Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (22 page)

already reacted, flinging himself to one side, his feet and hands groping for holds. The boulder passed within inches of his right hand, accompanied by a shower of smaller stones, and struck the ground with a force that sent splintered fragments fountaining upward. They rained down on the two bodies huddled against the cliff. Ramses couldn't remember how he got down. The rents in the front of his shirt suggested he had slid most of the way. Of the three of them, Nefret had come off best, thanks to Barton's prompt action. When Ramses reached them, the young man was still holding her, his long arms wrapped tightly around her body and his head bowed over hers. Ramses removed him with rather more force than was necessary and bent over his wife. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and let out a cry of relief. "Thank God. The last thing I saw was that rock coming straight at you. Help me up." "Are you sure you-" "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks to Mr. Barton." Ramses let go her hands and turned apologetically to Barton. "I'm frightfully sorry." Sprawled on the ground with his arms and legs at odd angles like a four-legged spider, Barton grinned feebly. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't see ... I should have ... I was almost too slow. Did I hurt her? I didn't mean . . ." "Yes, all right," Ramses said, interpreting the incoherent comments. Barton had been gaping at Nefret and hadn't noticed anything amiss until she cried out. Nefret was on her feet, a little pale but steady. "There was someone up there." She pointed. "I saw his head and shoulders, and then ... oh, my God! Look out!" The figure seemed to float rather than fall, full sleeves and flowing garments billowing gracefully, like the wings of a giant bird, but it hit the ground with a solid and sickening thud. Ramses was not conscious of having moved until a pained grunt from Nefret brought him to the realization that he had pushed her down and was lying on top of her. "Get up," she gasped, shoving at him. "Is he dead?" The body had landed practically at Barton's feet. It was facedown, and as far as Ramses was concerned it could stay that way. The fellow had to be dead, there was blood spattered all over the ground and on Barton's boots. He knew his wife wouldn't be satisfied until she'd made sure, though. She turned the body over. The face was unrecognizable, a ruin of broken bone and raw flesh. Barton spun round, covering his mouth with his hand, and Ramses patted him absently on the back while he watched Nefret go through the ritual and, in his opinion, unnecessary motions. She looked up at him and shook her head. Her hair was coming down, long strands of gold curling over her shoulders. She's so beautiful, he thought. Aloud he said gruffly, "Find something to cover his face or Barton will throw up." "No. Listen, I am really sorry . . ." The young man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said pathetically, "I never saw a dead person before. Not a fresh one." "This one is bad," Ramses admitted. "Never mind covering him, Nefret, take Barton away from here." "Yes, of course." She slipped her arm through the young man's. "Don't be embarrassed, Mr. Barton. I'm a doctor, you know, and we're used to this sort of thing." "So I've heard." Barton managed to summon a feeble smile. "Uh-do you think ... Do you think you could call me George?" Ramses waited until "George" and his wife were out of sight before he bent over the body. He had to clean his hands with sand after he had finished. When he joined Nefret and Barton she was kneeling beside the young man, inspecting him for injuries. Her hair fell over her shoulders, framing a face becomingly flushed with heat and excitement. Her lips were slightly parted and the tip of her tongue protruded, the way it did when she was concentrating. "There is a bump," Nefret announced, probing a spot on the left side of Barton's head. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Barton's glazed stare was suggestive of concussion but Ramses felt sure it wasn't the bump on the head that had addled his brains. He finally got the word out. "Uh-three." "Good. Why don't you come back to the boat with us and let me give you a proper examination. Those cuts ought to be disinfected." The house the Metropolitan people had built was closer, but by then Barton would have agreed to accompany Nefret into the fires of hell. He made only a feeble protest. "It's too much trouble ..." "It's the least we can do," Ramses said. "You saved my wife from serious injury. Can you make it back to Deir el Bahri?" "Sure." "Good. I'll meet you there." Nefret bit off a particularly ripe swearword as he turned toward the cliff face. Barton's eyes widened. "Are you going up there? What for? It was an accident, wasn't it? I mean, the fellow must have been drunk or ... no, Moslems don't drink, do they? Sick, maybe or ... He was leaning against that rock, and it fell, and then he ... It must have been an accident!" Ramses did not reply. The climb was easier this time, and before long he had reached the place from which he was sure the missile had come-the path leading along the side of the cliff from Deir el Medina to the Valley of the Kings. It had been used by the men who lived in the village and worked in the royal tombs almost four thousand years ago. There was no one in sight in either