Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [83]
We went on next day through the foothills of the massif that loomed ahead. Early in the afternoon, eyes weary of stony ground were cheered by the first sight of greenery—a few patches of grass and a single tree, of a species unknown to me. We were by then at the foot of the massif. It was an impressive sight, over five hundred meters in height, fringed with fallen boulders about its base. Only the most intrepid climber would have tackled those cliffs. There was only one way through them, and it took us another two hours to reach it: a long, slow ride round the southwest corner of the mountain mass. The entrance was barely wide enough to admit one camel at a time, and as my beast passed through, the framework of the bassourab scraped the rocky walls, which were of masonry, crudely but solidly built. That was the last I saw for some time, for dusky darkness closed in as we went on. The path twisted and turned. High above, the slit of twilit sky darkened and stars shone out. Torches flared along the length of the caravan; the camels quickened their pace. They sensed they were close to the journey’s end, to food and water and rest. Then I heard a grating rumble, like the voice of a great beast. I knew what it was, but I did not blame Daria from seizing my hand and crying out.
“What is this place? What is happening?”
“Don’t be afraid.” Nefret’s voice was remote, eerily distorted by echoes. “This entrance is secret and well guarded, but we are with friends.”
The sound had been that of the great rocks that barred the inner entrance being rolled aside. We rode through into a place I remembered well—a cleft open to the sky, which had been widened to serve as an animal corral and storage place. It was brightly lighted by torches and crowded with people. Daria kept tight hold of my hand, and Nefret said impatiently, “There is nothing to be afraid of. Come, Aunt Amelia, let’s get out of this horrible contrivance. Goodness, but I’m stiff.”
“Hang on a moment, my dear. I suspect the cursed camel is about to—”
It did. Stiff as Nefret, I rolled out into the arms of Emerson, who gave me a quick squeeze before he lowered me to my feet. Ramses was there to lift Nefret down. He left Daria to Emerson.
“Good to be back, eh, Peabody?” said Emerson, smiling broadly.
“Hmmm,” I said. “In my opinion, Emerson, that statement is a trifle premature. Many things may have changed since we were last here, and not all for the better.”
“One thing at least has not changed,” Ramses said. He indicated several carrying chairs. The bearers stood beside them: short, heavily muscled men, dark of skin and bare of clothing except for a loincloth. Heads bowed, they waited passively for their orders like beasts of burden—which was what they were. Ramses went on, “The rekkit are still enslaved.”
We were now handed over to the civilian branch, in the form of a portly individual wearing the elegant pleated garment and rich ornaments of a high official. After he had exchanged a few words with Har, the latter gave us a generalized bow and went off. I had the distinct impression that he was relieved to get us off his hands; though perfectly courteous, he had avoided my attempts to strike up a conversation, and he had been no more forthcoming with Ramses. Nefret he had not addressed at all, except for brief, formal inquiries as to her well-being.
The official approached us, bowing and smiling, and launched into what I took to be a speech of greeting. He spoke very rapidly, and my intellectual faculties were dulled by fatigue, so I asked Nefret to translate.
“He said, ‘Welcome to the Holy City, O Great Ones. The king and your loyal people await you.’ ”
“How nice,” I said, nodding graciously at the gentleman. “Tell him we—”
“Ask him what he means by bringing those poor devils here,” Emerson broke in, frowning at the litter bearers. “I will not be carried on the shoulders of slaves. And furthermore—”
“Father, if I may?” Ramses did not wait for a response but went on quickly, “I suggest we postpone questions and complaints