"You are an infernal nuisance, Amelia, do you know that?"

"I believe I can be of some use," I replied modestly.

I was the recipient of an extremely ambiguous glance from my son, who was at the tiller. "Get out the oars," he said.

The prevailing wind swelled the sail but the current was strong. With Bertie and Sethos rowing, we made good progress, and finally Ramses said, "They've seen us. David, start playing wounded duck, but get well upstream of her before you drop the sail. Bertie, if anyone makes a hostile move or points a rifle at you, make sure you shoot first."

We had two rifles, wrapped in oiled cloth, and extra ammunition. We would have had three if anyone had listened to me, but Ramses would not let me have one. Now he went on, "Mother, for G.o.d's sake, stop staring, you don't make a very convincing male Egyptian-even with an eye patch."

I raised one arm so that my full sleeve covered my face, but I peered out from over it. We flapped on past, close enough to see the faces of the crewmen, who had gathered to jeer at our erratic progress. Several of them were armed, among them Dr. Khattab, who appeared to be in charge. I ducked my head and heard him call, obviously in answer to a question. "It is only a fishing boat, madame. About to capsize, if I am any judge."

Then we were past. "Here we go," Ramses said, and fell overboard with a startled cry and an impressive splash. The boat rocked, the sail collapsed, and David slid into the water. The rest of us were making as much noise as possible. Sethos cupped his hands round his mouth. "Throw us a rope," he shrieked. "Help, we will all drown. For the mercy of G.o.d!"

There was no mercy on those hard faces. Laughing, one of them pointed at a pair of arms and a distorted face that rose above the water between us and the dahabeeyah. The arms waved pathetically and disappeared. Bertie was paddling wildly in circles. The audience found this even more amusing. They began offering advice, all of it rude, some of it quite vulgar. My arms over my head, I swayed and whimpered. My breath came hard and my heart was pounding.

Sethos's cries cut off abruptly. Peering round the hem of my sleeve, I saw two other people at the rail. Justin was wearing male clothing, but everything else about her-the way she stood, the gesture with which she pushed back her windblown curls-was so obviously female that I wondered how I could have been deluded. She had her arm round Maryam, who gripped the rail with both hands and stared fixedly at us.

Justin's pretty face wore a frown. "Bring them on board or sink them," she called, in idiomatic and accented Arabic. The accent was that of a Cairene.

One of the men raised a rifle; clearly he found the second alternative more interesting. Maryam whispered something to her sister. After a moment Justin nodded. "I suppose you're right. Gunfire might attract attention." She went on in Arabic, "Do not fire. Throw them a rope."

Bertie caught it on the second try. The men on the dahabeeyah made no effort to help; one of them had fastened the other end of the rope to the rail, leaving it to us to pull ourselves in-if we could. "Now what?" Bertie whispered. "Won't she recognize you?"

"Me and the lady with the eye patch," said my brother-in-law in an equally subdued voice. "Pull us in. When we are within ten feet, grab the rifle and start shooting."

Bertie's lips tightened. It went against the grain for him to fire first, but he knew there really was no sensible alternative. We had to disable as many of them as we could before we boarded. At least the lad wouldn't have it on his conscience that he had fired at a woman. Justin and Maryam had left the deck.

Squatting in the bottom of the boat, Sethos unwrapped the rifles. I reached for the little pistol I had concealed under my rags. The next ten minutes would tell the tale: victory or defeat, life or death.

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

Ramses came up on the far side of the dahabeeyah and hung on, gasping for breath. He looked wildly around for David, and could have shouted with relief when David's head popped up a few feet away. He reached out a hand and pulled his wheezing friend to his side. David had lost his turban. His black head, sleek as a seal's, streamed water. Ramses removed his own dripping turban and pushed his hair back from his face.

There was no need for discussion, they had worked it out beforehand, trying to cover all possible contingencies. Ramses gripped the rail and pulled himself up till he could see the deck. There were three windows on this side, all open or ajar. None was the window to his father's cell; according to the plan Nefret had drawn, it was on the opposite side of the dahabeeyah. The deck was deserted; the show had drawn the crewmen to the other side. He could hear their yells, and the agitated shrieks of his cohorts. Then he heard a voice he recognized, issuing orders that made him hurl himself up and over the rail. David was close behind him. Fighting the instinct that demanded he go to his mother's help, whatever the odds, he climbed in the nearest window. They hadn't started shooting. It was small comfort, but he had to stick to the plan. Their best and only hope was to take a hostage of their own.

