Moonlight stretched an inquiring head over the door of her stall; she was accustomed to go where Risha went, and wondered what was happening at this strange hour. Nefret led her out of the stall.
No acrobatics for her tonight, not in a long robe with nothing under it. She used the mounting block, grimacing as her bare thighs gripped Moonlight’s hide, and tucking part of the robe under her.
Moonlight was too adult and well-behaved to prance with anticipation, but as soon as Nefret gave her the word she was off. Hands twisted in the mare’s mane, Nefret let her have her head, knowing she would follow her sire.
The road was in fair enough condition the first part of the way, rising and falling and curving round the hills that rose out of the plain. She was nearing the edge of the cultivation, and the ruined temples that fringed it, before she saw Risha. Ramses had dismounted and was waiting for her. He greeted her with a grin.
“I hate to think what Mother would say about that ensemble, but I rather like the effect of the boots and the bare -”
“Where is Jumana?”
“Gone ahead, on foot.” He gestured, and she saw another horse, the mare that had been assigned to Jumana. “We’d better leave the horses here, too.”
“Thank you for waiting for me.”
“If I hadn’t, you’d have gone thundering by in hot pursuit,” said her husband, lifting her off Moonlight and politely adjusting her skirts. “She doesn’t seem to be aware that she is being followed, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Catch him and put an end to this nonsense once and for all so we can get on with our work. Let’s see if we can get close enough to overhear their conversation.”
The walls of the Rameseum raised shadowy outlines ahead and to their right. The temple was half ruined, but it was in better condition than the tumbled piles of stone and mud brick stretching off to the north – all that remained of the once-proud mortuary temples of other pharaohs. West of Ramses’s temple the ground was broken by extensive brickwork, probably the former storage areas of the temple.
“How are we going to find them in this maze?” Nefret breathed, trying to step lightly.
“Sssh.” Ramses stopped and listened, his head raised. He must have heard something, for he took her arm and led her on, toward one of the piles of rubble. They had almost reached it before Nefret heard the voices.
“You’re late,” Jumana whispered. “Are you well?”
“Did you bring the money?”
“All I could. It isn’t much.”
“It is not enough. I need more. Get it from the Inglizi and bring it to me tomorrow night.”
“Steal from them? No, I will not do that. Jamil, the Father of Curses has said he will help you. Go to him, tell him you -”
“What will the Father of Curses do for me – make me a basket carrier? Why are they at Deir el Medina?”
“Excavating – what do you suppose? They trust me. They are teaching me what I want to know.”
“But they were in the Cemetery of the Monkeys. I thought they meant to work there.”
“You have been spying on them!”
“Watching them,” Jamil corrected. “What is wrong with that?”
“Nothing…” Her voice trailed off. “Jamil, they found the body of Abdul Hassan in the tomb. Did you… It was not you who killed him, was it?”
“It was an accident. He fell.” Jumana’s gasp was loud enough to reach Nefret’s ears, and Jamil realized he had made a mistake. His voice became soft and caressing. “Jumana, I didn’t mean it when I threatened to kill the Brother of Demons. I was frightened and hungry and lonely. I mean no harm to anyone! Dear sister – I know where there is another tomb. It is in the Gabbanat el-Qirud. Do you see how I trust you? All I need is enough money to keep me for a while, until I can sell some of the small objects from the tomb. There is no crime in that. The tombs do not belong to the Inglizi, they belong to us.”
Ramses put his mouth to Nefret’s ear. “I’m going round the back. I doubt he’s armed, but if he is, don’t get in his way.”
He squeezed her shoulder and slid away. A jackal howled in the hills, and the village dogs answered it. Cautiously Nefret shifted one foot and then the other. She could see them now, dark shapes near one of the standing sections of wall. Jamil skulked in the shadow; he was wearing a robe of some muted color, dark blue or brown, but his headcloth showed palely against the mud brick. Jumana’s small form was faintly lit by starlight. She was still arguing with him, trying to convince him to turn himself in, but she was wavering. Jamil no longer made demands, he pleaded and wheedled. He put his arm round her, and she embraced him.
The ground was a bewildering jumble of stone and masonry, of shadow and pallid light, but Nefret could see a path of sorts, winding its narrow and tortuous way from the opening where she stood toward the wall. It was the quickest and easiest way out of the area, but surely not the only one.
“Come again tomorrow night,” Jamil begged. “Even if you cannot bring the money, just so I can see you again. I have missed you.”
“I’ll try,” Jumana whispered. “I have missed you, too, and worried about you. Jamil, please, won’t you -”
“We will talk about it tomorrow.” He freed himself from her clinging arms and moved away, along the path Nefret had seen, toward her.
“Jamil!” Ramses had waited until Jamil was some distance away from his sister. Now he rose into view from behind one of the fallen sections of wall. Even though Nefret had known he was somewhere about, his sudden appearance and clear hail startled her into an involuntary cry. Jamil stopped as if he had been struck, spun round, and let out a much louder cry when he saw Ramses poised atop the rubble, looking – Nefret could not help thinking – like one of the more attractive djinn.
“Don’t move,” Ramses ordered. “We only want to talk to you.”
The boy’s paralysis lasted no more than a second or two. He bolted, with Ramses after him; but he had a clear run, and Ramses had to scramble over the debris that separated him from the path. Nefret stepped out into the open.
“Jamil, stop!” she called. “We won’t hurt you.”
He was ten feet away, close enough for her to see the scarf he had drawn over the lower part of his face. He dropped down, as if he were kneeling, and she thought exultantly, we’ve got him now.
She had no warning. Jamil straightened, and the missile came hurtling toward her. There was only time enough to turn, her arms clasped protectively around her body, so that the stone struck her shoulder instead of her breast. She fell sideways, her other shoulder and hip smashing against the hard unevenness of the ground. The fall knocked the breath out of her and she curled herself up like a hedgehog as Jamil ran past. Ramses must have been hot on his heels; a moment later she felt a touch she could never have mistaken for that of anyone else. She rolled over, into the curve of his arm.
“Go after him,” she panted.
“The hell with him. Lie still. Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere.” She managed a smile. “It’s all right, darling, nothing is broken.”
His answering smile was forced. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“Not about a broken leg.” She let out a yelp of pain as his hand explored her arms and shoulders. “Ow! I’ll have some spectacular bruises, but that’s all.”
She realized then that his were not the only hands she felt. Kneeling, her eyes like dark holes in the small oval of her face, Jumana was straightening her skirt, smoothing it carefully over her calves. It was a useless gesture, but the girl seemed to be in a state of shock.
Not so shocked she couldn’t speak, though. “It was my fault. You might have been struck in the face. He didn’t care if you were hurt. I will go back to my father’s house.”
“No, you won’t.” Ramses lifted Nefret and stood up. “You will follow us, leading Moonlight. You” – he looked down at his wife – “are coming with me, on Risha.”