The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (46 page)

"I've had a message from my friend," David said. "We're to meet him at eleven at the Cafe Orientale."

"We?"

"He said I must bring you."

"That sounds like him."

"Will you go?"

"I suppose I
must.
What have you told Lia?"

"As much as I know, which isn't a great deal. He didn't say why he wanted to see us, only that it was important. She's not happy about it, but she said she'd worry less if you were with me."

"Trusting little soul," Ramses said. "Doesn't she know that most of the trouble you've got into was caused by me?"

Lia came up the stairs in time to hear this. "David's as bad as you are," she said. "But there won't be any trouble tonight, will there?"

She looked so sweet and troubled, Ramses wished he
were
brother to a few demons, so he could cast a spell that would send Wardani to Timbuktu and turn David into a sedentary, uxorious scholar.

"Not a chance of it," he said firmly. "Good heavens, Lia, the fellow isn't a killer, he's a—er—a friend of ours. The Cafe Orientale is perfectly respectable. We won't have to go down any dark streets or alleyways to get there."

The last two sentences were accurate, anyhow. The cafe was on the Muski, in the European Quarter. They had been told to sit in the inner room in as dark a corner as they could find. The whole room was dark, lit only by a few hanging lamps, and the air was close and hot and foggy with smoke. By the time they had been waiting for almost an hour, the innumerable cups of coffee Ramses had drunk weren't doing the job; his head felt as if it were coming loose from his body, and his stomach was churning. He should have known the bastard would keep them waiting.

The man who approached them wore the uniform of an Egyptian Army sergeant. He wore it with a swagger, his tarboosh set squarely on the top of his head, his boots gleaming.

"Overdoing it a bit, aren't you?" Ramses asked.

"The panache?" Wardani lowered himself into a chair. "If you read my insignia you will observe I am a long way from my regiment. On leave, of course."

He offered his hands to David. "Accept my felicitations and welcome, my brother. If it had been up to your friend here, we might not have met again."

"He told me," David said.

"He did?" Wardani sounded surprised, and Ramses smiled to himself.

"We too are brothers," David said.

"Then you will be pleased to hear that it was for your brother's sake I summoned you here." He snapped his fingers and ordered coffee from the waiter.

Ramses remained silent. It was David who asked, "What do you mean?"

Wardani waited until the waiter had painstakingly unloaded three glasses of water and three small cups of Turkish coffee. Then he looked directly at Ramses.

"You were seen recently with Thomas Russell."

"No doubt you've already collected the firing squad," Ramses said, trying to conceal his chagrin. He hadn't noticed he was being followed that day. "Why shouldn't I see him? He's a friend of the family."

"A slight acquaintance," Wardani corrected. "And a policeman."

"But Russell's stationed in Alexandria," David said.

"He's been transferred to Cairo—assistant commissioner."

"And you can thank God for it," Ramses said. He took a sip of the coffee and wished he hadn't. "He's an honest man and a good policeman, unlike his present superior. Harvey Pasha is a pompous fool. I knew there was no use going to him with the story you told me. He'd scoff at the idea that a sahib was involved in the drug business. Russell didn't scoff. Mother said he'd offered me a job. She thought he was joking. He wasn't. It's nice to be in such demand. Everybody wants me. Reisner, Fisher, Father, Russell ... Almost everybody."

David put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Get hold of yourself. Are you telling me you are working for Russell—as a police spy?"

"Call it what you like. I'll do whatever I must to find the swine and stop him." David's hand was oddly steadying. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the narrow dark face under the tarboosh. "If you know I saw Russell, you know why. If I succeed you'll hear about it. Why the devil did you drag me here tonight when I could have been more usefully employed?"

"Well, I thought that was the reason," Wardani said calmly. "But some of my people had certain doubts. Watch yourself, Ramses. I believe I've convinced my friends that you mean us no harm, but a few of the lads are a bit hot-headed, and there are others in Cairo who wouldn't mind seeing you out of the way."