The cabin was a woman's. Various female garments were scattered about, and the hat his mother had given Maryam hung on a hook by the door. Without pausing he went to the door and listened before easing it open. Then he heard the sound he had been dreading, that of rapid rifle fire, and abandoned caution, bolting straight down the corridor toward the saloon, with David close on his heels.

They were there, all three of them-the old woman, Justin, and Maryam. And the doctor. Ramses left him to David, heard a grunt and a thump, and caught Justin by the throat. "Order them to stop firing," he panted. "Maryam, tell them I'll kill her if they don't surrender."

Without a word or a look, Maryam darted out. After a moment the firing stopped. Ramses loosened his hold, feeling like a brute. She stood quiet in his grasp; her throat was soft and slender, and her blue eyes were reproachful.

"You wouldn't hurt me, would you? Your pretty little Hathor?"

"You've lost," Ramses said. "It's over."

She laughed at him, showing even white teeth. David was standing by the old woman, who hadn't moved from her chair. She looked contemptuously at the knife David held to her throat.

"Put that away, boy. Neither of you would harm a woman, and we hold the ace in this little game. If you want the Professor back in one piece, you will surrender to us. Once we have what we are after, we will set you ash.o.r.e, unharmed."

"You're lying," Ramses said. "Give me the keys to his room."

"They are in the drawer there."

He started toward the bureau and Justin laughed again. "They won't do you any good. The Professor is not alone, you see. Francois is with him, and if anyone opens that door without giving the agreed-upon signal, he will cut your father's throat. He can't defend himself," she added brightly, "because he is chained hand and foot."

Ramses couldn't think. The sounds on deck had subsided, but Maryam hadn't come back, and his mother might be . . . Torn in two by conflicting filial concerns, he was about to tell David to go out and see what had happened when the curtains at the window were pushed aside and his mother poked her head in. She had lost her turban, her hair was straggling around her shoulders, and there was blood on her face-but the eye patch was still firmly in place.

"Ah, there you are," she said, brandishing her pistol. "I presume everything is under control."

"Well, no, not exactly," Ramses said, struggling for breath. "Mother, are you . . . Sethos and Bertie-"

"Both wounded, but not seriously. They have subdued the crew." His mother climbed nimbly through the window. "This isn't my blood," she added. "My dear boy, you are white as a sheet. You weren't worried about me, were you?"

"Worried? About you?" He ran out of breath again.

"Thank G.o.d," David exclaimed. "But the Professor is-"

The pound of feet along the pa.s.sageway stopped him. Emerson burst through the door. "I heard gunfire. Where-d.a.m.nation, Peabody, I knew it was you! Why are you wearing that idiotic eye patch?"

She dropped the pistol, and Ramses, dizzy with relief, was treated to the spectacle of his eminent parents, both of whom resembled survivors of a small war, rushing into each other's arms. Their incoherent remarks were, he realized, completely in character.

"How dare you do this to me, Peabody? Ramses, why did you-never mind, you couldn't have stopped her. My darling Peabody, are you injured?"

Interspersed were her own comments. "Another shirt . . . Oh, my dearest Emerson, what have they done to you?"

"And what has happened to Francois?" Ramses asked. "They told us you were shut in with him."

"Well, I had to kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, didn't I?" Emerson detached himself from his wife's embrace and ran a bloodshot eye over the room. Unconquerably Emerson, he gave the old woman a stiff bow. "Good morning, er . . . Matilda."

The old woman sat with a face like death. "So you have won. The last battle."

"Have we won, Ramses?" Emerson inquired.

"Yes, sir, I believe so," Ramses said. "But how-you were chained and locked in, weaponless-"

"I didn't need a weapon for a piece of sc.u.m like that," his father said magnificently. "I did have one, though. And she had freed me, early this morning. When they put Francois in with me, I had to-"

"She? Who?"

"Little Maryam, of course. I told you the child was . . . But where is she? She was following me."

"And where," said his wife, "is Justin?"

She had taken advantage of their distraction to slip away, and so had Khattab. They found Maryam lying in the corridor. She had been struck unconscious-it wasn't hard to guess by whom-but she was beginning to come round, and when Emerson lifted her, she caught hold of him and tried to speak. "Quick . . . You must go. She has lit the fuse."

MATILDA JUMPED UP AND RAN for the door. She was quite agile for an elderly person; the prospect of imminent death, I have observed, lends wings to the feet. Ramses was quicker. He took her by the shoulders and shook her, none too gently.

"Where has she gone?"

She tried to twist away from him. "It's in her room. She loves dynamite. You can waste time trying to break the door down, if you like, but let me go! G.o.d knows how much time we have, if she has shortened the fuse."

