“What?”

“Did she tell you? Was that why she… Answer me!”

At first he couldn’t imagine what Percy meant. “She” couldn’t be el-Gharbi; that variety of insult was far too subtle for Percy. Then it came to him, and with it a flood of emotion so strong he almost forgot his aching body. He had told himself she wouldn’t be taken in by Percy ever again; he had believed it—but there had always been that ugly doubt, born of jealousy and frustration. The last rotten core was gone now, washed away by the realization of what she had risked for him. He got his feet under him, relieving the strain on his arms and wrists, and met Percy’s eyes squarely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My informant was a man.”

“You’d say that, wouldn’t you? You’d lie to keep her out of it. Damn the little bitch! I’ll get even with her, I’ll—”

He went on with a string of vile epithets and promises to which Ramses listened with a detachment that surprised even him. Chivalry demanded that he defend his lady, verbally if not otherwise—and words were about all he was capable of just then—but she was beyond that, beyond praise or blame.

When Percy stopped raving he wasn’t literally foaming at the mouth, but he looked as if he were about to. “Well? Say something!”

“I would if I could think of anything pertinent,” Ramses said. He hadn’t meant to laugh; it was the sort of thing some posturing hero in a melodrama would do, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Now’s your chance to say something clever,” he added helpfully. “He who laughs last laughs best, or fools laugh at men of sense, or what about—”

The side of his head struck the wall as Percy released his grip. He took off his coat and hung it neatly over the back of the chair, removed his cuff links, and rolled his sleeves up. Watching his careful preparations, Ramses was vividly reminded of a scene from their childhood: the bloody, flayed body of the rat Percy had been torturing when Ramses came into the room, too late to prevent it, and Percy’s expression, lips wet and slightly parted, eyes shining. His face had the same look now. He’d tried to blame that atrocity on Ramses too…

Once Ramses had believed that he feared the kurbash more than anything in the world, more than death itself. He’d been wrong. He was as frightened as he had ever been in his life—dry-mouthed and sweating, his heart pounding and his stomach churning—but he didn’t want to die, and there was still a chance—maybe more than one—if he could hang on long enough…

Percy gripped the handle of the whip, lifted it from the hook and let it uncoil. Ramses turned his face to the wall and closed his eyes.

Emerson and I dined alone and then retired to the parlor. A long evening stretched ahead of us; as a rule Emerson and I had no difficulty finding things to talk about, but I could see he was no more inclined toward conversation than I. The prospect of seeing David, of keeping him safe in my care, was a cheering thought, but the closer the moment came, the more impatient I was to see it. Emerson had sought refuge in the newspaper, so I took up my darning. I had scarcely finished one stocking before Narmer began to howl. The door burst open and Nefret ran in. She flung her cloak aside; it slipped to the floor in a tumble of blue.

“They aren’t here,” she said, her eyes sweeping the quiet lamplit room. “Where have they gone?”

“Who?” I sucked a drop of blood from my finger.

She struck her hands together. Her eyes were so dilated they looked black, her face was deathly pale. “You know who. Don’t lie to me, Aunt Amelia, not now. Something has happened to Ramses, perhaps to David as well.”

Emerson put his pipe aside and went to her. “My dear, calm yourself. What makes you suppose they are… confound it! How do you know that David is—”

“Here in Cairo ?” She moved away from him and began to walk up and down, her hands clasped and twisting. “I knew the moment I set eyes on him that the man Russell took us to meet wasn’t Wardani. I thought it must be Ramses, even though he didn’t move quite the same way, and then Ramses produced that convenient alibi, and I saw the whole thing. I don’t blame him for not telling me; how could he ever trust me again, after what I did? But you must trust me now, you must! Do you suppose I would do anything to harm him? You must tell me where he went tonight.” She dropped to her knees before Emerson and caught hold of his hand. “Please! I beg you.”

Emerson’s expressive countenance mirrored his distress and pity. He raised her to her feet. “Now, my dear, get hold of yourself and try to tell me what this is all about. What makes you suppose Ramses is in danger?”

She was a little calmer now. Clinging to those strong brown hands, she looked up at him and said simply, “I’ve always known. Since we were children. A feeling, a fear… a nightmare, if I was asleep when it happened.”

“Those dreams of yours,” I exclaimed. “Were they—”

“Always about him. What do you suppose brought me home that night a few weeks ago? I came straight to his room, I wanted to help and…” Her voice broke in a sob. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, turning and walking away, pretending to believe he wasn’t hurt, that nothing was wrong, but at least I knew you were with him, caring for him.” She clasped her hands and gave me a look of poignant appeal. “This is one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had, even worse than when he was in Riccetti’s hands, or the time he… I’m not imagining things. I’m not hysterical or superstitious. I know.”

Abdullah’s words came back to me. “There will come a time when you must believe a warning that has no more reality than these dreams of yours.”

“Emerson,” I cried. “He lied to us, he must have done. It is for tonight. Something has gone wrong. What can we do?”

“Hmph.” Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. “There is only one person who might know their intentions for this evening. I am going to see Russell.”

“Ring him,” I urged.

“Waste of time. He won’t tell me anything unless I confront him and demand the truth. Wait here, my dears. I will let you know the moment I have information.”

He hastened from the room. A few minutes later I heard the engine of the motorcar roar. For once I did not worry about Emerson driving himself. If he didn’t run into a camel he would reach his destination in record time.

“Wait!” Nefret said bitterly. She jumped up from her chair. I thought she meant to follow Emerson, and was about to remonstrate when she began tugging at her dress. “Help me,” she whispered. “Please, Aunt Amelia.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to change. So as to be ready.”

I did not ask for what, but went to assist her.

My brain still reeled under the impact of the astonishing revelations she had flung at us. Exerting the full strength of my will, I considered the implications of those revelations.

“So all this while you have known the truth about what Ramses and David were doing? And you said nothing?”

“You said nothing to me.”

“I could not. I was sworn to secrecy, as was he—under orders, like any soldier.”

“That’s not the only reason. He was afraid I would betray him again, as I did before. But, dear heaven, surely I’ve paid for that! Losing him, and our baby, and knowing I had only myself to blame!”

I had believed myself impervious to surprise by now, but this latest revelation made my knees buckle. I collapsed into the nearest chair. “Good Gad! Do you mean when you miscarried, two years ago, it was—it was—”

“His. Ours.” The tears on her cheeks sparkled like crystals. “Perhaps now you understand why I went to pieces afterwards. I wanted it, and him, so much, and it was all my fault, from start to finish, every step of the way! If I hadn’t lost my temper and betrayed Ramses’s secret to Percy—if I hadn’t rushed out of the house without even giving him a chance to defend himself—if I hadn’t married Geoffrey in a fit of spite—if I had had the wits to realize Geoffrey was lying when he told me he was deathly ill… I didn’t know I was pregnant, Aunt Amelia. Do you suppose I would have married Geoffrey or stayed with him, under any circumstances, if I had known I was carrying Ramses’s child? Do you suppose I wouldn’t have used that, without shame or scruple, to get him back?”