Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [141]
“We will go to her. You and I.”
“Now?” I had been holding my breath. The word came out in a gasp.
“At the fourth hour. Be ready.”
He walked out of the room, leaving us standing there. Emerson said softly, “I must admit, Peabody, you are in top form today. That was bloody brilliant. He meant Nefret, didn’t he?”
“Almost certainly. Unless,” I added, “there is yet another European here. One of the ladies.”
“Who speaks Meroitic?”
“It was just one of my little jokes, Emerson. Let us go back to our rooms. We have quite a lot to do today.”
It was still early, but Daoud had persuaded his admirer to bring a tray of food. She stood watching with a look of idiotic adoration while he ate. Selim had been busy with the task I had set him. He brought the large camera case into my room and showed me. It had been specially designed to hold not only the camera but the folding tripod and a quantity of plates. He had managed to cram the entire bundle into it, even the little shoes. Like the other garments, they were clothes Daria had borrowed from Nefret.
“Well done,” I said. “I see you have tied it securely. All we need do is get close enough to toss the bundle into the house without being observed. I have an idea about that…”
Selim grinned. “I thought you would, Sitt. When shall we go?”
“As soon as Daoud has finished eating. We may as well have a bite ourselves. Now that I think about it, I didn’t have breakfast.”
While we ate, I explained my strategy to the others. Selim would carry the camera and tripod and appear to be taking photographs, as he had done before. Daoud would accompany him, carrying the camera case. Emerson and I would point out objects of interest and appear to be giving instructions.
“People will follow us and watch,” Selim objected. “Can we get close enough to act without being seen?”
“Emerson and I will provide a distraction,” I explained.
Emerson gave me a very old-fashioned look but did not reply. He was in no position to be critical, and he knew it. So far he had not come up with a single useful idea.
From Letter Collection C
I haven’t been able to write much lately. They keep after me all the time. I spend hours with Amase the High Priest. He drones on about the glories of the goddess and her divine son Har, who is the same as Horus of the Egyptians, and coaches me in the words of the ritual, over and over and over till I fall into a sort of stupor. Sometimes there’s another priest with him, who just sits and stares at me and never says a word. Poor old Amase is harmless enough, but I don’t like that other man.
The handmaidens dress me and paint my face as if I were a doll and ask me questions. They are full of curiosity about the outside world. I can see they don’t believe all I tell them. Machines that move faster than a camel can run, wires that carry words great distances, clothing spun by worms! They loved that story. They are like magpies, chattering and prying, pulling out the clothes from my cases (there were a few bits of silken underwear, which prompted the silkworm story) and playing with the cosmetics. Everything I could use as a tool or a weapon had already been taken away. There wasn’t a scalpel or a probe left in my medical bag. Needless to say, my knife and the one I lent Daria are gone too.
And Daria is gone. It was Ramses who came for her, it must have been, she couldn’t have got out any other way. I should have expected it, after Aunt Amelia asked me to put a light in the window, but when they told me this morning she had disappeared, I felt as if I had been stabbed to the heart. I thought that if he did risk that awful climb he would do it for me. She means nothing to him. She had no right to leave me alone.
I’m not being fair, am I, Lia? It’s hard to be fair when you are afraid. I felt so much better yesterday, after I had seen