Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [90]
As I debated with myself, the Mummy stepped out into the moonlight. It had to do so, in order to reach our room; and as it did, my feelings underwent a sudden alteration. It was so large! It seemed bigger than a grown man, and although I told myself that the appearance of gigantism was the result of the bulky bandaging, my nerves were not quite convinced. Would the jug be sufficient to render the thing unconscious? I had forgotten that its head was padded. Suppose I struck and failed? I have considerable faith in my powers, but I was not mad enough to suppose that I could engage in hand-to-hand struggle with a creature of that size and come out victorious. Even if it were a mere man, and not a monster endowed with supernatural strength, it could overcome me; and then…. Evelyn lay sleeping and helpless in the bed. No—no, I could not risk that. I must wake her; better that she should be frightened than—the unspeakable alternative. I must call; better that the thing should escape than…
I drew a deep breath.
“Lucas! Lucas!” I shrieked. “A moi, Lucas! Help!”
I cannot imagine why I shouted in French. It was a dramatic moment.
To my taut nerves the results of my cry seemed long in coming. The Mummy stopped its stealthy advance. I had the decided impression that it was surprised to hear my voice. Behind me, Evelyn stirred and began to mutter sleepily. And then, with a loud thump and crash, Lucas jumped through the window of the next cabin onto the deck.
Even in that moment of danger I was glad Evelyn could not see him as he rushed to her rescue. He was fully dressed, but his shirt collar was open and his sleeves were rolled up, displaying muscular, rather hairy arms. His face was set in an expression of grim resolve; his right hand clasped the rifle. He was a sight to thrill any romantic girl; I felt a mild thrill myself as he threw the rifle to his shoulder and aimed it at the gruesome form that confronted him.
“Stop,” he ordered, in a low but compelling voice. “Do not take another step, or I fire! D—it,” he added vexedly, “does the monstrosity understand English? How absurd this is!”
“It understands the gesture, at least,” I called, thrusting head and shoulders through the window. “Lucas, for pity’s sake, seize it! Don’t stand there deriding its linguistic inadequacies!”
The Mummy’s head swung around until the featureless face looked directly at me. Oh, yes, it could see; I swear I caught a flash of eyes amid the darkness under its brows. It raised its arms and began to emit the mewing, growling cry that seemed to characterize its angry moods.
Evelyn was awake and calling out. I heard the bedsprings creak as she tried to rise.
“Stay where you are, Evelyn,” I ordered. “Don’t move. Lucas”—I disliked giving him the credit, but honesty demanded I should—“Lucas and I have the situation under control.”
“What do I do now?” Lucas asked, addressing me. “It does not seem to understand me; and you know, Miss Amelia—”
“Strike it on the head,” I shouted. “Rush at it and strike! Good Gad, why are you standing there? I will do it myself!”
I started to climb through the window. Evelyn had disregarded my orders; she was standing behind me, and as I essayed to move she caught me around the waist, crying out in alarm. Lucas was grinning broadly; the man had no sense of the proprieties. His smile did not endure, however. As I struggled with Evelyn, the Mummy moved. It lowered its arms; then one, the right arm, shot