The Ape Who Guards the Balance (7 page)

His companions followed him intently. They had not been with the Emersons during their earlier years in Egypt, but both of them knew the stories. “The Adventures of Aunt Amelia,” as Nefret called them, had filled in many an idle hour.

“The majority of them are old enemies,” David remarked, when Ramses had finished. “And some, surely, are out of the picture. Are you suggesting that it wasn’t Sethos, but another former adversary, who attacked her yesterday?”

“No. I’m only considering all the possibilities. Most are, in fact, dead or in prison.” Ramses added with a smile, “Mother made notes.”

“What about the woman who kidnapped me during the hippopotamus affair?”
*
Nefret asked.

“We never knew her name, did we? Another of Mother’s little omissions. However, there were only two women among the most recent additions to the list. Bertha was an ally of the villain in the case we were speaking of the other day, but she came over to Mother’s and Father’s side in the end. So, by a process of elimination, a female designated as Matilda must have been the villainess in the hippopotamus affair. There is no reason to suppose that she has turned up again, after so many years.”

“There’s no reason to suppose any of them have turned up again.” Nefret picked up her gloves. “We must go, it’s getting late. I commend your thoroughness, Ramses, but why look for other villains when we
know
who was responsible for the attack on Aunt Amelia? Sethos has returned! And if the Professor and Aunt Amelia won’t tell us what we need to know to protect her, we are entitled to employ any underhanded method we like.”

:

K
evin’s informant at Scotland Yard served him well. The
Daily Yell
was the first to report my little adventure, which Kevin exaggerated in his usual journalistic fashion. I read the story that evening, after Emerson and I had boarded the train at Victoria. Gargery and his cudgel accompanied Emerson and me. He kept the cudgel concealed until after we had taken our seats, but it was not difficult for me to deduce its presence since he walked so close behind me the cursed thing kept jabbing me in the back. I am as democratic as the next man (or woman) and had no objection to sharing a first-class compartment with my butler, but the presence of Gargery (and the cudgel) had a sobering effect on me.

For Emerson to accept any assistance whatever in looking after me was extraordinary. He was taking the business even more seriously than I had expected. I doubted that Sethos would be bold enough to try again, but if he were so inclined, we would certainly be safer in Egypt than in London. Our loyal men, all of whom had worked for us for many years, would have risked lives and limbs in our defense.

We were not able to leave England quite as soon as Emerson hoped, but in less than a fortnight we stood at the rail of the steamer waving and blowing kisses to the dear ones who had come to see us off. It did not rain, but the skies threatened, and a cold wind blew Evelyn’s veils into gray streamers. Gargery had removed his hat, though I had strictly forbidden him to do so because of the inclement weather. He was looking particularly sulky, for I had refused to allow him to go with us “to look after you and Miss Nefret, madam.” He made the same suggestion every year, and he always sulked when I refused.

Evelyn was trying to smile and Walter waved vigorously. Lia looked like a little effigy of grief, her face swollen with crying. Her distress had been so great Walter had promised that if nothing further occurred, he and Evelyn would bring her out with them after Christmas. As the ribbon of dark water between the ship and the dock widened, she covered her face with a handkerchief and turned into her mother’s arms.

Her visible woe cast a damper over our spirits. Even Ramses seemed downcast. I had not realized he would miss his aunt and uncle so much.

However, by the time the boat approached Port Said, we had got back into our old routine, and anticipation had replaced melancholy. After suspiciously inspecting every passenger, particularly the ones who boarded at Gibraltar and Marseilles, Emerson had relaxed his vigilance, to the visible disappointment of several of the older ladies to whom he had been particularly charming. (The younger ladies were disappointed too, but he had not paid them so much attention because even he admitted Sethos would have some difficulty disguising himself as a five-foot-tall female with smooth cheeks and dainty feet.)

After the usual bustle and confusion on the quay we got our baggage sorted out and boarded the train for Cairo, where our dahabeeyah was moored. These charming houseboats, once the favorite means of Nile travel for wealthy tourists, had been largely replaced by steamers and the railroad, but Emerson had purchased one of them and named it after me because he knew how much I enjoy that means of travel. (And also because we could live on board instead of staying at a hotel while we were in Cairo. Emerson dislikes elegant hotels, tourists, and dressing for dinner.)

