The Last Camel Died at Noon (36 page)

We were not as skilled as he; it sounded to me as if we made enough noise for an army as we scrambled along the path. Speed seemed more important than silence, however. The stench from the rotting trash guided us to the gate, which we found open, and as we trotted across the courtyard, a path miraculously opened for us, as bodies turned, as a sleeper may turn, away from our feet, Emerson's men were at their posts, but as we ran down the passage towards our sitting room I heard in the distance the sound of marching men.

'That was a near thing,' muttered Emerson, mopping his brow. 'Quick, Ramses.'

Ramses did not utter a word or break stride, even when Emerson snatched his kilt off him and thrust it at me. 'What did you do with the other clothing?' he snapped, stripping off his dusty, wrinkled robe.

'Under the bed. But I hardly think it would be wise - '

'Quite right. Here -' He caught hold of the edge of my garment and gave it a sharp tug, sending me twirling in a circle as it unwound. Emerson bundled up the clothing, pitched them into one of the baskets, pushed me onto the bed, and dropped down next to me.

'Whew,' he said, on a long expiration of breath.

'I could not agree more, my dear. What a revelation - what an astonishing development! Confess, Emerson; you were as amazed as I, weren't you?'

'Thunderstruck, my dear Peabody. Mrs Forth must have been already in the family way when I met her, but of course no such idea entered my head - nor, I would hope, that of her husband. No man worthy of the name would take a lady in her delicate condition on such a journey.'

'It must have entered her head, though,' I said. 'Why on earth didn't she tell him?'

'Would you have told me, Peabody?' Having recovered his breath, Emerson proceeded to squeeze mine out of me.

'Well... I hope I would have had sense enough. But she was very young and, I suppose, madly in love. Poor girl, she paid a terrible price for her misplaced loyalty, but at least she was spared the knowledge of the fate that threatens her child.'

'We'll get the girl safely away, Peabody.'

'Of course. We... good Gad, Emerson! We are supposed to make our escape tomorrow - no, by heaven, tonight! With the treacherous Amenit!'

'Curse it, that's right. I had forgotten.' Emerson rolled over onto his back. 'We'll have to invent some excuse, Peabody. If we told Forthright that his ladylove was a liar and a spy he wouldn't believe us.'

'He would insist on confronting her,' I agreed. 'I am beginning to share your opinion of young lovers, Emerson; they can be a frightful nuisance. It is a pity we had not time to ask Tarek's advice.'

Emerson yawned. 'It is a pity we had not time to ask him a good many things. I must say he has a confoundedly long-winded, literary way of talking. It reminded me of those-'

'Perhaps he knows about Amenit's plan, Emerson, and will take steps to prevent it.'

'Perhaps. Everybody spying on everybody else...' Another great yawn interrupted him. 'I refuse to worry about it now. We'll think of some way out; we always do.'

'Certainly, my dear. I am not at all concerned.'

'Good night, my dear Peabody.'

'Good night, my dear Emerson. Or rather, good morning.'

My eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. Sleep crept upon me; I was going, going...

'Peabody!'

Curse it, Emerson, I was almost asleep. What is it?'

'You didn't know the Friend of the Rekkit was Tarek until he took off his mask. Confess, you only claimed you knew beforehand in order to annoy me.'

'Oh, for. Do you think me capable of such duplicity,

Emerson?' 'Yes.'

'I did know, however. Through the ratiocinative process.' 'Indeed. Would you care to explain it to your slow-witted spouse?'

I moved closer to him, but he stayed stiff as a stick and did not respond in the slightest. 'Oh, very well,' I said, turning over in my turn and clasping my hands. We must have looked ridiculous, lying side by side like a pair of mummies, with our arms folded across our breasts.

I began, 'I have always believed it was Tarek who carried Mr Forth's message to London. He was Mr Forth's favourite pupil, with a good command of English. Who would be a more likely candidate? And only a man high in favour with the king could have risked breaking the law of the Holy Mountain with relative impunity. He risked more than he knew, however, for his father died while he was gone ("The Horus flied in the season of harvest," if you remember) and when he returned he found his position seriously undermined.'

'Likely, if unproven,' said Emerson, forgetting his pique in the interest of my exposition. 'But you still haven't connected Tarek with the Friend of the Rekkit.'

