction.

"This side of
the river," Matt said. "To the north. Let's go!"

The four of them
started off at a run with their escort close behind. A quarter of a mile
further on, in a clearing near the riverbank, they found the bodies. One of
them was Nessif, but the other belonged to a misshapen giant over seven feet
tall. Matt knelt down and examined Nessif. The Morruk's tongue lolled out the
side of his mouth and the glazed eyes bulged in terror. His throat had been
torn open, soaking the front of his robe with blood. He still clutched the
pistol in his left hand. Matt pried the weapon from his fingers.