"Then there's nothing we can do but wait," Nefret muttered.

"That's how I see it. I may as well go back to work for a few hours. Let me know if they turn up."

Nisrin put a cautious head out the door. Emerson, who hadn't noticed her before, gave her an affable smile. Emboldened, she ventured out. "Nur Misur, there is a sick one who has come back. And this message."

"From Ramses?" Emerson asked expectantly.

"No." The curving, ornate handwriting was unfamiliar. Nefret ripped the envelope open. "It's from Dr. Khattab-Mrs. Fitzroyce's physician. Justin is ill. He asks if I will have a look at the boy."

"I will go with you."

"That's silly," Nefret said impatiently. "What possible harm could come to me in broad daylight, with hundreds of people around? I'll deal with my patient-it's probably that old hypochondriac Abdulhamid wanting more sugar water-and be back in a few hours."

By the time she set out for Luxor she was in a calmer frame of mind. Ramses couldn't be in serious trouble; she would know, as she had always known, if danger threatened him. She would have a few words to say to him when he got back, though, on the subject of promises broken and trust betrayed; but in a way she didn't blame him. His mother was an elemental force, as hard to resist as a sandstorm.

As Nefret approached the Isis she saw signs of unusual activity and deduced that the dahabeeyah was preparing to get underway. The doctor was waiting for her at the head of the gangplank, his hat in his hand. His waistcoat was particularly resplendent, glittering with gold threads. "My dear lady, how good of you to come." He grasped her hand and would have kissed it had she not pulled it away.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"A fever." The broad smile with which he had greeted her was replaced by a worried frown. "I have tried without result to bring it down. Our departure is imminent, as you have no doubt observed, but it will take several days to reach Cairo, and my mistress wants to be sure all possible ways of relieving the boy are taken before-"

She cut him off. "Then let's not waste time talking. Take me to him."

"To be sure. Follow me."

He indicated the shadowy pa.s.sage that led between the cabins to the saloon. The doors lining it were closed, so that the only light came from the open entrance through which they had come.

"After you," said the doctor, bowing. "It is the last door on the right."

His vast shadow enveloped her, and a hand took her by the elbow as if to guide her steps. He was close behind her, she could hear his quick breathing, and she stopped, resisting the pressure on her arm, seized with sudden panic. Too late. His arm gripped her, pinning her arms, and his hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled, but he had her in a hold that was impossible to break, the great bulk of his body as impervious to blows as a feather bed, the big fat hand covering half her face. She kicked back. Pain shot up her ankle as her heel slammed into his shin, and with a grunt of annoyance he pinched her nose shut, cutting off the last of her breath. Her darkening vision swam with purple and green lights and her legs gave way. When he took his hand from her face she could only gasp, sucking in air, while he opened one of the doors and pushed her into the room beyond. She fell to hands and knees. The door slammed, leaving her in total darkness.

Nefret rolled over onto her back and lay still for a time, getting her breath back and trying, not so successfully, to get her thoughts in order. She had made a bad mistake, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was what they meant to do with her-and how she could prevent it.

A wry smile touched her bruised lips. She had found her mother-in-law's gang, and by the method favored by that estimable lady. How many of them were involved? The entire crew, almost certainly; the doctor couldn't take her captive without their knowledge. It was possible that the boy and his grandmother were unwitting dupes, used by a group of criminals for their own purpose. Neither of them was mentally competent. Maryam was not incompetent, though, and she was her mother's daughter.

The floor under her vibrated more strongly as the beat of the engines increased. Khattab hadn't lied about that. The boat was getting underway. She started to stand up, and then made herself remain on her knees. She had no idea how large the room was, how high the ceiling. The blackness was palpable, she could almost feel it pressing against her eyeb.a.l.l.s, her face, her body. The air was hot and close with a strange metallic tang. Fighting the temptation to close her eyes and curl up into a fetal position, she edged forward, arms extended.

