“Yes, my dear.” I rubbed my stinging cheek.
“He wouldn’t have approached her as Ismail Pasha. It would have been an unnecessary risk. He disguised himself as someone else… and I know who.”
“Well, so do I.”
“Confound it,” Emerson shouted, removing his arm and fixing me with an evil glare. “You’re doing it again! You always claim you -”
“But, my dear, it is obvious.”
“Oh? Then you tell me. Or shall we play our old game, each of us writing the answer and sealing it in an envelope?”
We had played this little game often, and I will admit, in the pages of my private journal, that I had maneuvered Emerson into committing himself first on certain occasions when I was not entirely certain of my conclusions. On this occasion I did not hesitate.
“Why, my dear, I think we are past that childish sort of competition. I will be happy to tell you. He disguised himself as Sahin Pasha.”
Emerson let out a whoop of laughter. He sobered almost at once, however, and began stroking his beard. “Really, Peabody, that is deuced ingenious. But… No, it is impossible. What led you to that remarkable deduction?”
“Your turn next,” I said playfully. “Whom did you suspect?”
“I need my pipe,” Emerson muttered. “What did you do with it?”
I hadn’t done anything with it. Muttering to himself, Emerson rummaged through his voluminous garments until he located the thing and his tobacco pouch. I helped him to light the pipe, keeping a wary eye out for sparks in his beard.
“Well,” said Emerson, settling back onto the divan and puffing away with enjoyment. “Where were we?”
“You were about to tell me whom you suspected of being Sethos.”
The comfort of his beloved pipe had given Emerson new courage. “The servant,” he said decidedly.
“The fellow who brought the tea? It was drugged, Emerson.”
“Well, of course. It would have been a dead giveaway for him to ignore his master’s orders. People don’t look at servants,” Emerson went on. “And Sahin had borrowed the house and, one must suppose, the staff from someone else.”
“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.”