Neither of us looked at the other. Our eyes were fixed on the sh.o.r.eline. Nestled in the shelter of palm groves, amid the green of growing crops, were the whitewashed houses of a village. Above the rooftops rose the minaret of the mosque. Two black-robed women bearing jars on their heads descended the bank toward the river.

"Why are we slowing down?" I demanded.

"Looking for our first signal," Sethos replied. "That insignificant hamlet is Tukh. The channel is close to the West Bank here, and when a vessel is spotted all the local entrepreneurs take to their boats, hoping to sell some piece of junk to the tourists."

We all crowded to the left side of the boat (it is properly termed starboard, I believe, or perhaps port). A water buffalo wallowed in the shallows, and above it, on the bank, were several figures capering up and down, waving a banner. It was bright green.

"They saw her," I cried. "She pa.s.sed this way. But when?"

"Green means yesterday," Sethos said coolly.

"Not much help," I muttered, waving away the platter of bread Nasir shoved under my nose.

"We're two hours down from Luxor," Sethos said. "That means she pa.s.sed here late in the afternoon. And we know we're going in the right direction. There was always a chance she'd turn and go upstream."

"But they are at least six hours ahead of us, even if they stopped last night."

"They must have done," Sethos said impatiently. "Don't be such a pessimist, Amelia, it isn't like you. No captain would risk his boat trying to navigate this river after dark."

"Then she would have to put in last night . . . where?"

"Somewhere around Qena," Ramses replied. "Three hours away, at our present speed. We daren't go faster, none of us knows the river well enough. Eat something, Mother."

I took a piece of bread, since Nasir would not leave me alone, and went back to my post on the other side of the boat.

Sunlight sparkled on the water. Our speed had increased, once we were in mid-channel. I could not take my eyes from the pa.s.sing scene, and I wished I had another pair of them in the back of my head. We had men stationed at the prow and the stern and along both sides, watching as keenly as I, but that wasn't enough for me; I felt I could trust no eyes but my own. The water, which looks so clear and sparkling at a distance, was a muddy brown and as littered as a Cairo alley. The river constantly shifts, eating away at one bank or the other; we pa.s.sed a once-flourishing grove of palm trees, some precariously balanced on less than half their root base, others already fallen, their leaves trailing in the water. Withered palm fronds and dead branches floated past, with an occasional dead animal for interest. I am sure I need not tell the Reader that my eyes followed each such object with morbid dread, and each time I held my breath until I had identified it.

The river was not the populous thoroughfare it had been during my early years in Egypt, when it had been the only means of travel and transport. The railroad was cheaper and quicker, except for short distances. In Middle Egypt one would still see barges carrying sugar cane to the factories, but below a.s.siut only small local boats and an occasional tourist steamer used the river. We came up on one of the latter, flying the British flag, and I recognized one of Cook's vessels, the Amasis. We pa.s.sed her so close I could see the pale, staring faces of the pa.s.sengers standing at the rail-too close for the captain's taste, apparently, since he waved his fists and yelled at us.

Ramses came to me. He had lost his hat and his hair blew wildly about his face. "I let David take over," he said. "I hope he can do better than I."

"We are going too fast. That was a good-sized island we pa.s.sed. Shouldn't we have investigated the other side of it?"

Ramses turned to face me, one arm resting on the rail-but his eyes, like mine, continued to scan the banks. "We cannot circle every island and sandbank, there are too many of them. With an inexperienced hand at the tiller there's a good chance we would run aground. That would slow us even more."

"What is the point of this pursuit then?" I demanded.

"Could you have remained in Luxor, knowing that every minute, every hour was taking them farther away?"

A flush of shame warmed my face. He and I were the ones most deeply affected, and he was taking it better than I-externally. I was not deceived by his impa.s.sive countenance and cool voice.

"No more than you," I said.

His expression did not change. "There is relatively little traffic on this part of the river, and it's possible, even probable, that a conspicuous vessel like the Isis would have been observed. What I'm praying for is that she ran aground. Though it's more likely that we will. Mother, you will wear yourself out standing here. Come to the saloon and have something to eat. Nasir keeps cooking; I can't stop him."