I approached the
Amelia
in a far happier frame of mind than I had ever enjoyed after such a prolonged absence. In previous years we had put Abdullah, our reis, in charge of making certain all was in readiness for our arrival. Abdullah was a man. Need I say more?

Among the crewmen waiting to greet us, standing modestly behind them all with her face veiled and her head bowed, was the individual who had replaced Abdullah—his daughter-in-law Fatima.

Fatima was the widow of Abdullah’s son Feisal, who had passed on the previous year. One of his widows, I should say. The younger of his two wives, who had given him three children, had gone compliantly into the household of the man Abdullah selected for her, as custom decreed. Conceive of my amazement, therefore, when Fatima sought me out and asked for my help. She had loved her husband and he had loved her; he had taken a second wife only because she had begged him to, so that he might have the children she could not give him. She did not want another husband. She would work night and day to the limit of her strength at any position I could offer her so long as it enabled her to be independent.

The Reader can hardly doubt the nature of my response. To find a little flame of rebellion, a yearning for freedom—yes, and a marriage as tender and loving as any woman could wish—in an Egyptian woman thrilled me to the core. I consulted Abdullah, as a matter of courtesy, and was pleased to find that although he was far from enthusiastic, he did not forbid the scheme I had proposed.

“What else was to be expected?” he demanded rhetorically. “I do not know what the world is coming to, with the women learning to read and write, and the young men going to school instead of to work. I am glad I will not live to see it. Do as you like, Sitt Hakim, you always do.”

And he went off, shaking his head and muttering about the good old days. Men always grumble, to make women believe they are reluctant about giving in, but I knew perfectly well Abdullah was delighted to be relieved of his housekeeping duties. He never did things the way I wanted them done and he always looked sour when I failed to register sufficient appreciation. Such encounters were very trying for both of us.

Fatima stayed in the background, as was proper, until we had greeted Reis Hassan and the other crewmen. Then I sent the men away so that Fatima could unveil.

She was a little woman, not as tall as I, with the fine, free carriage Egyptian women acquire from carrying heavy loads on their heads. I had taken her to be in her mid-forties, though she had looked older. The face she now displayed wore such a glow of happiness and welcome that her plain features were transformed.

“So, it is well?” I inquired.

“Yes, Sitt Hakim. All is very well.” She spoke English, and my look of surprise made her beam even more broadly. “I study, Sitt, all the days I study, and I wash all thing, all thing, Sitt. Do you come and see, you and Nur Misur.”

“Light of Egypt” was Nefret’s Egyptian name. Knowing how much of a strain it is to carry on a prolonged conversation in a strange language, she said in Arabic, “Fatima, will you sometimes speak Arabic with me? I need the practice more than you need practice in English. How hard you have studied!”

She had done more than study. Every object on the boat that could sparkle or shine did so. The curtains had been washed so frequently they were wearing through in spots. She had sprinkled dried rose petals between the sheets (I looked forward to hearing Emerson’s comments on that). There were vases of fresh flowers everywhere, and rosebuds floated in the water that filled the basins in each bedroom. My praise made her eyes shine, but as Fatima led the way to the saloon, Nefret said out of the corner of her mouth, “We are all going to smell like a bordello, Aunt Amelia.”

“You are not supposed to know that word,” I replied, as softly.

“I know others even less proper.” With a sudden impulsive movement she threw her arms around Fatima, who had stopped to replace her veil, and gave her a hearty hug.

When we entered the saloon a muffled hiss of fury and dismay filtered through Fatima’s veil. In less than a quarter of an hour the men had made a mess of the room. The boys were smoking cigarettes and letting the ashes fall onto the floor. Emerson had heaped papers and books on the table; and a vase (which had probably adorned that object of furniture) had been placed on the floor and kicked over, soaking the oriental rug. Emerson’s coat was draped over the back of a chair. Ramses’s coat lay on the floor.

