The Buried Pyramid (54 page)

“Like he’d broken his back?” Stephen replied with immediate understanding. “Not that I saw.”

Jenny bent to peel back Rashid’s eyelid and felt tiny cold fingers on her arm. Mischief the monkey chattered an anxious question.

“I don’t know,” she said, “and I won’t if you keep bothering me.”

The monkey left her and scampered to Rashid’s other side, his little old man’s face wrinkled with concern. He watched with anxious patience as Jenny bathed Rashid’s face and neck with cool water.

“Stephen?” she said. “Can you keep doing this while I go look at Eddie’s elbow and give Mrs. Syms something for the pain in her shoulder?”

Stephen nodded. “Captain Brentworth is taking care of Lady Cheshire. Should I ask whether he needs assistance?”

Jenny felt a completely ignoble desire to refuse. After all, Rashid had been only a servant, and Sarah Syms little more. Those two, however, had plotted against Uncle Neville’s plans and had brought them to this impasse. She nodded stiffly.

“Do, but don’t forget Rashid.”

Stephen’s expression made quite clear he shared her internal battle. “I won’t, but surely we’re all in this together now.”

Jenny managed an unconvincing smile before she moved away. Eddie’s elbow was indeed badly swollen, but she had seen enough similar injuries to know how to wrap it.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “It’s your left arm.”

Eddie grinned. “No sick leave for me, doctor?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Tell me, do you think Rashid would be angry if I gave him a little brandy? I mean, I know that Mohammedans aren’t supposed to drink spirits, but it might help him come around.”

“I don’t think the provision applies for medical use,” Eddie said, “but you can be safe. We have whiskey with us. The rule is against wine and beer. Technically, spirits are all right, though most mullahs say that had Mohammed known about them, he would have outlawed them as well.”

Jenny checked his bandage and sling, then mixed Eddie a draught. “It’ll help with the pain. Not as much as I’d like, I’m afraid. I don’t dare let you get fuddled.”

“I saw Mrs. Syms after she finished what you gave her,” Eddie agreed. “She’s not quite there, is she?”

“That wasn’t from what I gave her,” Jenny said, worriedly. “She was like that when she came around. She seems to think she’s in England.”

“Mind snapped,” Eddie said. “I’ve seen it happen before, during battle. Sometimes the mind comes back when the pressure is off.”

“I hope so,” Jenny said.

She looked around, and spotted Uncle Neville determinedly limping about, inventorying the gear that had fallen with them. It looked like he was dividing it into trash and what might still be useful. Eddie pushed himself upright.

“I’ll go help Neville,” he said.

Jenny went back to check on Rashid. He hadn’t regained consciousness, but his breathing had become more regular. Again she sniffed his lips, found his breath as sweet as that of any young creature. For the first time, she was conscious of him as a young man, and was glad the candlelight hid her blush.

“See if you can get Rashid to swallow a little water,” Jenny suggested to Stephen. “Just a little. We don’t want to choke him. Later, if he needs a stimulant, we’ll give him a bit of whiskey.”

By way of reply, Stephen reached for his canteen. Reluctant to go to where Captain Brentworth hovered over Lady Cheshire, Jenny paused.

“Do you need anything, Stephen? I have some powders that will help with stiffness and pains.”

“Later,” he said. “After all, if we can’t find a way out of here, my bruises will hardly matter, will they?”

Jenny had been trying very hard not to think about how trapped they were. She hadn’t inspected their prison, but from what she could see, they were at the bottom of a very deep well, its sides cut from the living rock.

“Take it anyhow,” she said, offering a dose on a folded slip of paper. “If we do find a way out, those of us who are sound are going to need to give everything we have.”

Then, her own words a rebuke in her ears, Jenny crossed over to Brentworth and Cheshire.

“Captain Brentworth, Lady Cheshire,” Jenny greeted them, taking refuge in formality that was surely absurd considering the situation. “Are you injured?”

Captain Brentworth shook his head.

“Just banged up a bit, scraped on the sand. Audrey, though . . . She’s bleeding terribly.”

Lady Cheshire’s skin looked very white in the candle light.

“I seem to have a bad cut along my arm,” she admitted, “and to have banged my head rather hard. It aches terribly. How is Sarah? And Rashid?”

Jenny reached for the arm Lady Cheshire held so guardedly, feeling the other woman fight the impulse to pull it back.

“Not well,” Jenny replied, knowing she was being cruel, but unable to stop herself. “Rashid won’t wake, and Mrs. Syms has lost her mind. She also broke her collarbone in the fall. She seems to believe she is in England, and keeps talking to someone named Nathan.”

“Her late husband,” Lady Cheshire said softly. “Poor woman. Wrap my wrist up, won’t you, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’ll do her no favors bringing her back to this,” Jenny said, indicating their prison with a toss of her head. “Perhaps now that I’m here to hold your hand, Captain Brentworth could help Uncle Neville check our situation.”

Captain Brentworth drew himself up, then let out his breath in a great, gusty sigh. Jenny thought he was probably in more pain than he was admitting, but was being strong for Lady Cheshire. That would probably be better than any medicine she could give him.

“Quite right. I ought not need to be told my duty by a slip of a girl. If you will excuse me, Lady Cheshire?”

“Of course, Robert.”

Lady Cheshire turned her head to watch him go, or perhaps merely to keep from watching Jenny work on her wounded arm. The skin was badly abraded, and needed to be daubed with water and alcohol before it was wrapped.