"She is right," I cried. "This is no time for bravado, or chivalry. Hurry!"

Bertie and Sethos were holding the disgruntled thugs at gunpoint. Several bodies lay sprawled on the deck. Sethos's eyes moved from Emerson to Maryam, but before he could speak, Emerson bellowed, "Abandon ship! Everyone! She's about to blow!"

Thugs rained into the river like beetles shaken from a branch. Sethos limped toward us. He had taken a bullet in the leg and a trail of blood spots followed him. "The boat," he said. "Get the women into it."

The little craft was tied to the side. Matilda was the first to reach it; she scrambled into it and started to untie the rope. "Hands off, Matilda, or I will shoot you where you sit," Sethos said. She backed off, cursing him. Emerson shoved me in and handed Maryam down to me. "Now you," said Emerson, turning to his brother. "And Bertie. Get in and row like h.e.l.l. Ramses, David, over the side with you."

I will say this for the members of my family that they know when argument is inexpedient. Everyone moved as quickly as if they had rehea.r.s.ed the procedure. Bertie was grinning, oblivious of the spreading bloodstain on his side; he had always wanted to take part in one of our little adventures. I sincerely hoped that he would survive this one.

I pushed Matilda out of my way and sat down, holding Maryam, who appeared to be in a state of shock; her eyes were blank and unfocused, her body limp. Bertie and Sethos s.n.a.t.c.hed up the oars, and Emerson untied the rope. As we moved away from the doomed vessel, aided by the current, I saw Ramses and David treading water and looking back at Emerson, who was leaning over the rail.

"Who the devil do you think you are, the captain?" I shrieked. "Get off there this minute."

Emerson climbed up on the rail and dived. The boys converged on him, but he was not in need of their a.s.sistance, as his vigorous strokes made evident.

Ten feet . . . twenty . . . My eyes were glued on the Isis. She looked so peaceful riding there at anchor, her decks deserted. Thirty feet. Swimming strongly, the men had almost caught us. Bertie held out an oar and was royally cursed by both Sethos and Emerson. "Keep rowing," the latter bellowed. Forty feet.

The Isis blew. The roar of the explosion deafened me. Bits of wood and rail, metal fittings and miscellaneous debris were hurled into the air. The boat rocked wildly as the shock waves reached us. When they finally subsided I realized we were still afloat and that the dahabeeyah was ablaze. She burned quietly and beautifully, the bright flames swaying above her like a curtain.

We sat transfixed and, in my case at least, filled with profound and humbling thoughts. I believe I was the only one to have seen, among the floating debris, a mutilated but recognizable shape. If she had meant to escape the boat before the dynamite exploded, she had waited too long.

I bowed my head and murmured a little prayer-for our faith offers hope of redemption for even the worst of sinners. I added a brief prayer of thanks for our survival, and then looked up to make sure I had not been premature. Yes, they were all there, safe and more or less sound. And beyond them, coming toward us at full speed, was the Amelia.

They took us on board and even Reis Ha.s.san abandoned his post to join in the congratulations and questions. Cyrus clasped his son in an impetuous embrace, to Bertie's great embarra.s.sment; Nefret ran to Ramses, and Selim embraced everyone in turn.

I was about to suggest that we defer further celebration until the wounded had been attended to when I saw something that caused me to call out and point. Bruised and battered, dripping with water and blood, the survivors of that incredible adventure stood gazing in silence as the government steamer sailed sublimely past, on its way to Cairo and safety.

OUR UNEXPECTED AND, NEED I say, welcome arrival in Luxor several hours later evoked considerable excitement. No one had known precisely where we were, and everyone was in a fever of anxiety about us. A triumphal procession gathered as we made our way from the dock to the house, where we underwent another round of embraces. Having allowed Evelyn and Lia-and Gargery-to vent their emotions, I put an end to the flood of questions.

"We will tell you all about it at teatime. We are all in need of a bath and change of clothing, and some of us are in need of medical attention. Cyrus, go home and bring Katherine back with you for tea. Daoud, take that woman to the storage shed and lock her in-with the necessary comforts, of course. Selim, Bertie, off to the clinic with Nefret."

"Sethos, too," said Nefret. "I want to get that bullet out of him."

He had not let go his hold on his daughter since Emerson told him that he owed his survival to her-and, in fact, the success of the entire enterprise, since we could not have prevailed while he was in danger. What she had told her father after they went off together for a long private conversation I did not know, but of course I expected to find out in due course. It had been sufficient to bring about the long-delayed and total reconciliation.