"You astonish me," Ramses said. "Now can we go home?"

"No!" David kept his voice low. "Not until I know more about this. What others?"

"The man he's looking for, to mention only one." Wardani lit another cigarette. "He's an effendi and a member of your own superior caste. He may be someone you know. If that's the case, he also knows you, Ramses. I presume you're trying to infiltrate one of the gangs in some disguise or other. All I'm saying is that it had better be a damned good disguise."

"What others?" David repeated inflexibly.

"The man who killed that girl—or perhaps I should say the men who killed those girls." Wardani grinned unpleasantly. "Even mentioning them in the same breath would offend a lot of people, wouldn't it? The whore may have been killed by her pimp or one of her customers, but the American girl didn't jump down that shaft of her own accord. If you weren't—"

"That's enough," David said.

"My dear chap, I'm only trying to help!" Wardani opened his eyes very wide. "But I'd best be on my way. You'll hear from me soon again, David. My respectful salutations to your wife. And to the lovely Miss Forth—who is now, I believe, no longer a miss? Her husband is a fortunate man."

David's hand pressed down on Ramses's shoulder. "We will convey your good wishes."

"Oh, absolutely," Ramses agreed.

"Not to the Honorable Mr. Godwin, though," Wardani said. He looked very pleased with himself, like a student who has come up with the right answer against all the teacher's expectations.

"He's a sahib of sorts, isn't he? He'd be shocked to learn you were acquainted with a reprobate like me." He rose and brushed fastidiously at his tunic. "We mustn't leave together. Stay here for another half hour; drink coffee."

"If I drink any more coffee I'll be sick," Ramses muttered, as the slender, upright figure sauntered toward the door. "Damn the fellow and his insinuations and his arrogance and his—"

"Have tea then, or a narghileh." David snapped his fingers.

"Or a little hashish. It's quite tasty when it's made into sweetmeats. What you do is, you take a quantity of honey—"

"Stop it!" David's voice was soft but it cracked like a whip. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? Wardani covered a number of subjects in a remarkably short period of time. He's usually more verbose. I
am
going to be sick," he added, and lowered his head onto his folded arms.

"Drink your tea," David said. "Then I'll take you home to Lia and we'll put you to bed."

"Yes, fine," Ramses said vaguely. A hand slipped under his forehead and lifted his head.

"You're not drunk," David said, inspecting him. "Or feverish. You're dead-tired, that's all that's wrong with you. No wonder, working all day and prowling the streets all night—or is it the wharves or the desert roads? Talk about arrogance! How long did you think you could keep this up? Here, drink it."

The tea was so hot he could feel blisters rising on his tongue, but he choked some of it down. "That's better," he said in mild surprise.

"Let's get out of here." David put a hand under his arm and hauled him to his feet. "Maybe what you need is a drink. We'll stop at Shepheard's and get a cab from there. And on the way back to the
Amelia
you will tell me exactly what you've done so that
we
can decide what
we
are going to do next."

The night life of Cairo went on till all hours, and the streets of the European section were bright and busy. Lights twinkled in the dark groves of the Ezbekieh Gardens.

"I don't want a drink," Ramses said. "Let's go home."

"All right." David hailed one of the open barouches and they got in. "Well?"

"Well what?"

David slapped him across the face, just hard enough to sting.

"Wake up! I'm not angry yet, Ramses, but I soon will be if you continue to hide things from me. Why did you agree to work for Russell? A girl has been murdered, your mother has been attacked, the family may be in danger, and you are killing yourself trying to track down a man who has nothing to do with... Oh, good Lord! He does, doesn't he? I ought to have known. Talk to me, damn it!"

"Don't hit me again," Ramses mumbled. "I'll talk. I was going to, but you kept yelling at me. Yes. I mean, yes, he does. It's the same man, David. The 'sahib' is using your name too."

