Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [43]
At first I could not understand why he should take such a girl, to whom he was clearly devoted, into such a remote and perilous region. Then psychology offered a clue. When she addressed a few courteous words to Ramses, her brother immediately interrupted.
“You are traveling with us as far as Khartoum, I believe. What can you tell us about conditions in that region? Will we find the authorities receptive to our labors for the Lord?”
Emerson had taken a dislike to Mr. Campbell even before he met him, over and above his general dislike of missionaries. With characteristic bluntness he replied, “The authorities, yes. Other conditions are not so receptive. I wonder, sir, why you would risk your sister’s health, possibly her life, in such an insalubrious region.”
“Her life belongs to God, sir. She was called to this mission of rescue, as was I.”
“Rescue, bah,” said Emerson. “How do you know it was God who called you?”
“The heathen walk in darkness but must be brought to the light.” The Reverend Mr. Campbell’s eyes, magnified by the lenses of his eyeglasses, took on a fiery glow. “They are believers in black magic and fetishism. I have heard of practices of immorality that shocked me to the depths of my soul. Concubines! Orgies!”
“Nakedness,” Emerson said helpfully. “The women go about bare to the waist, and some of them are quite—”
“Emerson,” I exclaimed.
“We must get our gear together,” Nefret intervened tactfully. She had been looking at the other girl with sympathetic interest. “Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Campbell, in the way of medical assistance? Farah said you had been ill. I have a well-equipped medicine chest and some training.”
The young lady replied with proper expressions of gratitude, saying she was almost recovered. Mr. Campbell did not appear to be listening. His eyes were half closed and his lips moved as if in silent prayer. The man was a religious maniac. In his eyes his sister was as much a prisoner as any Moslem woman, belonging not to him or any other man, but to God. He had not complete faith in God as a chaperon, however; he would risk the health, even the life, of his sister, rather than take the chance of her meeting a young man whose attentions might weaken her zeal.
As we chatted, there was a hail from on deck.
“Did he say crocodile?” Miss Campbell asked eagerly. “I’ve never seen one.”
“Here’s your chance, then,” replied Emerson, who was looking for an excuse to end the encounter. “Shall we go up and have a look?”
Everyone wanted to have a look. Crocodiles had almost vanished from Egypt itself, and they were becoming rare in this area. Passengers and crew crowded round the rail. The landscape had opened up and the river was broad. Behind the floodplain with its green fields and groves of palm trees the desert rose in a series of terraces, pale yellow in the morning light. Here and there, wadis had cut their way through the soft sandstone. The river had begun to subside, leaving long sandbars strewn with flood debris—reeds and pieces of wood and fallen logs. The German quartet aimed cameras, and Newbold pushed one of the sailors out of his way. His companion was not present; I had not set eyes on her the entire trip.
“I don’t see,” Miss Campbell began.
“There,” said Ramses, pointing. She let out a gasp of delighted horror and leaned forward as one of the logs opened its jaws and slid from the bank into the water. Two others followed. Ramses, who happened to be standing next to the girl, put his arm round her waist. “Be careful.”
Campbell, on her other side, let out an exclamation of protest and snatched her away from Ramses, who immediately stepped back. Watching them, I failed to see what happened. I only heard a scream and a splash, and an outcry from the watchers.