A River in the Sky

“There were only three bullets left in the gun,” I said. “I neglected to refill it after I used it last time. Now put your hands behind you and turn round.”

Mansur’s face was distorted with rage. Having come so close to accomplishing his desire, he was maddened by failure. Spinning round, he dropped the gun, snatched up the carved box, and ran, not toward the entrance to the tent, but toward the back, where one of the pegs had been pulled out, leaving a space below.

“Stop me if you can!” he shouted, and ducked under the loosened section of canvas.

Ramses staggered to his feet and took the knife from me. I read his intent in his grim face and tried to catch hold of him.

“Let him go!” I shrieked. “He wants you to follow him! It is an ambush!”

“I have to finish this,” Ramses gasped. “He won’t leave us alone, it’s a matter of personal revenge now…Mother, stay here. Just for once, will you please do as I ask?”

He pulled away from me and ducked under the canvas.

Naturally I followed at once. The pistol was useless to me now, but the Reader may well believe I did not forget my parasol.

The wind had died; the stillness had an ominous quality, like some mighty force holding its breath. The sky was black except for a few streaks of violent crimson on the western horizon, but I was able to make out a column of white, in rapid movement, which could only be Mansur’s snowy robe. Ramses, in drab work shirt and trousers, was virtually invisible.

I was running as fast as I dared, over uneven and unfamiliar ground, trying to keep the moving whiteness in sight, when suddenly it disappeared. I ran faster, brandishing my parasol and shouting. Almost at once I tripped and fell.

“Haste makes waste,” said a familiar voice. I could see Ramses now, bending over me. “Are you hurt?”

“Only bruised knees,” I replied, accepting the hand he offered.

“Damn,” said Ramses, so softly I could barely hear him. I knew what he was thinking, and moved back a little in case he decided to take steps to prevent me from going on. I doubted, however, that he would have the temerity to imitate his father, who had once struck me unconscious in the hope of removing me from the scene of the action. (It had not succeeded.)

I recognized my surroundings now. The object that had tripped me up was one of Morley’s rope barricades. Beyond, lingering light reflected off a gently moving surface. It was water. We had reached the Pool of Siloam.

“Where did he go?” I asked. I thought I knew the answer, though, and my heart beat faster with excitement.

“Back that way,” Ramses said, pointing.

“No, I would have seen him. He has gone into the tunnel! Hezekiah’s tunnel!”

We had a little discussion. Ramses was twitching with impatience to get on lest his quarry elude him, and I refused to yield, so in the end he was forced to give in.

“Stay behind me,” he said sternly. “Perhaps you are safer here with me than you would be stumbling into open pits. But please-please!-if I tell you to go back, assume that I have good reason to say so.”

The pool was low, since this was the end of summer, and owing to the lateness of the hour, water carriers and pilgrims had gone. There were only a few inches of water in the tunnel itself. It was very narrow; my outstretched hands measured barely two feet from side to side.

“Would you like a candle?” I inquired. I certainly wanted one, since I couldn’t see a cursed thing.

“I might have known you’d have one. Thank you.”

He held it while I lit it with one of the matches from my waterproof box. The wavering light gave his face an eerie look, with deep shadows framing his tight mouth and turning his eye sockets into holes of darkness.

“The roof is quite high,” I said encouragingly. “We needn’t fear bumping our heads.”

“It is lower farther on. What other useful items do you have with you?”

“In addition to my parasol, only a roll of bandages and a little bottle of brandy.”

“Is that all? Let’s hope we don’t need either.”

He sounded quite calm, but I was close enough to him to realize he was shivering. The water was icy cold and the tunnel itself dank and chilly.

“Perhaps the candle was not a good idea,” I said uneasily. “He will be waiting for you, won’t he?”

“So I assume.”

“Here.” I offered him my parasol. “If you hold this upright it will warn you when the roof begins to lower. I will extinguish the candle.”

Ramses, who had eyed the parasol askance, let out a sputter of laughter. The sound echoed uncannily and I put my finger to my lips.

“He knows we’re here,” Ramses said, taking the parasol. “If he’s standing still he will hear our movements through the water. There’s nothing we can do about it, so let us go on.”

He paid me the compliment of not bothering to advise me to keep one hand on the wall to one side. The sides were of solid rock, rough hewn and winding. I rested my other hand lightly on his back so that I would not run into him if he halted.