In the East an Englishman must be willing to die rather than show a streak of yellow. The courage of a single individual raises the prestige of all; the cowardice of one man reflects on all his peers. I endeavored, in my own humble way, to live up to this standard...

I
sat in the little room I had fitted up as an office, looking out over the garden, now being brought back to its former beauty; and I could not help thinking, with pardonable complacency, of how well our new living arrangements were working. Initially Emerson had objected to the size of the house, but as it turned out we needed all the space at our disposal. Our infantile charge required (in my expert opinion) several rooms, including one for her nurse. The lower areas, which I used for storage of artifacts, were rapidly filling up—not, alas, with statues and stelae like the ones Mr. Reisner had been finding, but with bones and broken vessels of stone and pottery.

Nefret and Geoffrey occupied the entire wing that had once been the harem. They had all the privacy they desired, and so did the other young couple—though Ramses had taken to spending a great deal of time with them. Lately he had spent more nights on the dahabeeyah than at the house. It was none of my business, of course, if they preferred it that way.

I had left my door ajar, and since the room opened onto the main corridor, I heard the tap of heels and was thus able to call out to Nefret when she came along. She had not meant to stop, I believe. Looking in, she began, "I don't want to disturb you, Aunt Amelia."

"Come in." I leaned back in my chair.

"It is almost teatime. I was just going—"

"If you will wait a bit, I will go with you. Where is Geoffrey?"

Realizing that I had caught her fairly, she wandered to the window and stood looking out. There were no mashrabiya screens on this side of the house; the wooden shutters stood open to the warm afternoon air. Her back to me, she said, "He went to see Jack. He is worried about him."

"Why? Ramses says he is behaving normally."

Nefret turned. "Ramses is a damned liar."

"Ramses never lies. However," I admitted, "he is an expert at equivocation. What makes you think he is—er—misleading us about Jack?"

"Jack is behaving oddly again. He refused your last invitation, and he's avoiding other people. Geoffrey says he spends most of his free time prowling the hills with a gun. When he can't find anything else, he shoots jackals."

"Is he drinking?"

Her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug.

"I had better go and see for myself," I said, putting my papers into a neat pile and rising from my chair.

"I was afraid you would say that. Please, Aunt Amelia, don't go rushing off. Geoffrey said he would try to bring Jack here for tea today."

"Very well, I will wait and see if he comes."

Nefret came and stood by my desk. She picked up a sheet of paper and examined it. "Will Ramses be here?"

"I don't know. He's got in the habit of having tea with David and Lia. In fact, I believe he went to the dahabeeyah earlier, as soon as he got back from Giza."

"We haven't seen a great deal of them lately."

"You see them every day at the site," I pointed out. "No doubt they appreciate their time alone together. You know, Nefret, that if you and Geoffrey would prefer to take tea, or any other meals, in your rooms, I would understand perfectly."

"Thank you, but we are both quite happy with things the way they are."

"Nefret..."

"Yes?" She looked directly at me, and the words that had risen to my lips died there. It was as if a door had slammed shut behind her eyes.

"I have been revising my little fairy tale," I said, indicating the paper she held. "What do you think?"

"I'm no expert, Aunt Amelia." She glanced at the page. I had the feeling she had not really looked at it until then.

"On the language? No more am I. What is wanted here is an examination of Sinuhe's motives, and for that one needs not only a profound understanding of human nature but a familiarity with the sometimes oblique terms in which the ancient Egyptians expressed it.

"Everyone assumes that Sinuhe was a member of the conspiracy directed against the rightful heir, and indeed it is hard to conceive of another explanation for his flight and his fear of returning to Egypt. But Sinuhe claims he only learned of the plot by overhearing one of the conspirators talking—at least that is how I interpret a rather enigmatic passage—and that he was so terrified and dismayed, he fled. If that version is correct, he would be guilty of nothing worse than cowardice."

