Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [108]
The young man was no coward. It was clear that he believed he was taking his life as well as the binoculars in his hands, but once he had got them in place, fascination overcame fear. “It is for seeing far away,” he exclaimed. “How far can it see?”
“Many miles,” I replied. “To the heavens and the world beyond. But only for those who know all the magic. It would not be safe for you to see so far.”
We lingered for a while, chatting and answering the questions of the bolder souls. They had abandoned discipline to crowd around Emerson, who basked in their respectful admiration. Somehow I was not surprised when one of them raised the story of the mighty throw that had pierced a strong man’s body. Emerson grinned and held out his hand. The fellows jostled one another in their eagerness to give him a spear.
“Emerson,” I said in alarm. “You wouldn’t—”
“What do you take me for, my dear? I doubt I could repeat the feat anyhow,” Emerson admitted. “I was extremely angry at the time.”
He drew his arm back, braced his feet and shoulders, took a breath so deep two buttons popped off his shirt, and hurled the spear. It flew straight across the gap and clattered onto the other end of the road.
For several seconds there was not a sound, not even that of a drawn breath. Then everybody yelled.
“Oof,” said Emerson.
“I hope you haven’t put your shoulder out again,” I remarked. “Emerson, I know you are having a splendid time, but we must go back. I don’t want to give Zekare an excuse to keep me from seeing Nefret.”
“I did not do that to show off, Peabody,” said Emerson reproachfully, after we had bid our new friends a fond farewell.
“I know, my dear,” I said, and patted his shoulder.
We found the others waiting for us at the house, and we immediately began comparing notes. “The only way down to the valley floor and the barracks on this side of the pass is a stairway on the west side,” said Emerson. “Very narrow, very steep. Easy to defend.”
“There are other stairways up to the palace and the Great Road,” Ramses pointed out. “Near the village.”
“Same problem,” said Emerson, frowning at the sheet of paper on which he had sketched a plan. “An attack in force at any one point is impossible.”
“Tarek must know that.” Ramses pushed the paper away. “Sorry, I can’t concentrate on strategy. You are supposed to see Nefret tonight, Mother. Why the devil haven’t they come for you?”
“They didn’t specify a time. Now, dear boy, don’t worry. We have no reason to suppose the king will not keep his promise. There—I think I hear the escort coming now.”
From Manuscript H
“Yes, I saw her.” His mother had been gone less than an hour. She put her parasol down with exaggerated care. “Emerson, perhaps just a drop of whiskey…”
Emerson stood frozen. “For the love of heaven, Amelia, she isn’t—she can’t be—”
“No, Emerson, no. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Thank you, Ramses.” She took a restorative sip of whiskey. “It could be worse. A great deal worse. Let me tell a connected narrative, if you please. I need to get my own thoughts in order; I am still struggling to assimilate what I saw.”
“Stop struggling and get on with it,” Emerson demanded, relieved and reassured. So far as he was concerned, the only foe he could not defeat was death itself, and if Emerson wasn’t ready to go, the Grim Reaper would have a fight on his hands. Ramses wished he could be so confident. He had seldom seen his imperturbable mother so perturbed.
“Take your time, Mother,” he said.
She leaned back against the cushions. “As you know, I expected I would be escorted to the dwelling of the High Priestess. Instead they took me to a smallish temple above and south of the palace. Not the Great Temple. The goddess has a shrine there, as you remember; this was another shrine, dedicated solely to her. The ritual we saw before was the same, however; the handmaidens whirling in their dance and the High Priestess, her robes glittering with gold thread, joining in the dance