direction when he climbed onto the level. He looked down. Nefret and Barton were still there; he'd known she wouldn't leave the spot until she was sure he was safe. She raised her arm in salute, and he waved back, gesturing them to proceed on their way. The surface of the path was disturbed by the passage of feet, shod and unshod, animal and human. There were no distinctive prints. At one spot a fresh break showed pale and clean, where a section of rock had been levered away. It wouldn't have required much time or effort to do the job, nor would there have been any reason to suspect foul play unless one was looking for evidence of it. Bits of the time-weathered rock were always crumbling and falling. But the man had used a lever of some sort. The marks were there. And there were other marks, scuffed and rubbed, but not entirely obliterated. Ramses met only one person as he wended his way toward Deir el Bahri-a jovial villain from Gurneh, who greeted him without surprise, gave him a knowing grin, and asked if he was looking for lost tombs. He went the long way round, scrambling down the steep but safe path behind the north side of the temple. Nefret and Barton were waiting, with Jamil and the horses, when he reached the level of the second terrace. "Find anything?" the American asked. "No." "Listen, I didn't mean to pry. It's just that I've heard so many stories about you folks ... It was an accident?" "No doubt." Ramses turned to Jamil. Nefret must have told him what had happened; he looked more alert than Ramses had ever seen him. "Someone will have to go to Luxor, Jamil. The-er- accident must be reported to the police." "They will do nothing," Jamil said indifferently. He was probably right. Ramses thought guiltily of the dead man, abandoned and prey to predators, but the idea of retrieving the battered remains was too much even for him. "Nevertheless, they must be told," he said. "And at once." At Nefret's suggestion, he sent one of the gaffirs, motivating him with a generous tip. Jamil would stop off in every coffee shop in Luxor before he went to the taftish, if he bothered to go there at all. They had drinks in the saloon while Nefret worked on Barton. He had turned bright pink, like a schoolboy, when she insisted he remove his shirt. His injuries were superficial-cuts and abrasions and bruises, almost all of them on his back. Nursing his own whiskey, Ramses made courteous conversation and thought inhospitable thoughts. But it was hard to remain aloof with a man who was drinking your beer and making admiring comments about your work. By the time Barton left, they were using one another's first names. Barton was in no hurry to go. Nefret had to remind him twice that Lansing might be wondering what had happened to him before he put his glass down and rose to his feet, and then he started thanking her again. Ramses took his arm and led him out. "Shall I tell Ambrose what happened?" Barton asked. "Why not?" "Uh ... No reason, I guess. Well. Thank you again." When Ramses returned to the saloon, Nasir was setting the table for dinner. He was less clumsy than he had been, but he had found a new excuse to linger by folding the napkins into intricate shapes. His ambition exceeded his skill; tonight's effort was probably meant to be a flying bird, though it more resembled a decapitated duck. Ramses dismissed him with a few brusque words and went to stand by Nefret, who was curled up on the divan. "You hurt his feelings," she said reproachfully. "Stop him doing that, then. It takes forever to untie the knots." "All right, darling, I'll try. George is a nice boy, isn't he? It's a pity he had to have such an unpleasant experience." "He'd better get used to it if he stays in Egypt." "Oh, really, Ramses! One doesn't have bodies dropped at one's feet every day. We might ask him and Mr. Lansing and Monsieur Legrain for dinner one evening-with Miss Minton." "If you want to waste time on social encounters, that is up to you. I was under the impression that you meant to persuade the woman to confide in you. She's not likely to talk freely when others are around." "Goodness, but you're in a grouchy mood this evening. All right, we'll make it a threesome. You can excuse yourself after dinner and I'll get to work on her." "When?" "The sooner the better. The Vandergelts are arriving on Sunday, and we'll be busy with them for a few days." "Tomorrow, then?" "If she's free. Why are you looming over me like that?" "I thought you liked being loomed over." "Only when something interesting is likely to develop. Shall I put dinner back?" "No, I'm hungry." Her smile faded, but she waited until after Nasir had served the first course before she went on the attack. "What is it? Something you found when you searched the body?" "There was nothing you didn't see for yourself. No means of identification, nothing distinctive about his clothing." "It might have been an accident." "If you believe in unholy coincidences, it's conceivable that a chunk of rock crumbled away just when I happened to be climbing, but he couldn't have fallen unless he was standing on top of the ridge that bounds the path on the cliff side. It's not a straight drop." "You think he was pushed," Nefret said slowly. "It's not a straight drop," Ramses repeated impatiently. "He was lifted and pitched over. You saw how he fell-backward, faceup. He landed on his head, but the damage shouldn't have been that extensive. He was hit in the face before