Free He Shall Thunder in the Sky by Elizabeth Peters Page A

salvation.
         “There,” I said, hooking to my belt a coil of stout cord (useful for tying up captured enemies). “What can I do for you, Kadija?”
         The members of our dear Abdullah’s extended family were friends as well as loyal workers, some of them on the dig, some at the house. Since Abdullah’s grandson had married our niece, one might say they were also related to us in some degree or other, though the precise relationships were sometimes difficult to define. Abdullah had been married at least four times and several of the other men had more than one wife; nieces, nephews, and cousins of varying degrees formed a large and closely knit clan.
         Kadija, the wife of Abdullah’s nephew Daoud, was a very large woman, taciturn, modest, and strong as a man. Painstakingly and formally she inquired about each member of the family in turn, including the ones she had seen within the past hours. It took her a while to get to Ramses.
         “He had a difference of opinion with someone,” I explained.
         “A difference of opinion,” Kadija repeated slowly. “It looked to me, Sitt Hakim, as if more than words were exchanged. Is he in trouble of some kind? What can we do to help?”
         “I don’t know, Kadija. You know how he is; he keeps his own counsel and does not confide even in his father. If David were here . . .” I broke off with a sigh.
         “If only he were.” Kadija sighed too.
         “Yes.” I realized I was about to sigh again, and stopped myself. Really, my own thoughts were gloomy enough without Kadija adding to them! I gave myself a little shake and said briskly, “There is no use wishing things were other than they are, Kadija. Cheer up!”
         “Yes, Sitt Hakim.” But she was not finished. She cleared her throat. “It is Nur Misur, Sitt.”
         “Nefret?” Curse it, I thought, I might have known. She and Nefret were very close; all the rest had been leading up to this. “What about her?”
         “She would be angry if she knew I had told you.”
         Now thoroughly alarmed — for it was not in Kadija’s nature to tell tales — I said, “And I will be angry if there is something wrong with Nefret and you do not tell me. Is she ill? Or — oh, dear! — involved with some unsuitable male person?”
         I could tell by the look on her broad honest face that my last surmise was the right one. People are always surprised when I hit on the truth; it is not magic, as some of the Egyptians secretly believe, but my profound understanding of human nature.
         I had to wring it out of Kadija, but I am good at doing that. When she finally mentioned a name, I was thunderstruck.
         “My nephew Percy? Impossible! She despises him. How do you know?”
         “I may be wrong,” Kadija muttered. “I hope, Sitt, that I am. It was a closed carriage waiting, on the other side of the road; she was going to the hospital, walking to the tram station, and when she came out of the house a man’s face appeared at the window of the carriage, and he called her name, and she crossed the road and stood talking to him. Oh, Sitt, I am ashamed — I do not spy, I only happened to go to the door —”
         “I am glad you did, Kadija. You didn’t hear what they said, I suppose.”
         “No. They did not talk long. Then she turned and walked away, and the carriage passed her and went on.”
         “You are not certain it was Captain Peabody?”
         “I could not swear an oath. But it looked like him. I had to tell you, Sitt, he is an evil man, but if she learned I had betrayed her —”
         “I won’t tell her. Nor ask you to spy on her. I will take care of that myself. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone else, Kadija. You did the right thing. You can leave it to me now.”
         “Yes, Sitt.” Her face cleared. “You will know what to