"Obviously it isn't correct," Nefret said. "It's the official version—the diplomatic lie. I think he was in the conspiracy up to his neck, and that what he overheard was a statement by one of Senusert's supporters, to the effect that the new pharaoh was already on his way to claim the throne, that he knew all about the plot, and that the loyalists in the army were about to arrest the guilty parties."

"Hmmm," I said. "Yes, that is also my interpretation. And when, after many years, he begged forgiveness—"

"She
forgave him," Nefret said. She picked up the drawing that I knew was her favorite—the old man sitting at peace in his garden, looking out at the symbols of eternal life. "He had been in the service of the princess, hadn't he? She was now queen. She forgave him because she had loved him, and because she knew how badly he wanted to come home."

The silence that followed was broken only by the soft chirping of sparrows in the tamarisk tree outside the window—until one of Narmer's sudden outrageous howls made Nefret laugh and me swear (under my breath, naturally).

I put my work away and we went to the courtyard. It was Geoffrey who had come in; he was the only one there except for Fatima, who was setting the table for tea.

"Weren't you able to bring him?" I asked.

"Bring who?" inquired Emerson, emerging.

I explained. Geoffrey admitted he had not been able to convince Jack to join us. "Von Bork dropped by while I was there," he added. "I suppose Jack felt he could not abandon a guest."

"You should have asked Karl too," I said.

"Oh, I couldn't presume to do that."

He had presumed to invite Jack, though. I reminded myself that the situation was entirely different, and gestured to Nefret to pour. Geoffrey jumped up, took the cup from her, and carried it to me. "Here you are, Mrs. Emerson."

"Thank you. I think perhaps you ought to start calling me Aunt Amelia, if you would care to."

"May I?" His face lit up. "I hoped I might, but I did not want—"

"To presume," said Emerson, around the stem of his pipe. He said it fairly pleasantly, however, and the dimple in Geoffrey's thin cheek deepened as he glanced from Emerson to me. I gathered he had been warned not to refer to Emerson as Uncle Radcliffe.

"So how is Jack?" I inquired. "Ought I to call on him, do you think?"

"He isn't drinking," Geoffrey said. "At least not to excess. One can't mistake the signs, you know. I would say he is still suffering from melancholia."

"Depression is the modern psychological term," I remarked.

"Peabody," said Emerson, in an ominous growl.

"Yes, my dear, I beg your pardon. I know how you feel about psychology. Call it what you will, Jack is not in a healthy state. We must shake him out of it!"

"I agree," Geoffrey said earnestly. "I tried to persuade him to come with us tonight to the reception at the Agency, but he said he had another engagement."

"I am not going to the Agency," said Emerson, in the same tone in which he would have announced that the sun was due to rise in the east next day.

"Oh, no, sir, I never supposed you would."

Nefret sat immobile, her cup in her hand. "Did you suppose I would?" she asked in a very gentle voice.

"But darling, you said you would!" Geoffrey turned impulsively to her. "Yesterday. Don't you remember? Sir John Maxwell will be there, and you know what influence he wields with the Department of Antiquities. A word in his ear—especially from you—might do great things for the Professor."

"Oh." Nefret put her cup down on the table. "I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention. Are you sure you feel up to it?"

"What is wrong, Geoffrey?" I asked.

"Nothing at all, ma'am. Honestly. I told Nefret she mustn't fuss."

He gave his wife a look of gentle reproach. She flushed. "All right, then."

"Wear your new frock," Geoffrey urged. "The one that has all the colors of the sea off southern Greece. It makes your eyes sparkle like aquamarines. Er—would you care to go with us, Mrs.— er—Aunt Amelia?"

"I suppose you don't need a chaperone," I remarked dryly. "Did you tell Fatima you would not be dining at home?"

"Good heavens, I forgot," Geoffrey said apologetically.

Fatima, passing round a plate of little cucumber sandwiches, hastened to assure him it did not matter. Emerson had been grumbling to himself. "I don't want people fawning on the Department of Antiquities on my account," he announced loudly.