he was thrown over. There were drops of blood on the rock." "So there were two people up there. One who tried to kill you, the other who tried-" "You don't know what either of them intended," Ramses said. "Nor do I." "Damn it, Ramses, stop interrupting me!" She broke off, biting her lip, as Nasir trotted in with the next course, but the argument didn't end there. Ramses knew he wasn't behaving well, but she'd come so close to injury that afternoon, and it had been that gawky young American who had shielded her, and Luxor wasn't safe after all-and he hadn't the faintest clue as to the motive or the man behind the attack. "I tell you, it couldn't have been-" He glanced at Nasir, who was so unnerved by their loud voices that he was juggling plates in his anxiety to get out of the room. "It couldn't have been one of that lot." "Who else could it have been? You haven't .. .You didn't ..." "No! How many times must I tell you before you believe me?" "Then who was the second man?" "What second man?" "You said-" "I was theorizing. We don't know there were two people up there." "Could it have been-" She broke off and directed an inimical glance at their unfortunate steward. Completely undone by a sign of disfavor from his goddess, Nasir burst into tears and fled. "Christ!" Ramses slammed his knife down. "My fond uncle, you mean. Nursemaid or guardian angel? You think we need one, don't you? Obviously I can't take care of myself--or you-" "You're impossible! I'm going to write the parents and tell them what happened." Her hair always came loose when she was angry. The lamplight ran golden fingers along the curling locks. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone with tears of fury. "Do as you like," Ramses said shortly. "I'm going to bed. It's been rather a long day." He was tired and he'd acquired several new bruises during his precipitate descent of the cliff, but he was still awake, open-eyed in the dark, when Nefret slipped in and closed the door. She stood still for a few moments, waiting for him to speak; when he remained mute and motionless, she moved quietly to the other side of the room and began to undress. She took her time about it, hanging her clothes neatly over a chair before she slipped into a nightgown. His night vision had always been excellent and he had a hard time keeping his breath even. She tiptoed toward the bed. He was about to reach out for her when she threw herself down beside him. The bedsprings squealed. "I know you aren't asleep! How dare you behave this way?" He caught her in his arms. "I'm sorry." "And don't apologize!" "Aren't you being a little inconsistent?" "I was afraid." She hid her face against his shoulder. "That's why I was so horrid." "I wasn't at my best either." "Oh, I don't know. It was a jolly good argument!" He couldn't joke about it. "I didn't lie to you, Nefret. I'd never take on another job without telling you." "Consulting me." "That's what I meant to say. I can't make sense of what happened today, but I'm certain it had nothing to do with-" "I don't want to talk about it." Her lips moved from his throat to his chin. "You shaved!" "Well-uh-I thought..." "Oh, darling, you really are adorable!" She was laughing as his mouth found hers. Sometime later, he said drowsily, "I'm beginning to understand why Mother and Father argue so often. Making up afterward is awfully pleasant." "Mmmm." It was hardly more than a breath against his shoulder. He thought she was asleep until a very quiet, very firm voice said, "Now tell me about Enid Fraser."

FROM LETTER COLLECTION T

Dearest Mother and Father, You'll have received Ramses's telegram by now. I won't apologize; I told you I couldn't keep things from him. In order to set a good example, I will now tell you several things you need to know-with, I should add, the agreement of my husband. First, Miss Minton is here-Margaret, I should say-she asked me to use her first name. I don't trust her one inch, but I can't make out what she's after, unless . . . But that would be insane, wouldn't it? She seemed very interested in tomb robberies and antiquities theft. We met her at luncheon today, and Alain Kuentz joined us-he's back at Deir el Medina-and she pounced on him with all her claws extended when he casually mentioned that it was he who blew up the German House-because, he claimed, it was a center for the illicit antiquities trade-and other things! See what you can find out about that. Howard Carter is back in Cairo, I understand; Alain denied that Howard was involved, but in a way that implied the reverse! The other point of interest is that someone dropped a rock on us today. We were near Deir el Bahri, looking for a tomb Alain said had been robbed, and Ramses was halfway up the cliff when it happened. The rock missed him, but not by much, and shortly thereafter a body followed the rock. It landed practically on top of poor young Mr. Barton, who was with us. The man's face had been smashed, possibly before he fell. I'm giving you the bare facts. I don't know what they mean- at least I hope I don't-but I beg you will not come rushing to our rescue. Ramses would hate that, and so would I. WE have refrained from rushing to YOUR rescue, you know. I thought Ramses was going to explode when I started telling him about your recent activities. Do try and stay out of trouble, will you? On a brighter note, we look forward to seeing the Vandergelts. I'll do my best for Bertie. Much love to all, Nefret