She had found a wall and was following it, trying to get some idea of the dimensions of her prison, when the door was flung open. Even that much light was welcome after the claustrophobic darkness, but she couldn't see much, for the opening was blocked by several bodies. The doctor's familiar, hateful voice said, "A companion for you, my dear lady, and a patient as well."

Justin, was her first thought. But there were two men carrying the limp body. They dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor and backed away as Nefret flung herself down beside Emerson, sinking her teeth into her lower lip to keep from crying out. His eyes were closed and one side of his face was smeared with blood.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," she gasped. "What have you done to him?"

"Such language from a lady," the doctor said with a high-pitched giggle. "I regret the necessity, but he is as hard to stop as a charging elephant. I don't believe he is seriously injured. Take care of him."

"Wait," Nefret said desperately. The door was closing. "I need light-water-my medical bag . . ."

"You surely don't expect me to hand over that bag with its nice little collection of scalpels and probes." Another giggle. G.o.d, she thought, the man is as mad as Justin. Madder. He's reveling in this.

"Please," she whispered.

"I suppose I could leave you a lamp," the doctor conceded. "There is water here. You will have to manage with that until we can make other arrangements. We weren't expecting him, you see."

He issued a low-voiced order in Arabic. One of the men put the lamp down on the floor. The door closed.

Nefret looked wildly round the room. There was a jar, presumably containing water, in one of the corners she had not reached in her blind exploration, and a crude clay cup next to it. She didn't look for anything else. Splashing water into the cup, she wet her handkerchief and went back to Emerson.

"Father. Father, please say something," she whispered.

The blood came from a single cut, which had bled profusely, as scalp wounds do. Her fingers probed the spot, finding only a rising lump. Anxiety hardened her touch, and Emerson stirred.

"h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation," he remarked.

"It's me, Father." She heard herself laugh, as insane a sound as the doctor's. "Oh, Father, are you all right?"

"I am," said Emerson, flat on his back and scowling like a gargoyle, "a b.l.o.o.d.y fool. Rushing in where angels fear to tread. Peabody will never let me hear the end of this. Nefret, my dear, are you crying? Don't cry. I can't stand it when you cry. Did they hurt you?"

"No. I'm sorry, Father, I'm just so relieved that you aren't . . ."

"Takes more than a b.u.mp on the head to kill me," said Emerson with satisfaction. "I am the one who should apologize. I walked right into it, like a rabbit into a snare, and now they've got both of us. What sort of place is this? Let's have a look."

"Don't move yet." Her handkerchief was saturated. She threw it aside and began unb.u.t.toning her blouse.

"Time to tear up some extraneous garment or other," said Emerson coolly. "Not your garments, though, your mother would not approve. My shirt. It's too cursed hot in here anyhow."

She bandaged the cut, but Emerson refused a drink. "Better not. It may be drugged. Let us see what we have here."

He got to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on the wall as the boat dipped. "They were prepared for you," he said, looking round. "Or for someone. This isn't a stateroom, it's a prison."

The small room had been stripped of all furnishings except a piece of matting, six feet long and several feet wide, the water jar, and another, larger vessel. The windows were covered with heavy boards. The nailheads, fresh and unrusted, shone in the light.

"They might have left an airhole," said Emerson, running his hands over the boards. "Have you anything we could use to prize up these nails?"

Nefret shook her head. Emerson unfastened his belt. "Not strong enough," he said, examining the buckle. "But we may as well give it a try. Tell me what happened. Did you see the boy or the old lady?"

"No." She knew what he was doing-keeping her mind active and her hopes up, and, at the same time, searching for some clue that would help them. "The d.a.m.ned doctor met me and brought me straight here. Justin and Mrs. Fitzroyce may not know what is going on, but Maryam must. The attacks on her are the extraneous parts of the pattern. They were staged. She stabbed poor Melusine herself, with a heavy needle or a nail."

"Hmmm." The metal rasped like a file as he dug away the wood around one of the nailheads. "But what about the second appearance of Hathor?"

