“It isn’t like Sethos to choose such an inconspicuous role.”
“No, he much prefers to make a spectacle of himself. It would be a coup much to his taste to take over the role of someone as well known as Sahin.”
He looked so chagrined that I felt obliged to offer his vanity a little encouragement. Husbands appreciate these gestures.
“There are some things I don’t understand, though,” I said. “How could Sethos deceive Sahin’s men and his household and even his daughter?”
“Oh, that,” said Emerson, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Sethos has fooled more observant individuals than a handful of dull-witted guards. The girl may have seen very little of her father; I don’t suppose Sahin was the sort of papa who plays games with his children.”
“Well, perhaps I am wrong,” I said handsomely. “Without knowing more about the household than we do, it is impossible to know for certain how he managed it.”
“I don’t know how he managed it,” Emerson admitted. “Or what is behind all this maneuvering. But I have a feeling – yes, my dear, call it a premonition if you like – I have a feeling we will hear from my eccentric – er – acquaintance before too long. And since it appears that far too many people know our identities already, we may as well leave off pretending to be respectable Moslems. What do you say I borrow a bottle of whiskey from one of our chaps?”
“I have considered the advantages and disadvantages of abandoning our masquerade, and in my opinion the advantages outweigh the disadvantages. The people we were trying to keep in the dark already know the truth, and the presence of the famous Father of Curses can only inspire respect from others. However, there is no need for you to borrow anything.” I reached behind the cushions and drew out the parcel I had kept in my personal charge during that long, wearisome journey. It was a large and rather lumpy parcel, as I knew to my sorrow, since I had sat on it most of the way.
“Good Gad!” said Emerson, as I extracted the bottle, which I had wrapped in certain articles of clothing.
“We will have to use plain water or drink it neat, like Cyrus. The gasogene was too large, and fragile besides.”
Emerson’s smile faded. “What else have you got in there?” he asked suspiciously.
“Trousers, shirts, and boots for me and Nefret – you saw them the other day – my knife, and hers – my belt of tools – and -”
“No!” Emerson exclaimed, his eyes bulging.
“You cannot suppose I would venture into danger without it.” I had spread the articles out on the divan. I added my parasol.
Emerson’s lips writhed, but the light of forlorn hope lingered in his eyes. “Please. Tell me it isn’t…”
I took hold of the handle and gave it a twist and a pull. “My sword parasol, yes. The one you were kind enough to give me.”
Emerson reached for the bottle.
We did not see the children again that evening. When they joined us for breakfast, I was pleased to observe that Ramses looked more rested. He was wearing the uniform shirt and trousers, but with the shirt open and his feet bare, the hated military look was diminished. He was in full agreement with my decision that we might as well abandon our disguises.
“I didn’t suppose Mother would stand being confined to the harem for long,” he remarked, selecting a piece of fruit from the tray.
“It is too inconvenient,” I explained. “We were running out of excuses for admitting strange men to our quarters. I haven’t spoken with Selim for days, and in my opinion a council of war is imperative. We must plan our next move.”
“Next move?” Ramses’s eyebrows tilted up at the corners. “Surely that’s obvious. There’s no point in your staying on here.”
The pronoun did not escape me, but I said only, “That is one of the things we must discuss. Let us ask Selim to join us. Perhaps he can find you something else to wear, Ramses. I brought a change of clothing for us, but not for you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nefret drawled. “I like those short trousers. You ought to wear them all the time. Father, too.”
Emerson does have well-shaped lower limbs, but he is rather shy about it. He coughed and looked away. Ramses, less self-conscious than his father, laughed and said, “I ought to return them to their owner, along with the rest of his things. Never mind that now; let’s have Selim up.”
Selim was delighted to accept the invitation. Settling himself comfortably on a cushion, he looked round with an air of approval. “This is good. We have not been able to talk. Now tell me everything. What happened in Gaza, Ramses?”
He had known of Ramses’s safe return – had, in fact, been the first to know, for he had recognized him at once. Ramses had not lingered to chat, being anxious to reassure us, so he had to go over the whole business again for Selim.
“Ah,” said that young man interestedly. “Is she beautiful?”
Everyone laughed, and Ramses repeated what Sahin had said about multiple wives.
“I have not found it so,” said Selim, looking a trifle smug. “She is a brave girl, to take the risk of freeing you. I hope she does not suffer for it.”
“So do I,” Ramses said briefly.
I knew then what I had only suspected before. He meant to go back to Gaza. His mission had not been accomplished, and the fate of that girl would haunt him until he made sure she was safe.
Selim was unable to add anything to our own deductions, such as they were, but he was of the opinion that Ismail Pasha must be Sethos. “So what shall we do now?” he inquired.
“We will wait a day or two for the news of our presence to spread,” replied Emerson. “If Sethos has not communicated with us by then, we’ll go in after him.”
“Father!” Ramses exclaimed.
“Now, my boy, don’t waste your breath. You mean to go; don’t deny it. If my – er – if he is being held against his will, he must be freed. If he has turned traitor – which,” Emerson said grimly, “is seeming more and more likely – he must be taken prisoner by us.”
“Why do you consider it more likely?” I demanded hotly. “You said before -”
“He couldn’t have managed Ramses’s escape if he were a closely guarded prisoner,” Emerson replied, with equal heat. “Don’t try to defend him, Peabody, or I will begin to wonder whether you have got over your -”
“Please, Emerson!”
“Father has the right idea.” Nefret’s quiet voice reminded both of us that we were in danger of getting off the subject. “Traitor or captive, we must get him out of Gaza.”
Ramses turned appalled eyes on her. “What do you mean, we? I admit I didn’t succeed, but that was because Chetwode mucked things up. One person has a better chance than three… four… five… Good God, Father, you can’t -”
“I believe I can,” said Emerson. “More safely than you, Ramses. Do you suppose Sahin won’t have everyone in Gaza looking for a man of your description?”
“But how -”
Emerson held up one hand, demanding silence, and reached with the other into his pocket. “I have another set of papers,” he announced proudly.
They were a good deal more impressive than the first set – spattered with blobs of crimson sealing wax, framed in ornate curlicues, and with quite a lot of gilt. The script was equally ornamental; it looked like Arabic, but I could make nothing of it. I handed the papers to Ramses.
“Turkish,” he muttered. “Father, do you have any idea what this says?”
“No,” said Emerson placidly. “Is there more coffee?”
“But – but -” Ramses ran one hand through his tumbled curls and brandished the papers in front of Emerson’s nose. “Were you planning to use these to get into Gaza? For all you knew, it might be a denunciation of you, or – or somebody’s laundry list!”