Page 207 of Tomb of the Sun King

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Forty-Four

Ellie slumped againstthe warm, sturdy back of her riding companion, her eyelids drooping.

“Wake up, Ellie!” Constance said cheerfully, reaching back to tap her on the shoulder. “You’re about to fall off the camel.”

She yanked herself upright, blinking painfully as she held loosely to Constance’s waist. The day had sunk into early evening. They had been riding since dawn, returning along the same desert route that had brought them to the royal wadi of Tell al-Amarna. The addition of Neil and Constance to the party had made them two animals short, so the ladies had been paired up.

Jemmahor rode with Umm Waseem, her confiscated rifle proudly slung over her back. She kept up a running commentary in indignant Masri as they crossed the fifty miles of desert. Ellie heard the wordingilyzyoften enough to guess that the apprentice midwife was still railing against the way in which Jacobs had used her as a hostage.

“What does ‘ibn kalb’ mean?” she called over to Neil.

“Er—son of a dog, I believe,” Neil returned awkwardly.

Sayyid snorted. He wore a kaffiyeh scarf around his head, loaned to him by Yusuf after the Bedouin cast a sympathetic look at Sayyid’s bald spot.

Adam rode up to join them. He looked perfectly at ease seated on his enormous camel. Though perhaps not quite as dashing as their exceptionally handsome Bedouin guides, with his bruises and stubble, Ellie still drank in the sight of him like water.

He caught her looking and flashed her a grin.

“We are here,” Zeinab announced, bringing her camel to a stop.

Ellie pulled her gaze from Adam to see that the camp of the Ibn Rashid lay before them. Three new tents had joined the assemblage, reminding Ellie that there was to be a wedding that night. The celebrations were clearly already in full swing, based on the music and the smell of roasted lamb that drifted to her across the evening air.

Lanterns had been lit against the approaching dusk, and a band of children played in the scrubby grass beyond the tents. The clear, high sound of their laughter rang through the evening air like small bells.

The figures clustered in front of the sheikh’s tent were already cast in shadow against the setting sun. One of them detached itself from the others to approach the incoming riders. Something about the tall, exceptionally well-tailored form struck Ellie as oddly familiar.

“Goodness!” Ellie exclaimed, straightening as she held onto Constance’s waist. “Isn’t that your grandmother’s dragoman?”

“Oh drat!” Constance blurted out. “It certainly looks like him.”

Mr. Mahjoud stepped into the light. His elegant ivory suit was set off by a bright red silk waistcoat—and the leather strap of a scabbard hung across his back.

“But is he wearing a sword?” Ellie asked with surprise.

“It is ceremonial. For the wedding,” Zeinab explained.

“That’s whatyouthink,” Constance returned skeptically—and then stiffened as a smaller figure stepped into the light from behind the dragoman.

The form was distinctly feminine and slightly stout with age. Folds of midnight blue silk studded with golden embroidery peered out from under a dark traveling cloak… and Ellie was fairly certain she could feel the force of a penetrating, mildly sardonic glare from across the hundred yards of desert that still separated them.

“Er…” Ellie began awkwardly. “It would appear that he is accompanied by your grandmother.”

The word Constance used in response was significantly less polite than ‘drat.’

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A few minutes later, Ellie inelegantly dismounted her groaning camel and brushed out her skirts. She hurried over to join Constance where she stood before the petite, regal, and extremely intimidating Maharajkumari Padma Devi.

“Aai!” Constance called out with forced brightness. “What a lovely surprise to see you here!”

“And how convenient that you have arrived,” Padma replied dryly, “as Mr. Mahjoud and I were just about to mount up to pursue you.”

Ellie swallowed against a dry throat as Constance plastered a desperate smile on her face.

“Is that right?” Constance asked with a bit of a squeak.

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