'It is proven,' I replied calmly. 'Tarek admitted tonight that it was he who journeyed to England. We did not meet him until we arrived in Nubia, so he must have followed us from England, or, what is more likely, preceded us once he had ascertained that we intended to work at Gebel Barkal. He must have been the old magician who hypnotised Ramses -'

'Hmph,' said Emerson. 'His aim being, I suppose, to carry Ramses off. We would follow him, of course - all the way to the Holy Mountain. We had refused to seize the bait of the message, so Tarek must have concluded that was the only way to get us here. And now we know why he wanted us - to help get Nefret away.'

'It is a pleasure to deal with a mind as quick and responsive as yours, my dear,' I said demurely.

Emerson chuckled. 'Touche, Peabody. But you still haven't explained how -'

'Have you ever read The Moonstone, Emerson?'

'You know I don't share your trashy taste in literature, Peabody. What does that book have to do with it?'

When he refers, as he often does, to what he is pleased to call my reprehensible literary tastes, Emerson is only making one of his little jokes. I knew perfectly well that he read thrillers on the sly and had done so even before he met me. However, I had learned that husbands do not care to be contradicted (indeed, I do not know anyone who does), so I only do it when it is absolutely necessary. It was not necessary on this occasion.

'In The Moonstone,' I said, 'there is a scene describing the performance of three mysterious Indian priests who are seeking the gem stolen from the sacred statue of their god. They pour liquid into the hand of their acolyte, a young child - '

'Curse it,' Emerson muttered.

'As soon as I saw that interesting work of fiction I knew it must have been given, not to Amenit - whose English is extremely poor and whose intellectual capacity, I fear, is limited - but to Tarek. How Amenit came into possession of it I don't know; but she must have given it to Reggie to convince him of his uncle's death. Now - follow me closely, Emerson - '

'Oh, I will try, Peabody. It strains my inferior intellect, but I will make the attempt.'

'It is a simple equation, my dear. Tarek had read The Moonstone. The talisman sent by the Friend of the Rekkit was another English book and his messenger was Mentarit, who, as we had learned, is Tarek's sister. I was not absolutely certain,' I admitted handsomely, but all the evidence pointed in the same direction.'

In fact, I had known my visitor was Tarek as soon as he... Well let me put it this way. I had known the young man whose frame was in such intimate contact with my own was not one of the little undernourished slaves. While Tarek was masquerading as Kemit I had had occasion to admire, in a purely aesthetic fashion, his admirable musculature. There is a certain aura... The Reader will understand why I chose not to mention this clue to my dear husband.

'Hmph,' said the husband in question. 'Touche again, Peabody and well done.'

'Good night, Emerson.'

'Good night, my dear.'

Sleep, beneficent sleep, that ravels up the tattered sleeve of care...

'Peabody.'

'Good Gad, Emerson! What is it now?'

'Is this the book Mentarit brought you?'

'If you found it on or under the bed, I suppose it must be,' I said irritably. 'I should have hidden it, I admit; I was so surprised I just dropped it.'

'Do you know what book it is?'

'No, how could I? It was dark; I didn't read the title.'

In silence Emerson offered it to me. The sickly grey light of dawn gave his face a corpselike pallor.

'King Solomon's Mines,' I read. 'By H. Rider Haggard.'

'I should have known,' Emerson said in a hollow voice.

'Known what?'

'Where Tarek got his high-flown style of talking and his sentimental notions. He sounds exactly like one of the confounded natives in those confounded books.' Emerson collapsed with a heartfelt groan. 'Forth has a great deal to answer for.'

'You can't blame him for this,' I said.

'What do you mean?'

'This book was not published until after Mr Forth disappeared. I brought a copy along this year because it is one of my favourite... yes, here is my name. I left it behind when we were forced to lighten our baggage. Tarek must have taken it.'

The light had strengthened. Emerson turned his haggard face towards mine. 'Why?' he asked in faltering tones. 'Why would he do such a da - such a fool thing?'

'Well, it was clever of him to have used this particular book as his talisman. If it were found, it would be assumed to be one I had brought with me. But I am afraid...'

'What?'

