Page 208 of Tomb of the Sun King

“Mr. Mahjoud, do let Samir know that we shall not be requiring his assistance after all.” Padma made a little wave of her hand in the direction of a trio of flawless Arabian stallions, which were being held in place by a tall, leanly muscular Bedouin gentleman in his mid-forties. His perfectly trimmed beard was spiked with silver while fine lines accented his golden eyes. Beneath his gently wind-tossed robes, his figure was straight and powerful.

He was possibly even more mouthwateringly attractive than Mustafa. He was also bristling with weapons—two daggers at his belt, a rifle over his shoulder, and a pistol in a holster under his arm.

“And who did you say that was?” Constance asked distantly as she drank up the sight.

“Samir is Sheikh Salah Mohammed’s younger brother,” Padma replied.

For a brief moment, Ellie wondered that Constance’s grandmother was already on comfortable terms with a remote Bedouin chief… but then, nothing ought to surprise her when it came to Kumari Padma’s cords of influence. Either she had already been acquainted with the sheikh through some arcane network of royal obligation, or she had simply marched up to his tent and bowled him over with her natural authority.

Mr. Mahjoud reached Samir and delivered his message. With perfect grace, Samir swung himself into the saddle and led the three horses away at a gallop.

Ellie only realized she was still gaping after him when Padma continued speaking.

“Now that’s settled,” she began neatly, “shall we talk about why you ran off without any word after being shot at by a pack of villains?”

“I sent a telegram!” Constance protested stoutly. “And we didn’t ‘run off.’ We were with a party of organized professionals.”

Padma raised a single eloquent eyebrow and allowed her gaze to brush over the company behind them.

Zeinab and the other Egyptian ladies were already gone, striding purposefully toward the brightly lit women’s tent. Instead, there was Neil, wobbling as he stumbled free of his camel. He still wore his bent glasses and open, tattered waistcoat, his brown hair sticking out at odd angles. The canvas bundle of Julian’s sword was tied awkwardly against his back with a length of rope.

Sayyid rubbed a nerve-wracked hand over his exhausted features, dark circles showing under his eyes.

Adam had slung an arm around the neck of his camel, scratching happily at its ears. “Who’s a good girl?” he cooed as the camel brayed. The skinny yellow dog ran in happy circles around his legs.

Ellie’s cheeks flushed. “But how did you even know where to find us?”

“When you disappeared amid flustered accounts of nefarious villains and a dash of sporadic gunfire, Mr. Mahjoud promptly reported the incident to me,” Padma replied archly. “Whereupon I joined him and proceeded to track you.”

Ellie’s eyes shifted involuntarily to Mr. Mahjoud, who had returned to Padma’s side. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Ellie and Constance with a seething disapproval.

She wondered how many new favors Constance must now owe her grandmother. Somehow, Ellie felt certain that Constance would not be let off simply because Padma’s rescue had not strictly turned out to be necessary.

“Now, then,” Padma cut in authoritatively. “Shall you tell me what, precisely, the pair of you have been up to for the last four days?”

?

Padma herded Ellie and Constance to the women’s tent, leaving Neil, Adam, and Sayyid to answer the enthusiastic calls of the Bedouin gentlemen gathered around the fires, where they were greeted like returning family.

With a great deal of laughing and chatter, Ellie was deposited beside a platter loaded with roast lamb and rice dotted with dried fruits and herbs. The Bedouin ladies were beautifully decked out in elegantly embroidered gowns and hijabs accented by layers of brightly jingling jewelry.

The bride—the sheikh’s grandniece Fatimah—sat raised up over the other ladies, swathed in silk robes that glimmered with gilded embroidery as the older women fussed over her.

The food was plucked up and carried off to make room for dancing by the time Constance reached the end of her explanation.

“And so you see, Aai,” Constance continued, pitching her voice louder to be heard over the oud and drums. “The entire situation was entirely under control.”

“Indeed,” Padma blithely agreed, sipping her tea. “Entirely under control, from the part where you were thrown off a boat to the bit where Umm Waseem nearly had to blow a mountain down on top of you.”

Ellie’s gaze flickered over to where the old smuggler and munitions expert had joined the dancers, shaking her hips with remarkable agility.

“Of course I would havepreferredto inform Mr. Mahjoud of our plans,” Constance pressed. “But we could hardly go back to Saqqara to fetch him with Julian and his mercenaries on the lookout for us! Really, we made the most sensible choices we could, given the circumstances. After all, I am not some child who requires coddling whenever things become difficult. I am nearly twenty-four!”

“I am quite aware of your increasingly advanced age, Kondi.” Padma’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Tell me—amid all of your adventures this week, have you made any further progress toward finding yourself a husband?”

Constance’s mouth firmly closed.

“Perhaps it is worth noting that the gentleman Lady Sabita preferred for Constance turned out to be an absolute bounder,” Ellie burst out testily. “And that Constance might be best left to judge any new prospects for herself in her own good time!”

---