Fatima darted forward and pushed ash receptacles up against assorted male elbows. Scooping up the battered blossoms she returned them to the vase, collected the discarded garments, and trotted toward the door.

“Oh, er, hmmm,” said Emerson, watching the small black whirlwind warily. “Thank you, Fatima. Very good of you. Excellent job. The place looks . . . Is she annoyed about something, Peabody?”

Emerson’s reaction to the rose petals was not quite what I had expected. He has a very poetic nature, though few besides myself are aware of it.

•

Three

•

          
(iii)
    
From Manuscript H

“Y
ou look absolutely disgusting,” Nefret said admiringly.

“Thank you.” Ramses added another boil to his neck.

“I still don’t see why you won’t take me with you.”

Ramses turned from the mirror and sat down on a stool in order to slip his feet into his shoes. Like his galabeeyah, they were of expensive workmanship but sadly scuffed and stained—the attire of a man who can afford the best, but whose personal habits leave a great deal to be desired. He stood up and adjusted the belt that held his heavy knife. “Are you ready, David?”

“Almost.” David was also dirty, but not so afflicted with skin eruptions. An imposing black beard and mustache gave him a piratical air.

“It’s not fair,” Nefret grumbled.

She was sitting cross-legged on the bed in Ramses’s room, stroking the cat whose sizable bulk filled her lap.

The cat in question, Horus by name, was the only one they had brought with them that season. Anubis, the patriarch of their tribe of Egyptian cats, was getting old, and none of the others had formed an attachment to a particular human. Horus was Nefret’s—or, as Horus’s behavior made clear, Nefret was his. Ramses suspected Horus felt the same about Nefret as he did about his harem of female cats; he abandoned her as cavalierly as Don Juan when he had other things on his mind; but when he was with her, no other male was allowed to approach—including Ramses and David.

Horus was the only cat Ramses had encountered whom he thoroughly disliked. Nefret accused him of being jealous. He was—but not because Horus preferred her. Since the death of his beloved Bastet, he had no desire to acquire another cat. Bastet could not be replaced; there would never be another like her. The reason why he was jealous of Horus was much simpler. Horus enjoyed favors he would have sold his soul to possess, and the furry egotist didn’t even have the grace to appreciate them.

Years of painful experience had taught Ramses it was best to ignore Nefret’s provocative speeches, but every now and then she got past his defenses, and the smirk on Horus’s face didn’t improve his temper.

“You are the one who is being unfair,” he snapped. “I tried, Nefret—give me that. You know the result.”

One night the previous winter he had spent two hours trying to turn her into a convincing imitation of an Egyptian tough. Beard, boils, skin paint, a carefully constructed squint—the more he did, the more absurd she looked. David had finally collapsed onto the bed, whooping with laughter. As Ramses struggled to keep his own face straight, Nefret had turned back to the mirror, inspected herself closely, and burst into a fit of the giggles. They had all laughed then, so hard that Nefret had to sit down on the floor holding her stomach and Ramses had to pour water over his head—to keep himself from snatching her up into his arms, beard, boils and all.

Seeing the corners of her mouth quiver in amused recollection he went on in the same brusque voice. “Mother will be back from that party at the Ministry before we return, and she may take a notion to look in on her dear children. If she finds
us
gone she’ll lecture me long and loud in the morning, but if
you
are missing too, Father will skin me alive in the morning.”

Nefret acknowledged defeat with a rueful grin. “One of these days I will convince him he mustn’t hold you accountable for my actions, as if you were my nursemaid. You can’t control me.”

“No,” Ramses said emphatically.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll tell you if you promise not to follow us.”

“Confound you, Ramses, have you forgot our first law?”

David had proposed the rule: No one was to go off on his (or her) own without informing one of the others. Ramses had been in wholehearted agreement with the idea insofar as it pertained to Nefret, but she had made it clear that she would not conform unless they did too.

“I don’t expect to run into any trouble tonight,” he said grudgingly. “We are only making the rounds of the coffee shops in the old city to learn what has been going on since last spring. If Sethos is back in business, someone will have heard rumors of it.”