'I am afraid he took it for the simplest possible reason,' I said. 'He wanted to read it. It is quite touching, Emerson, when you think about it. Having been introduced by his teacher to the joy of reading and the beauties of literature, this intelligent and sensitive young man...'

I will not reproduce Emerson's remark. It did not do him justice.

I had hoped Amenit would sleep late and let us do the same, but she was on duty bright and early. Though I could not read her countenance, nothing in her manner or her movements would have led an observer to suspect that she had been drugged. If anything, she was livelier than ever. However, Reggie did not leave his room until the morning was well advanced and his first words made my heart leap into my throat. 'What the deuce do these savages put in their wine? I haven't felt like this since my undergraduate days.'

'I have heard similar excuses from other young men who drank too much,' I said severely. 'I suppose you were celebrating your reunion with your sweetheart, but if you will permit me to say so, that increases rather than mitigates your offence.'

Reggie took his head between his hands and groaned. 'Don't lecture me, Mrs Amelia, I am already in a delicate condition. But' - his voice dropped to a thrilling whisper - 'the arrangements are complete. It will be tonight.'

I looked at Emerson. The slightest sideways movement of his head conveyed his meaning, for the mental bond that unites us is so strong, words are scarcely necessary. 'Wait,' was the message he sent me. 'Do not protest. Something may yet turn up.'

I certainly hoped it would, for we had not been able to invent a convincing yet innocent excuse for declining to escape. If nothing occurred to us before the actual moment of departure, we would have to resort to sudden illness or incapacity, or (it was my idea and a rather clever one, I thought) Ramses could hide and refuse to be found. When I had asked him if he could manage it, he gave me a look of kindly contempt and nodded.

Emerson was his normal self that morning, if rather more silent than usual. His only sign of perturbation was to smoke a great deal. I envied him the cursed tobacco; it seemed to soothe his nerves, and mine could certainly have used assistance. I do not believe in the supernatural - that is forbidden by Scripture - but I do firmly believe that certain individuals are sensitive to subtle currents of thought and emotion. I am one of them, and that morning I could not seem to draw a deep breath. The very air was heavy with foreboding.

They say that a condemned man suffers more in the waiting than in the actual execution. I have some doubts about that, but I felt something amounting to relief when the metaphorical axe finally fell. Reggie was grumbling about his headache and complaining that the powders I had given him had not lessened it when we heard the tread of marching feet. It sounded like a troop of soldiers rather than the usual princely escort.

The room emptied as if by magic; a rekkit scuttled for cover and the attendants who were close to an exit fled through it, leaving only a few who were delayed by repletion or slow wits. They promptly fell to their knees. I rose to my feet. With one swift stride Emerson was beside me, his face alert as that of a hunting cat. The hangings were thrust aside and the men filed in - six, eight - ten spearmen in their leather helmets, followed by Prince Nastasen. He was accompanied by Pesaker and Murtek; but I looked in vain for Tarek, and my heart began to sink towards my boots.

Nastasen stood looking us over, his thumbs hooked in his belt. I suppose he was trying to intimidate us with the ferocity of his glare; it certainly was an ugly sight, but Emerson returned his scowl with one twice as fierce, and Nastasen was the first to give way.

He levelled an accusing finger. 'You are traitors,' he cried. 'You have conspired(?) with my enemies.'

Murtek began to gabble out a translation, but the prince stopped him with what was obviously an oath; it made reference to the improbable habits of a particular rodent. 'Let them answer in our tongue. Well?' He jabbed his finger at Emerson. 'You hear me.'

'I hear your words, but they do not make sense (lit. contain wisdom),' said Emerson calmly. 'We are strangers. How can we be your enemies when we do not know you? Curse it,' he added in English, 'I'm not sure I made my point. My knowledge of the language is too limited to express fine legal distinctions.'

Ramses cleared his throat. 'If you would allow me, Papa -'

'Certainly not,' I exclaimed. 'How would that look, a little boy presuming to speak for his parents? I doubt His Highness would recognise those legal distinctions in any case.'

Nastasen's face swelled with fury. 'Stop talking! Why do you not show fear? You are in my hands. Fall to the ground and beg for mercy.'

'We fear no man,' I said in Meroitic. 'We kneel only to God.'