"I will wait until we reach Qena. How is Selim?"

"I can't stop him either," Ramses admitted. "He won't leave his engines. He seems to be all right."

Another hour pa.s.sed. I counted off every minute, willing the hands of my watch to move faster. There might be news at Qena. A rotten log floating by had the exact shape and size of a human body.

Cyrus was the next to approach me. "Come and have luncheon, Amelia," he said, covering my clenched hand with his. "We've got a dozen people keeping watch, you can't do any good here."

"Soon. We are nearing Qena, I believe. That is Ballas, on the West Bank."

Qena is a prosperous town, set in a well-cultivated countryside and noted for the quality of clay in the area. All along the bank lay row upon row of pottery vessels, round-bellied pots and tall water jars, ready for transport. Beyond the rows of pots a banner was raised, held high on long poles by two men. It was white. The Isis had not been seen.

The other men had gathered round. Bertie let out a m.u.f.fled oath, and Daoud invoked his G.o.d. "Does this mean the boat did not come this far?" he asked.

"Not necessarily," Ramses said. He leaned out over the rail, squinting against the sunlight. Water traffic was heavier here, vessels coming in to load, and departing with their cargoes of pots, a steamer slowing for the landing ahead, where tourists would disembark for a visit to the temple of Denderah. Feluccas glided like large white b.u.t.terflies around the larger boats. One of them appeared to be heading straight for us.

Ramses let out a shout. "Stop! Tell Selim to stop the engines."

The boat was heading straight for us. Standing upright, one hand on the mast, the other arm waving in emphatic gestures, was a man whose face and st.u.r.dy frame were oddly familiar. His bearded face split in a grin when the Amelia began to slow. The little craft came neatly alongside. The man grasped one of the hands that reached down for him, and scrambled nimbly on board.

"Reis Ha.s.san," I cried. "How did you-"

"The word has gone down the river with the speed of a flying bird. We have been watching for you. What have you done to my boat?"

"Nothing yet, but we had a few close calls," Ramses said, with the first genuine smile I had seen on his face for hours. "Marhaba, Reis Ha.s.san-welcome and thrice welcome. Something told me we might see you here."

"Nothing told me," I admitted. "Yet I ought to have known. Thank you, my friend, worthy son of your father."

He shrugged my thanks away. "This is not a time for talk. What is the plan? Where do you want to go? And who"-his voice cracked-"who is steering my boat?"

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

Nefret had asked for more oil for the lamp. She hadn't got it. They had also refused her request to see Emerson, but she knew where he was-in the room next to hers. As they led her along the pa.s.sageway she had raised her voice in a string of swear words, and got an immediate, equally profane, response. The doctor added a few curses of his own before he pushed her into her room.

At least she knew he was still alive and conscious, and she had been able to rea.s.sure him about herself. The lamp was burning low. It wouldn't last much longer. She examined the wall that separated the two rooms, inch by inch, and could have laughed aloud when she heard a steady sc.r.a.ping sound at the base of the part.i.tion. Lying flat on the floor, she retrieved the last of the h.o.a.rded nails from her shoe.

At the first sound from her, the sc.r.a.ping stopped. Three soft knocks sounded. She knocked back, three times, wondering what system of communication he had in mind. Tapping through the alphabet would take forever.

Apparently Emerson came to the same conclusion. The sc.r.a.ping resumed. Her ear against the panel, Nefret located the source of the sound and began digging with her nail. The wood of the part.i.tion was thin, but neither of them had a proper tool; it seemed like, and probably was, hours before a sharp point jabbed into her hand. She pulled it back, and heard splinters snap as Emerson enlarged the hole. When she heard his voice she lay flat and pressed her ear to the small opening.

"Nefret, my dear. Can you hear me?"

"Yes. Father, are you hurt?"

"Perfectly fit, my dear. Pay attention, time is running out on us. It will be light before long. They had me in that room for a bit earlier on. I believe you can lift the bar on the outside of the shutters."

