“Mishap? What’s got into you, Robert? You knew something was amiss and yet you went wandering off to gawk out the window. That bit with the rifle serves you right.”
“It was a musket, and I was only looking at it—until you tried to rip my ear off. I hope no one was injured when the damn thing fired. Do you have any idea who was out there? Napoleon! Yes, he was riding behind a column of French Guardsmen, and I have little doubt that those soldiers thought we were shooting at them. If someone was hit, it could have caused a major transformation. Let that be a lesson to you, my dear miss outcomes and consequences.”
Maeve just folded her arms and gave him a smoldering look. Then it occurred to her that they were still there. They weren’t being pulled back to the Arch complex in Berkeley. Whatever had caused the brief misfire was still plaguing the mission.
Nordhausen’s next remark seemed to vocalize her own thoughts. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the Spook Job thing has a limited duration, right?” He fidgeted, looking around as if he was waiting for an overdue train. “Well,” he breathed heavily, “we’re here for good, I think.”
“Right,” Maeve agreed. “Something went wrong. We’re here for good.” There was very little enthusiasm in her tone, and the thought of what she was saying suddenly struck her. What if something really did go wrong and they could no longer get home? Where were they, exactly? Was Nordhausen correct in assuming they were back on the original target date?
At that moment the landscape about them was bathed in the bright yellow light of a rising sun. Brilliant shades of ochre and orange chased long shadows from the trees, and the sky took on a wonderful shade of azure blue. Sea birds wheeled above them, calling through the light morning mist.
“Dawn,” said Robert. “That’s a good sign. We were supposed to arrive just a few minutes before sunrise on the 14th. “
“So it seems,” said Maeve.
They stood in silence, taking in their surroundings. They were standing in the lee of a sandy dune, and Maeve saw that a thin track led away in both directions, just a few yards off. “The road to Alexandria?” she looked to the professor for confirmation and he nodded his agreement.
Maeve waited, looking this way and that, while the professor watched her with a half amused expression on his face. He looked like an English barrister who had caught a serving wench pilfering something in the streets.
“Well?” he asked, eyebrows raising in a smug expression.
“Well what?”
“Do we just stand here and wait for Kelly to pull us out, or does my lady give her leave for a bit of a stroll?” He pointed toward the sound of the ocean. “That would be north, I suppose. So, if we head east we should come up on the outskirts of Rosetta in no time at all.” He made a grand gesture, infusing the movement with all the politeness he could muster, but it was clear that he was enjoying Maeve’s discomfiture. “Unless of course you wish to insist we stay put. In that case we can just stand here for another forty-eight hours until the final retraction scheme kicks in.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Maeve flashed him a look that made it evident she was on to his little game. “Very well,” she took a deep breath and looked past Nordhausen’s grin to the east. At that moment she seemed to pale with fright, and pointed down the winding road with an unsteady hand.
The professor looked to see the source of her anxiety. A group of horsemen were riding hard, the dull thump of the horse’s hooves on the earth now apparent. “Oh my,” he said. “Unexpected company.”
“What do we do?” Maeve gave him a wide eyed look.
Nordhausen scratched the side of his ear, still feeling the twinge where Maeve had pinched him a moment ago, a year ago…
“Well we certainly can’t outrun them—not with you in those skirts and all. Besides. They look French. I say we stand where we are. Running would only arouse undue suspicion.”
“Damn,” Maeve cursed. “I’m… I’m not ready yet, Robert. What if—”
“Nonsense,” Robert cut in. “You say you can manage a bit of French, eh? Just stick to your story. We’re Americans… Off that damned ship—what was it?”
“The Perla,” said Maeve.
“Right. Well stick to your story and everything should be fine.”
“Oh, they don’t look friendly…” The riders were coming too fast, with an urgency that seemed out of place. One man, a heavy set figure in the lead, was pointing at them now. The morning breeze lifted his long gray cape behind him as he rode. Then Maeve heard him shout, and point directly at them.
“Voila!” The riders wheeled and reined in hard. There were two French cavalrymen in dark blue uniforms, and the man in gray, who gave them both an odd, expectant look. “Bonjour, Monsieur… Madame.” He nodded his head in a polite bow.
One of the soldiers spoke to the man in gray, his voice stern and demanding. Maeve listened, mentally translating as best she could. ‘These are the people you seek?’
“Certainement! Mercí, Capitain.” The man in gray smiled broadly, the early morning light highlighting the rouge of his full cheeks, his dark eyes glinting with excitement. “Mercí.” He was nodding his thanks to the two French soldiers, and speaking to them now, in a lowered tone of voice.
“Très bien.” The soldiers steadied their mounts, and one gave Robert and Maeve a long stare, somewhat suspicious from the look in his eye. “Américain, e?”
Maeve realized he was speaking to them, but the nature of the question took her by surprise. How could this man know they were Americans? A gentle nudge by Nordhausen prompted her to speak.
“Pardonnez-moi, mon Capitan.” She was quick to gather her wits, and effected a polite curtsy, as she knew she should. “Excusez mon français. Je ne parle qu’un petit peu de français. Est-ce qu’il y a quelqu’un qui parle anglais? Does anyone speak English?”
“I believe I can assist in that regard.” The man in gray gave her a gracious bow, introducing himself. “May I present myself as someone you should both know quite well—if I make my point clear enough.” He gave the two soldiers a sideward glance as he spoke, and his manner made it obvious that he was trying to convey some urgency. “Call me LeGrand. And do act like you’ve known me for some time. These gentlemen are quite busy, I’m afraid, and I should dearly love to send them on their way without further incident.”
Robert and Maeve just stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. Nordhausen’s eyes narrowed beneath the curls of his white wig and he was about to ask how this man could have possibly known they were Americans. Something in LeGrand’s manner spoke of caution, however, and so instead he opted for discretion.
“Why of course, monsieur LeGrand,” he began, eying his concern at Maeve.
“Docteur, LeGrand,” Maeve corrected him. She had quickly surmised that something was very odd about all this, but her instinct for caution needed no encouragement. It occurred to her that this man must be one of the Savants who accompanied the French on their mission to Egypt. In that case, it was more than likely that he would be a professional, or at least highly degreed.