"Perhaps she hired some local girl to play the part. That incident was designed to provide her with an unbreakable alibi." Nefret sat down cross-legged on the mat. There was nothing she could do but watch, and as her eyes moved over the impressive form of her father-in-law her spirits lifted. It did take more than a knock on the head to kill Emerson, or discompose him for long. He began to hum under his breath. She recognized the melody, though it was horribly off-key. " 'She never saw the streets of Cairo; she never saw the kutchy-kutchy . . . ' Curse it," said Emerson. He tossed the broken buckle aside and sat down beside her.

Nefret wrapped both hands around his upper arm and laid her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm not glad you're here, Father, but there's only one other man on earth I'd rather have with me."

"Well, now," said Emerson self-consciously. "Not my ingenious brother?"

"He's good," Nefret conceded. "But he's not you. Or Ramses."

"He's charming, though," Emerson said gloomily. "I'm not."

"I think you are."

"Your mother doesn't."

"Father, that's not true." She squeezed his arm, comforted by the feel of the hard muscles under her hands and by his monumental calm.

"I've been behaving like a boor," Emerson muttered. "Ever since he arrived. He brings out the worst in me. And rouses the direst of suspicions."

At first she thought he was referring to his long-held jealousy of his brother. Then she let out a gasp. "He can't be a party to this."

"I wish I could be sure. Nefret, that little girl cannot have planned this business, it's too devilish and too complex. There's someone else behind it, and some motive stronger than revenge for a long-past death."

"What?"

"It is a fatal error," said Emerson, obviously quoting, "to speculate without sufficient data. We've quite a bit of data, though. Speculation helps pa.s.s the time."

"Is that what you and Mother do when you're shut up in a place like this?"

"Generally we argue about whose fault it was." Emerson chuckled as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Come, my dear girl, think. What motive leaps to mind where Sethos is concerned? What was he doing in Jerusalem? Not working for the War Office, Smith made that clear. Someone gave him a beating, which I do not doubt he well deserved-because he had tried to interfere with their business arrangements? Since the war, Palestine and Syria have become a paradise for looters and tomb robbers. What is in that room at the Castle, neatly packed and ready to be transported?"

It hit her like a blow in the stomach. "The treasure. Good Lord! No, I don't believe it."

"Lacau will arrive tomorrow and load the cases onto the steamer," Emerson said, inexorably logical. "It won't take him long. He'll go straight back to Cairo. The Isis is a modern vessel with a large crew-easily large enough to overpower the guards on the government steamer and unload the cargo. There is unrest in Egypt because of the arrival of the Milner Commission. The theft of the treasure will be put down to radicals."

"They'll have to kill the witnesses," she said numbly. "And sink the steamer."

"Not necessarily. Sethos is not a violent man. But there is no one better equipped to get a load like that into the marketplace."

The lamplight flickered. Their shadows rushed back and forth, as if frantic to escape. She felt his lips brush her hair, and then he gently detached her hands and got to his feet. "If Sethos is the ringleader, you've nothing to fear. He wouldn't harm you. Better get hold of that lamp before it falls over. We are picking up speed."

The motion of the ship was more p.r.o.nounced. Emerson began going through his pockets. "Went off without my coat," he said, removing a handful of motley objects and inspecting them. "No pipe, no tobacco-and no matches."

"No gun, no knife," said Nefret, trying to emulate his coolness.

"They overlooked these." Emerson picked half a dozen nails out of the mess and shoved the rest of it back in his trouser pocket. "Did they search you?"

It came back to her then, the sensation of hands moving over her body. Big, fat hands. She grimaced. "Superficially. He was looking for a weapon. I didn't have one."

"Take these." Emerson handed her three of the nails. "And hide them. Not in your pocket; they may decide to search you again." He went back to the window and began sc.r.a.ping. "That fellow spoke of other arrangements," he said over his shoulder. "If they separate us-"

"Oh, no," Nefret whispered.