"I haven't anything to use as a lever. I tried to steal a knife at dinner, but-"

"Pay attention, I said. There's a lamp bracket next to the washbasin. I managed to loosen it a trifle. If you keep bending it back and forth, it ought to come off. Do it now."

"Yes, sir."

The last of the oil flickered out as she wrenched at the metal strip. It came away from the wall so suddenly, she staggered. She had to feel her way back to the hole.

"I've got it," she reported. "As soon as I get out of here I'll come to your window and-"

"As soon as you get out of there you will go over the side. I don't know how far we are from land. Are you willing to risk it?"

"Risk be d.a.m.ned. I won't leave you here."

Their faces were close together. She felt his breath warm on her cheek. "You can't get me out. Even if you could, I would find it a trifle difficult to swim with fifty pounds of ironmongery attached to me. Are you crying? Don't cry, curse it! Do you know what they're planning?"

"Yes. That horrible old woman told me, at dinner. But I can't . . ." She knew he was right, though. She couldn't free him, and she was no good to him as a fellow prisoner.

"She told me, too. Or rather," said Emerson complacently, "she confirmed my deductions. I could have dropped-if I hadn't already been rec.u.mbent-when she told me who she was. It just goes to show that one should never leave old enemies lying carelessly about. Go on, now. Er-"

"a bientot, Father."

"Er-yes. My dear."

She was afraid to speak again, for she knew her voice would betray her. The faint slits of light at the shutters guided her. It took all her strength to force the blunt end of the bracket into the crack between shutter and window frame, and for a while she didn't think she could exert enough pressure to force the bar up. It gave all at once, and Nefret's heart stopped as it swung free, striking the shutter with a sound that seemed to her as loud as a pistol shot. Emerson heard it; he began to yell and bang on the door, making enough racket to drown out louder sounds than the ones she made climbing out the window. There was no one in sight on the narrow stretch of deck.

She felt as if some other ent.i.ty had taken control of her body, blocking off emotions she couldn't afford to feel. Smoothly and quickly, she closed the shutters and replaced the bar before she climbed over the rail and lowered herself into the water.

The shock of immersion took her breath away. Clinging to the side she looked round, trying to get her bearings. The moon was on the wane, a thin sliver of silver, but the stars were the bright stars of Egypt. Behind her, not far away, a low, dark bulk blotted out a section of sky. An island, and not a very big one-just long enough to hide the Isis from one direction.

Bare feet thumped on the deck, only a few inches over her head. Emerson's outburst must have drawn some of them away from their posts temporarily. They had silenced him now.

Nefret drew in a deep breath and pushed herself away from the boat in a long glide. When she was forced to come up for air she turned onto her back and paddled gently with her hands. Now she could see the ghostly outlines of the cliffs of the high plateau. They looked awfully far away. West bank or east? She floated, letting the current carry her for a few yards downstream. The cliffs were those of the West Bank, then. Maybe the eastern sh.o.r.e was closer. Something b.u.mped into her, something squashy and vile-smelling. Nefret fended it off, fighting revulsion. There were always dead animals in the Nile. She didn't want to see what this one was. Turning over again, onto her front, she started swimming toward the island.

It was only a sandbank, less than sixty feet long and a few yards wide, but reeds had rooted themselves and weedy plants struggled for sustenance. Nefret pulled herself out of the water and looked round. The eastern sh.o.r.e looked just as far distant. If there was a village on either bank, it showed no lights. The villagers couldn't afford to waste oil. She looked in vain for a familiar landmark. Emerson would have found one-he knew every foot of the river-but to her the cliffs looked all alike. To her left-north, downstream-she could see what appeared to be other small islands.

One thing was certain. She couldn't stay here. Once her absence was discovered they would look for her, and the reeds offered no concealment. She sat down and began struggling with the wet laces of her boots. It cost her a fingernail before she got them off. Hastily she stripped off her wet shirt and trousers, flattened them into a bundle, and used her belt to strap them onto her back. Silly, perhaps, but if she was fortunate enough to reach sh.o.r.e she didn't relish the idea of showing herself to a group of conservative villagers in wet, skimpy underclothing.

