“And from it. One may pass in or out of a portal, Sitt.”

“Abdullah!”

I tried to free my hands. He held them more tightly, and he laughed a little. “I cannot tell you endings because I do not know them all. The future can be changed by your actions, Sitt, and you are not careful. You do foolish things.”

“You don’t know?” I repeated. “Even about David? He is your grandson—don’t you care?”

“I care about all of you. And I would like my grandson to live to see his son.” His sober face brightened, and he added smugly, “They will name him after me.”

“Oh, it is to be a boy, is it?”

“That is already determined. As for the rest…” His eyes dwelt on my face. “I should not tell you even so much as this, but mark my words well. There will come a time when you must trust the word of one you have doubted, and believe a warning that has no more reality than these dreams of yours. When that time comes, act without hesitation or doubt.”

He rose to his feet, drawing me to mine, and carried the hands he held to his lips. “You may tell Emerson of this kiss,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “But if I were you, Sitt, I would not tell him of those others.”

Instead of vanishing into the depths of sleep, as he and his surroundings had done before, he turned and walked away. He did not stop or look back as he followed the long path that led to the Valley where the kings of Egypt had been laid to rest.

When I opened my eyes, the room was filled with the pearly light of early morning. Seshat sat beside me, holding a fat mouse in her mouth. Sluggish with sleep, I was unable to move in time to prevent her from placing it neatly on my chest.

That got me up in a hurry. Seshat retrieved the mouse from the corner where I had flung it, gave me a look of disgust, and went out the window with it. My inadvertent cry—for even a woman of iron nerve may be taken aback by a dead mouse six inches from her nose—brought Nefret bursting into the room. After I had finished explaining and Nefret had finished laughing, she took me by the shoulders.

“You look much better, Aunt Amelia. You did sleep.”

“I dreamed.”

“Of Abdullah?” Nefret was the only one I had told of those dreams, and of my half-shamed belief in them. “What did he say?”

“Lia’s baby is a boy.”

Nefret’s smile was fond but skeptical. “He has a fifty-percent chance of being right.”

“Emerson and Ramses are safe. He said I would see them soon after I woke. And don’t tell me the same odds apply to that prediction!”

“No. I am certain he was right about that.”

“You needn’t humor me, Nefret, I know there is no truth in such visions. But—”

“But they comfort you. I’m glad. I wish I could dream of the dear old fellow too.” She gave me a hug. “ Fatima is cooking breakfast. They’re still here—Daoud and Selim and Kadija—and several of the others turned up.”

However, before we reached the breakfast room, our ears were assaulted by one of the most horrible noises I have ever heard. It grew louder and louder. I was about to clap my hands over my ears when it stopped, and in the silence I heard another sound—a sound as sweet as music to my anxious ears—Emerson’s voice bellowing my name.

Nefret must have recognized the significance of the racket before I did. She ran to the door. Ali had opened it, and stood staring.

I did not blame Ali for staring. Never had the Father of Curses appeared in such a contrivance. Motorcycles had always reminded me of enlarged mechanical insects. This one, which was bestrode by a pale young man in khaki, had a bulging excrescence on one side. The sidecar, as I believe it is called, was occupied by Emerson. A delighted grin indicated his enjoyment of the experience.

It took three of us, including Ali, to get Emerson out of the contraption. He is so very large that he fitted rather tightly, and—as I soon observed—he had not the use of his left arm. Eventually we extracted him, and I thanked the young man who was still sitting on the vehicle. He turned a glazed stare toward me.

“Are we there?” he asked stupidly.

“You are here,” I replied. “Dismount, or get off, as the case may be, and have breakfast with us.”

“No, thank you, ma’am, I was told to come straight back.” He shook his head. “He kept shouting at me to go faster, ma’am. I never heard such—such…”

“Language,” I supplied. “I don’t doubt it. Are you sure you wouldn’t like—”

The motorbicycle roared and rushed off in a cloud of dust.

“Splendid machine,” said Emerson, gazing wistfully after it. “I wanted to drive it, but the fellow wouldn’t let me. We must have one, Peabody. I will take you for a ride in the sidecar.”

“Not while there is breath in my body,” I informed him. “Oh, Emerson, curse you, how could you worry me so? What happened?”

Nefret had not spoken. Now a very small voice uttered a single word. “Ramses?”

“Coming,” Emerson replied. “He insisted on bringing Risha home himself. The brave creature will want a day or two of pampering; he had a tiring experience.”

“So did you, I see,” I remarked, inspecting him more closely. He was not wearing a coat. One arm was fastened to his body by strips of cloth. His shirt was torn and dirty, his face bruised, his hands scraped.

“I apologize for my appearance,” Emerson said cheerfully. “They offered us baths and bandages and food and so on, but I was determined to relieve your mind as soon as I could.”

“Considerate of you,” I said. “Come upstairs.”

“Upstairs be damned. I haven’t eaten a decent meal since yesterday morning. You can clean me up after breakfast. I hope there is a great deal of it.”

There was a great deal, and Emerson ate most of it. Nefret hovered over him, trying to examine him, but there was not much she could do when he refused to lie down and stop gesticulating. He was still eating when Ramses arrived. He had borrowed a mount and was leading Risha. He turned the stallion over to Selim, who crooned to the noble beast as he led him to the stable.

“You don’t look much better than your father,” I said. “What happened to your shirt? And your nice new tweed coat? That one you are wearing doesn’t fit.”

“Let him eat first, Aunt Amelia,” Nefret said somewhat snappishly.

“Thank you,” Ramses said. “I will just put on a clean shirt before I have breakfast; this is Father’s coat, and you are quite right; it doesn’t fit.”

It hid the bandages and the scars of his recent injury, however. I decided I had better go with him and make certain he was not in need of immediate medical attention, for he was not likely to tell me if he was.

He was waylaid in the courtyard by the entire family, including Emerson. After embracing him, Daoud announced, “I will go home. It is well now that you are here.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson indignantly. “What about me?”

Ramses glanced at his father; his lips parted in a smile so wide I would have called it a grin if I had believed my son’s countenance capable of that expression. Then he slipped away and started up the stairs.

I started after him. Emerson caught me by the arm and whispered into my ear, “Don’t ask him about his coat.”

Emerson’s whispers are audible ten feet away. Everyone in the courtyard heard him, including Nefret. “Why not?” she asked.

“He left it, you see,” Emerson gabbled. “Forgot it. New coat. Fuss at the boy…”

I left him telling lies and went after Ramses.

His door was open. I was somewhat startled to hear him say, “Most kind. However, I am about to eat breakfast. Perhaps we might put it aside for later.”

He was standing by the bed holding a dead mouse by the tail.

“So that is what she did with it,” I remarked. “I was the first recipient, and I fear I did not accept the gift as graciously as you. I wish you wouldn’t talk to the cat as you do to a human being, it is very disconcerting. Take off that coat and let me have a look at you.”