Now he said, with almost his old irony, "I would rather leave it there. I have been the subject of Nefret's medical attentions before."

Naturally I overruled him. He and Maryam followed Nefret. Her arm supported him and his was round her shoulders.

"As for you, Emerson," I began.

Nefret had cleaned him up as best she could, but he was still a horrible sight. The only one whose clothing would fit him was Daoud, who had no extra, so he was still attired-more or less-in the garments he had worn when he rushed in pursuit of Nefret. There were bits of bandage all over him, and quite a number of bruises. His breezy dismissal of Francois's attempt to murder him deprecated the magnitude of that struggle, against an opponent without scruple or mercy.

"And as for you, Peabody," said Emerson, folding his arms, "I have not finished telling you what I think of your reckless, inconsiderate behavior. Come along with me."

"Yes, my dear," I said.

WE WERE, IN MY OPINION, ent.i.tled to a celebration. Fatima, whose sentiments were usually expressed with food, piled the tea tables high. Daoud was there, and Kadija, and even Selim, who had refused to go back to bed. The family, including the Vandergelts, Sennia and Gargery, both cats (who were completely indifferent to our misadventures, but who knew Fatima had prepared fish sandwiches), and the dear children-all of them. They were making enough racket to wake the dead, but I felt that they were ent.i.tled to be with their parents. The only ones not present were Sethos and Maryam.

Some of us had preferred whiskey and soda to tea.

"Let us drink to another resounding success," I remarked, raising my gla.s.s.

"I'm not sure how many more of these resounding successes we can afford, Peabody," said Emerson, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't mind admitting that I feel a trifle fatigued, and Sethos and Bertie were-"

"Deuced lucky," said Bertie, with a broad smile. The brave lad was so pleased with himself that he had actually ventured to interrupt Emerson. "My injury was only a scratch, nothing to speak of, and Nefret said Sethos would be back to normal in a few days. I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"It did have its moments, didn't it?" I said, returning his smile. "I have always wanted to hear someone say 'She has lit the fuse.' Or, as the case may be, 'He has lit the fuse.' "

"You couldn't resist the eye patch, either, I suppose," said Emerson, grinning.

"Another of my great ambitions in life is to have boarded a pirate vessel," I confessed.

"Too bad about the cutla.s.s in your teeth, Mother," said my son.

"Ah well, one cannot have everything. Davy, have you quite finished kissing everyone's wounds? Thank you, dear boy. Now go and draw pictures with Evvie and Charla. They are about to have words over that purple crayon, I believe."

"Now, for pity's sake, Amelia, tell us," Katherine begged. "Cyrus and Bertie refused to talk about it, they said they would leave it to you."

"We are only waiting for Sethos and Maryam," I said.

When Sethos joined us, he was alone. "I persuaded her to rest," he said. He looked us over and smiled slightly. "She hasn't yet acquired the family resilience."

"Perhaps that is just as well," I said. "Sit down and put that leg up. Emerson, will you-oh, thank you, Walter."

He had already pressed a gla.s.s into his half-brother's hand.

"We are waiting, Amelia," Evelyn said.

"Where to begin?" I took another sip. "It is a complicated story."

"Like most of them," Cyrus said.

"I suppose that is true. Perhaps I should begin by going over my list of Extraordinary Incidents-which I happen to have with me-and explain how each event fits inexorably into the pattern our adversaries attempted to establish in order to deceive us as to their true motive."

"I think we've all worked that out, Mother," Nefret said. Confirmation came in the form of nods from the others.

"Oh," I said. "Including Justin's masquerade as Hathor? The second incident was designed to clear Maryam of suspicion, and it was rather cleverly arranged. Justin was wearing her boy's clothing under that clumsy robe; all she had to do was slip out of it while Maryam and the others distracted you four. The sc.r.a.p of fabric Emerson found-"

"Was planted," Ramses interrupted. "Excuse me, Mother, but we've worked that out too."

"Oh. Hmmm. The plot began to take shape when Matilda learned of the princesses' treasure. She was at that time running a house of-er-in Cairo, and engaging in various other illicit activities. It was Matilda who had, several years earlier, told Maryam a pack of lies about her mother and induced her to run away. Maryam was young and rebellious-the two are practically synonymous-and she was thrilled to discover that she had a sister and a motherly protector. Matilda arranged Maryam's marriage to a wealthy man-and, I suspect, disposed of poor Mr. Throgmorton once he had made a will leaving everything to Maryam. I am sure Maryam had no hand in his demise."