The sky over the eastern cliffs had paled. Dawn was near. She waded through the weeds, slid into the water, and started swimming toward the eastern sh.o.r.e, downstream, with the current and across it.

She had known everyone used the Nile as a trash depository, but it was one thing to know, and quite another to be in the middle of the mess, nose to nose with rotting vegetation and dead branches and other things she preferred not to think about. Organic objects that had sunk rose when the gases of decomposition swelled them. She had heard her first lecture on that interesting subject from her mother-in-law, years ago; Emerson had been absolutely scandalized . . .

The thing came at her from behind, floating downstream. It struck her upraised arm a numbing blow and caught her again on the shin as she went under, her mouth filling with water. She fought her way back to the surface, her lungs heaving. The thing was beside her, turning idly in a little eddy-a section of palm trunk, with a few fronds still attached. Dizzy with pain, and half-drowned, Nefret caught hold of a handful and with the last of her strength pulled herself far enough forward to throw one arm over the rounded trunk. Swimming was out of the question, her right arm hurt and her stomach was in knots and she was tired. So tired. She hung on, letting the impromptu raft draw her along with it, saving what was left of her strength, expending only as much energy as was necessary to keep her head above water. The sky began to brighten. Her left arm ached. Everything ached. Ankle, leg, right arm, back.

A sudden jar broke her numbed hold. Her head went under water and her feet jolted against a solid surface. She stood up, wobbling on one leg, and pushed the streaming hair out of her eyes. The log that had been both disaster and savior had run up against a muddy bank. It was not either of the river banks-just another d.a.m.ned island.

A wave lapped her ankles. The log dipped, as if nodding a courteous farewell, and floated away. Nefret leaned over and threw up.

Once she had rid herself of the rest of the water she had swallowed, and all of the meal she had eaten, she realized she was ravenous. A brief, hobbling survey of her current position offered no hope of relieving her hunger or her thirst. This island was a little larger than the other, but not much, and she was still in the middle of the river, no closer to either sh.o.r.e than she had been, though she was some distance downstream. The only other inhabitants were birds, snowy white egrets, and a few kingfishers. She startled a nesting goose, which rose flapping and honking. In the strengthening light Nefret considered the clutch. No, she wasn't that hungry. Not yet.

She sat down and examined her bare leg. It hurt like the devil, but there was no break, just a bruise the size of her closed fist. Swearing and wincing, Nefret probed the injured arm, and diagnosed a bruised bicep. She wouldn't be using that arm for a while. But there would be boats on the river soon. She ought to be able to hail one of them, making d.a.m.n good and sure before she did so that it was not a dahabeeyah the size of the Isis.

It did not take her long to discover that the main channel was too far away for her faint calls to carry. She grew hoa.r.s.e from shouting. Against the gray-green reeds her body was essentially invisible. She had nothing bright to wave, no way of starting a fire.

When the sun was high overhead, she saw the Amelia go past. She went on waving and calling until it was out of sight, and then sank down and hid her face in her folded arms.

I DECIDED I COULD ABANDON my post for a short time, and summoned the others to the saloon. No one was hungry, but it is necessary to keep up one's strength when strenuous endeavor may lie ahead.

"You mean a fight?" Cyrus asked. "I sure would like one, but has anybody figured out what we're actually going to do if-when-we catch up with them?"

"Run them aground," Selim said. It had taken a direct order from me to remove him from his engines. He allowed me to take his pulse and feel his brow for signs of fever, but refused to let me do more; and indeed there was not much more I could do. Black smears of oil stained his clothes, from his turban to the hem of his galabeeyah, but so far as I could tell he was holding up well.

Daoud scooped up a portion of chicken and vegetables with a bit of folded bread and popped the whole thing neatly into his mouth. He nodded in agreement.

"Let's see where we stand," Sethos said. He had finished eating. Now he reached for the map Nasir had pushed aside when he served us. "The Isis was seen at Tukh yesterday afternoon. Reis Ha.s.san swears she didn't pa.s.s Qena today. If we take his word, and I gather you are all inclined to do so, there are only two possibilities. She has changed her name and her appearance, or she is lying low somewhere between here and Tukh."