"Someone had better do it," I informed him. "Since you keep antagonizing M. Maspero and you won't let me—"

He interrupted me, of course, and we had a refreshing little discussion.

After tea Nefret and Geoffrey went to change, and Emerson and I proceeded to the nursery. I had been forced to forbid Sennia to join us for tea until Emerson learned to behave himself. Not only did he allow her to eat every biscuit on the plate but he smuggled sweets from the kitchen in his pockets. We had a very enjoyable little interlude, though Sennia kept demanding Ramses, and Emerson had to play lion before she was pacified.

Later we found ourselves a deux at the dining table. The situation was so unusual that at first all we could do was stare blankly at one another.

Emerson burst out laughing. "Alone at last! Good Gad, Pea-body, has it come to this? What the devil are we going to do when they have all gone off and left us?"

"I'm sure you will think of something, Emerson."

"Quite right, my love." He blew me a kiss from the other end of the table. Fatima beamed sentimentally, and Emerson looked embarrassed. "Well, er, as I was about to say, it is a pleasure to have you to myself. We've got a number of things to discuss, Peabody. I say, what's this?" He stared suspiciously at the plate Fatima had put in front of him.

"Deviled beef," I replied. "Rose gave Fatima some of her recipes, and she has been teaching Mahmud."

"Hmph," said Emerson.

Fatima lingered until he had expressed his approval, then trotted out to report success to Mahmud. "It's not bad at all," said Emerson, chewing. "A bit gamier than Rose's."

"A different variety of beef, I expect."

"One would suppose so." Emerson leaned back and fixed me with a solemn stare. "Things are in the deuce of a mess, Peabody."

"They usually are, Emerson."

"True. This time, however, there are too many unrelated things going on. I mean to settle one of them this evening." He took out his watch. "They won't be leaving for a while yet. Finish your dinner, my dear, and we will take coffee with them."

The hideous foreboding that filled me was so familiar it felt almost comfortable. "Good Gad," I exclaimed. "It is Ramses you mean, isn't it? Ramses and David. Leaving for where? What are they up to now? I should have known! Why haven't they told us?"

"I mean to learn the answers tonight," Emerson said placidly. "You must have suspected something yourself, or you wouldn't have leaped to the correct conclusion so quickly. Thank you, Fatima, that was excellent."

Having observed how these matters were managed in England, Fatima was training one of her nephews in the fine art of butling, but he had not yet attained the degree of skill she considered minimal. I doubted he ever would satisfy her; she enjoyed waiting on us herself, and listening to our conversation. When she served the next course I had to force myself to eat, I was in such a state of worried exasperation.

"Of course I was suspicious," I said. "Ramses has taken pains to avoid me, but I know the signs; he looks like an owl, or that falcon Nefret freed, with those dark lines under his eyes. David hasn't been his usual self, either. They are prowling again! At night, in the old city, in their disgusting disguises! Have they found some clue to the forger, do you suppose?"

Fatima had missed my first reference to David. Hearing this one, she let out a little hiss of alarm. I reassured her (not an easy task, since I was in considerable need of reassurance myself) and warned her not to mention the subject to anyone else.

"You do put things in such a melodramatic way," Emerson said critically. "I expect they are—it's not a bad word, actually— prowling again. That is why Ramses has taken to spending his nights on the dahabeeyah."

"Then Lia must know what they are doing."

"David probably swore her to secrecy. And someone else may have sworn him and Ramses to secrecy."

I stared at him in consternation. "Wardani?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? I believe they would have told us if they were on the track of the forger."

"But Emerson, that could be disastrous! Russell warned me that the police were after Wardani, and that David is already on a list of—" I stopped myself, for Fatima was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and the bowl she held quivering violently.

"Put it down before you drop it, Fatima," I said. "I told you there is nothing to worry about. We will see that David is safe. You trust us, don't you?"