Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [50]
Standing stiff as a poker, his cup in one hand and the other behind his back, Barkdoll pressed on. “I must ask you for a list of the supplies you brought and for your papers.”
Ramses, who was also standing, looked from his father to the young officer and allowed a faint smile to curve his mouth. He knew what was coming.
“Papers be damned,” said Emerson amiably. “You know who I am. Everybody knows who I am.”
“Are you aware, sir, that the importation of rifles and ammunition of .303 caliber is absolutely forbidden and that you require a license to hunt with other weapons?”
Emerson rolled his eyes heavenward. “License A,” he retorted with an audible sneer, “entitles the holder to shoot elephant, hippopotami, rhinoceros, giraffe, antelope, and any other unfortunate animal that passes by. We, sir, do not hunt.”
Barkdoll was, as I have said, quite young, and no match for Emerson’s tactics. “Then what have you got in those damned long wooden cases?” he shouted.
“I believe, sir,” said Emerson in freezing tones, “that you have forgotten there are ladies present.”
The young man glanced at Nefret, who was trying to look shocked. At my insistence she had attired herself in a proper frock and flower-trimmed hat, and she looked like what she was not—an innocent, well-bred young English lady. “I—I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean—”
“How does it happen that you are familiar with the contents of our baggage?” Emerson demanded. “We are British citizens, sir, and are not accustomed to being spied upon by our own people.”
“No! I was told—”
“Go down to the station, then, and rip the cursed boxes apart,” Emerson shouted. “I will hold you personally accountable for any missing item or for any damage to our cameras and surveying equipment.”
“Really,” I said, rising. “I had expected more courteous treatment from a British officer and a gentleman. Pray excuse us.”
Barkdoll wilted. “Naturally, Professor Emerson, if I have your word—”
“My word,” said Emerson grandly, “is my bond. Come, Peabody.”
Once we had left the house, “What is in those cases, Emerson?” I inquired.
“Rifles and ammunition of .303 caliber, of course,” said Emerson, stamping along with his hands in his pockets.
The ma’mur was more than happy to offer his hospitality to Hassan and Ibrahim for as long as they liked. Ibrahim was a quiet, easygoing older man, very much like his second cousin Daoud, and he listened intently and intelligently to Nefret’s directions. We left him amply supplied with funds for the journey to Luxor, which would take place as soon as Hassan was able to travel. Thanks to Nefret’s quick and vigorous intervention, the wound was healing without any sign of infection, and Selim had already begun designing an artificial foot for Hassan.
On Thursday we bade them farewell and betook ourselves to the railway station, where we found our goods undisturbed. All the passengers from the boat were there. There was nothing surprising or suspicious about that, since they were all on their way to places farther south. I exchanged a few pleasant words with Captain Moroney before he took his place in the train. Newbold nodded and tipped his hat, but did not approach us. He hurried his companion into one of the cars. Her face was veiled and her form completely concealed by her garments.
The train was described as deluxe, with supposedly dust-proof dining and sleeping cars. Compared with my earlier travels by train in the Sudan, it was deluxe. There were actually windows in the carriages and reasonably good food to be had in the dining car. After luncheon we went back to our compartment, taking Merasen with us. I didn’t want him swaggering up and down the train smirking at the women and inspiring the interest of people like Newbold.
On the east ran a chain of bare, violet-colored hills and an endless stretch of stony desert, quivering with heat. The view was not inspiring and the cars were not, in fact, entirely dust-proof; I put my head on Emerson’s shoulder and closed my eyes. I was just