Free Guardian of the Horizon by Elizabeth Peters Page B

inquired. Nefret studied the effect. Her lips twitched. "You look absurd." "It's the latest thing," Ramses protested. "I know. It just doesn't suit you, somehow." She removed the hat and ran her hand over his head, smoothing his ruffled black hair. "That's better." "Thank you. Can I leave off the collar? It's choking me." Nefret shook her head, laughing. "I appreciate the effort, dear. What you do suffer for me!" "You haven't the least idea," said Ramses.
    "The lady doesn't dwell in a very elegant neighborhood," Ramses remarked, as Nefret led him deeper into the old city. "She can't afford better," Nefret said. "It's perfectly respectable. I don't see why you and Selim insisted on coming with me." She glanced over her shoulder at Selim. The lane was too narrow for all three to walk abreast, especially with donkeys and camels contesting the right of way. Ramses had to admit she was right, though. Unlike the infamous Red Blind districts, this part of Cairo was safe enough; it was just poor and overcrowded and dirty. Every foot of ground was built upon, the old buildings rising two or three stories high and nudging one another on both sides. There was no place to bury trash and no one to carry it off, so it was simply left to lie until an occasional rain washed the worst of it away. Piles of donkey and camel dung added their pungent odors to the sour-sweet smell of rotting fruit. Skirts raised, Nefret picked a path through the mess, and since she had declined to take his arm he fell a little behind so he could stare at her--her walk, the tilt of herhead, the knot of golden hair at the nape of her neck--without making her self-conscious. David believed he had changed his mind about avoiding Nefret. Avoidance had been a selfish and cowardly way out of a situation that was no one's fault; he had always known this, so when he told David he had decided to stick it out, cultivate patience, and enjoy the friendship that meant so much without demanding more, he had been partially sincere. The series of noble-sounding cliches had gone over well with David, innocent that he was, and they had succeeded in convincing him that Ramses was not making a sacrifice on his account. He couldn't have said what warned him--a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, a fleeting impression of a face. He gave Nefret a hard shove and twisted aside, not quite in time to avoid a stinging slash across the arm he had raised to protect his face. Turning in the same movement, he saw the boy crouched, facing him, white teeth bared. The weapon he held had a wicked shine, and it was considerably longer than a typical Arab knife. Pedestrians backed off, leaving a clear space for the combatants. Selim forced his way past a donkey loaded with pots and reached Nefret, who had been flung with considerable force against a shop front. She had breath enough left to swear, though. "Don't get in his way," Selim warned, catching hold of her. Merasen's smile broadened. "I give you time to take out your knife." "I don't need a knife," Ramses said in exasperation. A hard kick sent the weapon flying out of Merasen's hand. It squelched onto the muck of the roadway and Ramses slammed his foot down on it. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded. Merasen cradled his bruised fingers tenderly in his left hand and looked up at Ramses with reproachful black eyes. "It was only a game. To see if you are as good with a knife as with your hands. I did not mean to cut you. It was an accident!" Nefret pushed Selim away. "Are you hurt, Ramses?" "The greatest damage is to my expensive new coat," Ramses said sourly. "Mother will have a few words to say about that." Nefret took his word for it; there wasn't much blood visible against the brown tweed of his sleeve. Ramses caught Merasen by the neck of his galabeeyah and hauled him to his feet. "My finger is broken," Merasen complained, extending a rigid digit. "Try that again, my fine young friend, and I'll break all ten of