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He looked at Ramsey. There was more than a touch of majesty to the man in these white robes. He looked biblical, larger than life. His blue eyes were rimmed with red, however. And he was weary, and suffering. That was quite clear.

"I want the elixir," Elliott said politely. "Once you've given it to me, once I've drunk it, then I'll tell you where she is. And she shall become your responsibility. And believe you me, I don't envy you. Though I have done all that I could."

"What state is she in? I want to know precisely."

"Healed, but not enough. She is beautiful and she is deadly. She killed Henry, and his Egyptian mistress, Malenka."

Ramsey said nothing for a moment, then:

"Well, young Stratford got what he deserved, to use your modern expression. He murdered his uncle. He tried to murder his cousin. I rose from the grave to stop him. The story he told you of my trying to strangle him was true."

Elliott sighed. Another great wash of relief passing through him, but not without bitterness, deep bitterness. "I knew it ... the part about Lawrence. About Julie I never guessed."

"With my poisons," Ramses sighed.

"I loved Lawrence Stratford," Elliott whispered. "He was my ... my lover, once, and always my friend."

Ramses gave a small nod of respect.

"This killing, was it easy for her? How did it come about?"

"She is incalculably strong. I'm not sure she fully understands what death is. She killed Henry because he was firing a gun at her. Malenka she killed because the girl was frightened and had begun to scream. She broke the necks of these two people. The maid in the museum, the same."

"She speaks?"

"Clearly. She picks up English from me as if imbibing it. She told me who she was. But something's wrong with her, something profound. She does not really know where she is, or what's happening to her. And she suffers. She suffers unspeakably because of the great gaping sores on her body, through which the bones are visible. She suffers anguish and physical pain." Elliott took another drink of the whisky. "The damage to her body--surely there is similar damage to her brain."

"You must take me to her immediately!"

"I gave her what was left in the vial, the one you so carelessly dropped in the museum. I applied it to her face and her hands. But much more is needed."

"You saw it work? It shrank these wounds?"

"Yes. But the sunlight had already healed her enormously." Elliott paused; he studied Ramsey's seemingly impassive face, the blue eyes staring forward. "But surely this is no mystery to you!"

"You're wrong."

Mechanically Ramses lifted the glass and drank.

"A quarter of the vial, that's all that was left," Elliott said. "Would it have been enough for me, if I had drunk it instead of giving it to her?"

"I don't know."

Elliott smiled bitterly.

"I am not a scientist. Only a King."

"Well, you have my proposition, Your Royal Highness. You give me the elixir. And in a quantity sufficient to resolve all doubts. And I shall give you Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, to do with as you like."

Ramses looked at him directly. "And suppose I told you I would kill you if you did not tell me where she was?"

"Kill me. Without the elixir I'll die anyway. Those are the only two things I think of now: death and the elixir. I'm not sure I can distinguish between the two any longer." One more glass of whisky, that was all he could handle. He drank it down and made a faint bitter face. "Look, I'll be frank with you. I have no stomach for what I've seen today. But I want that potion. And all else collapses in the face of that desire."

"Yes, how well I remember. Yet it didn't for her. She chose death. To be with her beloved Mark Antony, though I held it out to her. That was her choice."

"Then she didn't really know what death was."

Ramses smiled.