"Why?" The question came from Ramses, who was standing at the window, looking out, his hands clasped behind him. He swung round. "Why should they delay? What are they after? Would they have collected all of us, one by one, if Father hadn't spoiled their plans? Or did he? G.o.dd.a.m.n it, we're sitting here studying maps and timetables, and Cyrus is the only one who's asked a sensible question. Supposing we do catch her up. Then what? Fire a cannon across her bows? That would be entertaining, if we had a cannon. Board her, with cutla.s.ses between our teeth?"

He broke off, breathing hard. I went to him and slipped my arm through his. "That has always struck me as an impractical procedure," I said. "One would have to have extremely hard teeth and strong jaw muscles, and even then an involuntary movement might easily result in the loss of teeth and jaw."

For a moment I feared my attempt at a little joke had been misplaced. His black eyes blazed with anger. I said, "I too am very worried."

The hard lines around his mouth softened. He bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Mother. It's selfish of me to be glad that Father is with her, but . . ."

"I am also glad of it," I said. It was partly true. "I don't know what it was that made Emerson realize Nefret might be in trouble, but it is just like him to go rushing to the rescue all by himself. One good thing has come of his impetuosity. The villains know we will be hot on their trail. Whether it was their original intention or not, they will not . . . they will keep them as hostages."

Walter coughed. "I have been thinking," he said.

"Yes, Walter?" I gave him an encouraging smile. He was so anxious to be of use, poor man, but he had only succeeded in getting in everyone's way. Selim had politely but firmly rejected his further a.s.sistance after he burned his arm on the heated metal of the engine, and his attempt to use the sounding stick had almost got us run onto an invisible sandbar.

"I'm not good for much else, you see," Walter explained matter-of-factly. He adjusted his eyegla.s.ses. "We have been operating on the a.s.sumption that revenge is the motive for this."

"What other motive could there be?" I asked.

"The Isis is an expensive operation," Walter said. "And revenge loses its force after so many years. They are after something more rewarding. What else could it be but the princesses' treasure? And if that is the case," he went on, raising his voice a trifle to be heard over Cyrus's oaths, "it alters our entire strategy. Let us say that M. Lacau finishes loading the artifacts today. If he is in sufficient haste, he will try to get a few miles downstream before nightfall. I think the Isis, under a new name, will intercept the steamer tonight, under cover of darkness."

"Suppose Lacau doesn't leave until tomorrow morning?" David asked.

"Then they will strike tomorrow night. The point is-" Walter raised an admonitory forefinger-"that they don't know his schedule either. They will have to lie in wait for the steamer and follow it until it stops for the night, whichever night that may be. We must turn back. We may not be able to identify the Isis in her new guise, but we can't miss the government steamer, and if I am right, the dahabeeyah will be nearby."

"What if you're wrong?" I asked, half convinced but reluctant to abandon the pursuit. "We would never catch them up if they have gone on ahead."

"I think he's right," Sethos said. He gave Walter an approving nod. "There is definitely a streak of larceny in the family. I'm ashamed I didn't think of it myself. I vote for heading back upriver."

"No," Ramses said. He went back to the window.

I looked at David. He had seen it too, the increase of tension to such a point that Ramses was beyond reason. The idea of retracing our route was unbearable.

David took him by the shoulders and spun him around. Ramses's eyes were dead black, without a spark of awareness. He swung at David; David dodged the blow and struck back, hard enough to set Ramses back on his heels.

"It takes a blunt instrument to stop him when he's in this frame of mind," David explained coolly.

Ramses's eyes came back into focus. He rubbed his cheek and blinked at David. "Did you have to do that?"

"My friend, you have been half out of your mind for hours. Stop and think. Father's theory provides the first rational motive we've found. Everything fits, don't you see? Even blowing up the railroad station. An armed a.s.sault on the steamer will be attributed to terrorists. We have to gamble, but this is our best hope. If we start back straightaway, we can reach Qena before dark."