“You’re lucky not to have a break,” Jenny said. Then she forced herself to be kinder. “We’re all lucky. The sand isn’t soft, but it gave a little when stone would not have done so.”

“Rashid is the only one still unconscious?” Lady Cheshire asked. “Good. And everyone can walk?”

“Uncle Neville’s ankle is swollen again,” Jenny said, “but he can manage with someone to lean on. We may even be able to rig a crutch, if he didn’t bring his other one into the chamber.”

“Other one?”

“He twisted the ankle earlier,” Jenny said, “trying to find water. Stephen nearly died from dehydration. We didn’t have your advantages.”

Lady Cheshire neither acknowledged, nor ignored the rebuke.

“I am certain that is so,” she said.

“Jenny,” Stephen called. “Rashid is coming around.”

“I’m almost done here,” Jenny said. “Don’t let him move until I’ve had a chance to check him over.”

She hurried then, her animosity forgotten in this new demand for her skills. “There,” she said, finishing the bandage on Lady Cheshire’s arm. “I can give you a stronger dose that will deaden the pain, but it will make you sleepy, or I can give you a weaker powder that will blunt the edge of the pain, but not take it away.”

“The weaker powder, please,” Lady Cheshire said. “I think I should have my wits about me . . . for dealing with Sarah.”

Jenny wasn’t sure that was what the other woman had meant, but she was willing to let the matter go. After all, as Stephen had said, if they couldn’t get out of here, what did these aches and pains matter? They might all end up choosing drugged oblivion.

Rashid was indeed awake, but his pupils remained dilated, even when she brought the candle close.

“His brain has been bruised,” Jenny said, “but he is young and strong. We must watch him carefully. He must not sleep lest he slip into a coma. Do you understand me, Rashid?”

The Arab youth nodded gravely. He bent his head into his hand.

“Your head hurts?” Jenny said. “I imagine it does. We can’t give you anything very strong, though. Drink lots of water, that will help.”

Rashid nodded again, moving his head very carefully. Jenny had him shut his eyes and touched his skin at various points, assuring herself that he had not injured his spine, for sensation was often lost when the spine was injured. However, Rashid’s spine seemed uninjured. Indeed, barring the concussion, he was in far better health than many of the others.

“Young flesh,” Neville said when he limped over to get Jenny’s report. “You children bounced, us old folks broke.”

“I thought you told me you weren’t that old,” Jenny teased, pleased to find her uncle in such good humor when by rights—betrayed, trapped, and injured—he might have despaired.

Maybe it’s true that a challenge brings out the best in some people,
she thought.

“Right now,” Neville said, continuing in his teasing vein, “I feel old as Methuselah, yet as young as springtime.”

“What do you mean?” Stephen said. “That sounds like a riddle.”

“My body feels old,” Neville replied, “but my spirits have lifted. Eddie and I carried one of the candles around the edges of the room and in one place the flame brightened and flickered.”

“You mean . . .” Jenny said.

“That’s right,” Sir Neville confirmed. “We think we’ve found a door.”

Neville had put on a bright face for his young charges, but he was less certain than he pretended that they had found a way out. The door might lead to another shaft. It might be a false door—tombs were replete with these. However, Eddie had been encouraging.

“Neville,” he’d said. “There’s not nearly enough sand in here to account for several millennia of those villains dropping victims down here. No bones, either, though those could have been covered by the sand from our own fall. Still, I’m willing to bet that there is another, less dramatic, way down here—a maintenance stair—and that this door likely leads to it.”

“Stephen,” Neville said, shaking himself from memory, “if Jenny no longer needs your assistance, I was wondering if I could borrow you. You have a gift for solving puzzles, and it seems that opening this door offers us one.”

Stephen looked at Jenny.

“I’m done,” she said. “I’ll sit with Rashid, unless you need me, Uncle Neville.”

“Sit with him, by all means,” Neville replied.

And to think I nearly left her behind,
he thought.
My field medicine wouldn’t have been up to this—nor would Eddie’s.

Even if you both hadn’t,
his sardonic inner voice added,
ended up pretty broken up yourselves.

Neville ignored this. His ankle might feel like fire, the shoulder he’d wrenched was stiffening alarmingly, and his muscles felt as if he’d been kicked by a dozen mules, but he had something that needed doing. He knew that part of the reason for the intensity of his concentration was that he was trying to avoid thinking about Lady Cheshire’s duplicitous nature—and the fact that despite this confirmation of their worst suspicions, his admiration for her had not entirely faded. She had been clever, quick-witted, and very brave. How could she know she was hiring men more dishonest than she was?

“When we brought light over to the walls,” Neville explained to Stephen, “we realized two things instantly. One, there are sections of the wall that are built from blocks, not cut from bedrock. Two, someone went to the trouble to decorate the walls. That seemed curious, especially if the entire setup was only intended as a trap.”

Eddie, now within earshot, added, “That’s what made Neville suggest we hold the candle close and see if we found any motion in the air. It was a long shot, but . . .”

He shrugged, holding a candle up in his good hand. “Take a look.”

Stephen accepted the candle Eddie handed him. First he held it back, inspecting the entire section of wall, then he brought it close, so he could look at the art in more detail.

Neville cleared his throat and pointed to a section of the wall. “After we started our inspection,” he said, “we noticed that at this spot the edges of the blocks were very neatly aligned. You see? Here, and here—the outline of a door. Elsewhere they are stacked interlocked.”