"If that happens . . . Well, my dear, a nail isn't much of a weapon, but a sharp jab in the region of a man's kidneys, or-er-elsewhere, will certainly give him pause. Not to worry; I'll get you out of this somehow. It's my fault. If I hadn't been such a b.l.o.o.d.y idiot, there would be help on the way now."

Nefret took a deep breath and steadied herself and her voice. "If you're a b.l.o.o.d.y idiot, so am I. I ought to have suspected something when he brought me here."

"Could you have done anything if you had?" Emerson inquired reasonably.

"Maybe not. He's as strong as a bull, and even if I could have overpowered him, I'd have had to evade the crewmen. They must be in on this."

"No doubt about that. Three of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds jumped me as soon as I was on board. Admittedly, my demeanor was not that of a gentleman paying a social call."

Nefret hugged her knees and laughed, picturing him charging up the gangplank, fists clenched, shouting out accusations. "Stop blaming yourself. If you had delayed to get help, the boat would probably have sailed. Why did you come after me?"

Emerson went on chipping. "Well, you see, it suddenly came to me. When I was thinking of something else. I remembered who it was who lived in El-Hilleh, and why it- d.a.m.nation. Shove those things out of sight and come here."

There was only time to push the nails into the tops of her shoes before the key turned in the lock and the door opened a crack.

"Stand back," the doctor said. He sounded nervous. "I have a gun."

"Very nice," Emerson said. He stood in front of Nefret, seemingly relaxed, but she had seen him, and his son, in that pose before. They could both move with the speed of a charging lion.

"We all have guns."

Someone pulled the door back. The opening looked like the entrance to the infernal regions, blocked by hulking bodies and redly lit.

"Don't risk it, Father," Nefret whispered, taking hold of his arm. She knew Emerson's temper only too well and as her eyes adjusted to the light she saw that there were at least three of them in addition to the doctor.

"Hmph." Emerson settled back on his heels. "They're bound to hit something in this confined s.p.a.ce. Might be you."

The doctor took a step forward and then thought better of it. Obeying his curt order, two of the men edged cautiously into the room. Both held pistols and one carried a lantern. The doctor remained where he was.

"Leading your regiment from behind, I see," remarked Emerson. "Now what?"

"Move forward. Slowly. One step at a time. Hold out your hands. No, madame, not you. Remain where you are."

His voice shook, and so did the hand that held the pistol. There was nothing for it but to obey. The odds were too great and they were both weaponless. Emerson shrugged.

"You should have done this before you tossed me in here," he pointed out, as one of the men fastened a pair of handcuffs over his wrists. "Saved yourself all this fuss and worry. Poor planning. Who's in charge here anyhow?"

"I hate talk like that!" The doctor's voice rose into falsetto. His lips drew back. "I hate you d.a.m.ned British, with your supercilious sneers and your superior airs! How dare you condescend to me? How dare you look at me that way? Don't look at me that way!"

His hand lashed out. The barrel of the gun caught Emerson across the face. He fell back against the wall, his knees buckling.

"Please," Nefret said. "Please don't hurt him again." Her hands were clenched, her nails digging into her palms, but if the man wanted her to beg, she would.

"You have better sense than he," the doctor muttered. "You two, get him out of here."

The men he indicated exchanged dubious looks. Coming within arm's reach of an angry Father of Curses, even when he was barely able to stay on his feet, was not a job a sensible man relished. One of them got up sufficient nerve to grip Emerson's left arm. The other jabbed the gun into his ribs.

"Go with them, Father," Nefret said. "There's no use resisting."

Emerson raised his hands and wiped blood off his chin. "I wasn't resisting," he said in an injured voice. "Meek as a lamb."

"Out!" The doctor shrieked. "Take him out of here!"

Emerson submitted without further comment to being led toward the door. I can't let him go like this, without a word, Nefret thought. I may never see him again. To h.e.l.l with stiff upper lips.

"Father, I-"