Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [98]
The whisper came again.
“Be still. Not a breath, not a movement….”
I did not need that injunction. I could not have moved, even if waking intelligence had not warned me that the slightest movement might rouse the serpent to strike. The small obsidian eyes held me. I had read that snakes paralyze their intended prey thus; and I knew how the trembling rabbit must feel when its murderer glides toward it.
With a desperate effort I wrenched my eyes from the hypnotic glare of the snake. I rolled them toward the door. I dared move no farther.
Emerson’s face was streaked with rivulets of perspiration. He did not look at me. His eyes were fixed on the flat reptilian head, which was now weaving slowly back and forth. His hand, half lifted, shook with strain. It moved slowly, inch by inch. It touched his pocket and, with the same agonizing deliberation, reached inside.
Before and after that time I have made efforts that were not easy to make, but never have I done anything more difficult than remaining motionless. Lively terror had replaced my paralysis; every nerve in my body shook with the desire for action. I wanted to scream aloud, to fling myself from the deadly couch. Every ounce of my will was occupied in fighting this instinct. The strain was too much. A fog descended over my staring eyes. I knew that in another moment I must move.
When it finally came, the act was too quick for my failing eyes to see it. Emerson’s arm flashed in a blur of motion. Simultaneously, or so it seemed, the heavens fell. Blinding light, a crash of sound that rolled like thunder…. Merciful oblivion overcame me.
I was not unconscious for long. When I awoke I could not remember, at first, what had happened. My head rested against a hard, warm surface that vibrated erratically. My ears still rang with the echoes of that final thunderclap. I decided, drowsily, that the rapid beating sound was that of my own blood rushing through my veins with the rapidity of terror; for a normal heartbeat was never so fast. I felt surprisingly comfortable—limp and boneless as a baby in its mother’s arms. Then something began to touch my face—lips, closed eyes, cheeks—with a light pressure like the brush of fingers, only warmer and softer. That odd, fleeting touch had the strangest effect on me. I had been about to open my eyes. Instead, I closed them tighter. I decided I must be dreaming. Similar sensations had occurred, occasionally, in dreams; why should I dismiss such pleasurable experiences for a reality which would not be so enjoyable? I remembered everything now. The snake must have struck its fangs into me. I was poisoned—delirious—dreaming.
I genuinely resented the sounds that finally broke the spell. Voices crying out in alarm, running footsteps, streaks of light that irritated my closed eyes—yes, the dream was over. I felt myself being lowered to a flat surface, being shaken, and—crowning indignity—slapped smartly across the cheek. I opened my eyes, and then narrowed them in a frown as I recognized Emerson’s face hovering over me like a nightmarish mask. It was he who had slapped me, of course. Beyond, I saw Evelyn, her face as white as her dress. She pushed Emerson away, with a strength and rudeness quite foreign to her nature, and flung herself down on the cot beside me.
“Amelia! Oh, my dear, dear Amelia—we heard the shot and came running—what has happened? Are you wounded? are you dying?”
“Not wounded, not dying, merely enjoying a ladylike swoon,” said Emerson’s familiar, detestable voice. “Allow me to congratulate you, Peabody; it is the first time I have seen you behave as a lady is supposed to do. I must make a note of it in my journal.”
I tried to think of something sufficiently cutting to say in reply, but was too unstrung to do so; I simply glared at him. He had stepped back and was standing beside the cot, his hands in his pockets. A low cry from Walter interrupted Evelyn’s agitated questions. He rose from the foot of the bed, holding the limp body of the serpent in his hand.
“Good God,” he exclaimed, his voice shaking.”It is a hooded