Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [94]
“It can wait.” Ramses slung Davy over one shoulder. Davy, who favored unorthodox methods of transport, chuckled appreciatively. “I want to see how Charla is.”
“Oh, good Gad,” said Emerson in consternation. “I completely forgot the poor little creature. I will come too. Perhaps a few biscuits would cheer her up.”
He emptied the remaining biscuits into his pocket. I did not object. Children have cast-iron stomachs. I had seen Charla devour a huge supper an hour after the latest such episode. (A handful of scarlet poinsettia leaves. The color red obviously attracted her.)
In my opinion, Emerson had been extremely rude to Walter, and deserved to be put in his place. Instead of scolding him, I determined upon a more subtle form of punishment, which would have the additional advantage of arranging matters as I thought best. I waited until the following afternoon to put my scheme into effect. The first step was not accomplished without some little difficulty, for Emerson resisted my “suggestion” that we stop work early. It was not really a suggestion, though, and once he had got that into his head he did as he was told. We went straight to the Castle, where Cyrus awaited us.
I had not seen my old friend for several days, and was distressed to observe that his goatee showed signs of wear. He continued to tug at it as he showed us to his office, where he had made the arrangements along the lines I had tactfully proposed in my note. The mahogany table had been cleared and chairs arranged around it, with paper and pen set out neatly at each place. Cyrus offered me the chair at the head of the table, but I insisted he take it, adding, “I will just sit here at your right, Cyrus, and act as secretary. You have prepared an agenda, I presume?”
“Not exactly,” said Cyrus, eyeing the papers I removed from my bag. “I sort of figured you would.”
“A few notes,” I said modestly.
“Hah,” said Emerson, seated opposite me. “What I want to know—”
I rapped sharply on the table with my pen. “You are out of order, Emerson. We must have the committee reports first.”
“Committees?” Emerson burst out. “What committees?”
“But before that, a few preliminary remarks from the chairman.” I nodded at Cyrus.
“You better make them, Amelia,” said Cyrus, trying not to smile as he glanced at Emerson’s darkening countenance. “This was your idea.”
I had expected he would say that, so I was able to begin speaking immediately, before Emerson could do so. “It has become evident to me, as it must have done to the rest of you, that we must define our aims and goals and decide how to allocate time and personnel most efficiently to the various projects presently underway. We are fortunate indeed to have so many talented persons with us—” I directed a series of smiles and nods at those persons. I got a few nods and smiles in return. From Emerson I got a silent snarl. Nefret, seated next to him, with her hand on his, was trying not to laugh. David had put his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands; his fingers covered his mouth, but I could see it twitching.
“. . . but the very amplitude of the talent available renders organization imperative,” I went on. “Otherwise we run the risk of dissipating our collective energy and wasting valuable time.”
Ramses, who had been watching his father, said smoothly, “Well put, Mother. Have you by chance made a list of these projects?”
I took the hint. “Yes, certainly. These are not necessarily in order of importance, mind you, I simply jotted them down as they occurred to me. The princesses’ treasure is first. M. Lacau will turn up again at any time and he has not had the courtesy to inform us of what he means to do. For all we know, he may demand we pack and remove everything. Therefore David and Evelyn should concentrate on finishing their copies of the most important objects. We are agreed on that, I