Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [38]
Evelyn sank to her knees beside me.
“What shall I do, Amelia?” she asked quietly.
“Dampen some cloths in water. Walter, you must see that we do not run out of water; send the men for more. I don’t suppose he can eat; has he taken water to drink?”
“He won’t take it,” Walter said.
“He will take it for me,” I said grimly, and began to roll up my sleeves.
By the time Michael arrived with my bag, we had managed to make Emerson more comfortable. Constant application of water to his face and breast had lowered his temperature somewhat, and I had forced a few drops past his cracked lips. He knocked my bonnet off and sent me sprawling before I succeeded; but resistance merely increased my determination. I then gave him a stiff dose of quinine, lying flat across his chest and pinching his nose shut, while Walter held his arms and Evelyn sat on his legs. Not surprisingly, he fell into an uneasy sleep after these exertions, and I was able to turn my attention to arrangements for the future. Michael was sent back to the dahabeeyah for bedding and supplies. Evelyn went with him, to help him select the personal things we would need. I ordered her to remain on board, but she refused, with the quiet determination she showed at certain times. So I directed Walter to pick out a nice tomb for us.
He was staring at me in the most peculiar fashion. He did not speak, but he kept opening and closing his mouth. If he had not been such a handsome fellow, he would have reminded me of a frog.
“There is a nice tomb close by, I trust,” I repeated, resisting the desire to poke at him with my parasol. “Go along, Walter, we mustn’t waste time; I want the place all swept out and tidy by the time our luggage arrives. Where are your workmen? Some of them can take care of that matter.”
“Nice tomb,” Walter repeated stupidly. “Yes. Yes, Miss Peabody, there are several other tombs nearby. I don’t know whether you would call them nice…”
“Walter, you are incoherent,” I said. “This is no time to lose your head. I understand your concern, but there is no need for it now. I am here. I have no intention of leaving until Mr. Emerson is on his feet again. I have always wanted to spend some time with an archaeological expedition; it should be a delightful experience. There is no point in moving your brother, for the crisis will come in the next few hours, long before we could reach the nearest town. I believe there is no cause for alarm. He has a strong constitution; and at the risk of sounding repetitious, may I say again that I am on the job.”
Walter was sitting on the floor next to me. He watched as I wrung out another cloth and slapped it on Emerson’s chest. Then, quite without warning, he leaned forward, took me by the shoulders, and kissed me soundly on the cheek.
“I believe you, Miss Peabody; there is no cause for alarm with you here. I believe you would square off at Satan if he came around and inconvenienced you!”
Before I could reply he had jumped to his feet and bolted out.
I turned back to my patient and wrung out another cloth. There was no one there but myself and Emerson, and he was sleeping; so I permitted myself to smile. Some Eternal Designer had robbed Peter to pay Paul; one Emerson had an extra share of charm and the other had none. Poor Evelyn; no wonder she had succumbed! Luckily Emerson presented no such danger to any woman.
I had to admit, though, that he looked rather pathetic in his present state. A fallen colossus is more pitiable than a felled weakling. As I went on wiping his hot face, some of the lines of pain smoothed out, and he gave a little sigh, like that of a child sinking into restful sleep.
* * *
The crisis of the fever came that night, and we had our hands full. Neither Evelyn nor I saw our beds until dawn. Walter had made some of his workers clean out a tomb for us, and Michael fitted it up quite comfortably; but I would not leave my patient,