Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [97]
“Are you speaking of the guns?” Daoud inquired. It was the first chance he had had to get a word in.
“Yes,” Selim groaned. “All of them. Rifles, pistols, ammunition—”
“Not all,” said Daoud. Reaching into the breast of his robe, he took out a pistol. “The rifle is in my bed.”
I have seldom seen three men look more foolish—especially those three. Ramses was the first to get his voice back. “Daoud, you are—you are a wonder. Er—in your bed?”
“Yes,” said Daoud in surprise. “It is what they tell the soldiers. I heard an officer say so. ‘This is your gun. Eat with it, sleep with it.’ The rifle got in my way when I was eating, but I ate with the pistol and slept with both.”
Emerson’s mouth was hanging open. “Good Gad! Well done, Daoud. Though a single pistol and rifle—”
“May come in useful,” I interrupted. “In circumstances which are as yet unknown. Very well done, Daoud! The loss of the other weapons is unfortunate, but as Ramses pointed out earlier, we couldn’t have relied on them to get us out of here. We must endeavor to demonstrate the stiff upper lip for which we are famous. I include you and Daoud, of course, Selim. Get out the cameras and notebooks, please. We will continue on the course Emerson so wisely suggested.”
Emerson perked up a bit. “Where shall we start?” he asked.
“With a general plan of this palace,” I replied, giving him a wink and a nod. “Including, of course, the storage and servants’ areas.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon at this pursuit, making copious notes and taking occasional photographs of nothing in particular. The servants, who had incontinently fled when Emerson began raging about the missing weapons, ventured cautiously out, and curious eyes watched our every move. I made it a point to smile and speak pleasantly at them, and urged my companions to do the same. One of the young women became so emboldened that she followed us from room to room, though of course at a respectful distance.
Our survey was superficial in the extreme, since none of the servants was in a position to judge its effectiveness and our primary purpose was not scholarly. The rock-cut chambers were, some of them, mere cubicles, less than six feet square and six feet high—empty of everything except dust, and extremely hot. Others served as kitchens and temporary sleeping quarters for servants. Though ventilated by an ingenious system of air shafts, and decorated, rather pathetically, with a few woven mats and baskets containing cosmetics and extra clothing, they were scarcely more comfortable than the storage chambers.
We returned to the sitting room dusty and crumpled and dripping with perspiration.
“Well, well,” said Emerson, rubbing his hands together. “Several points of interest, weren’t there? Ramses, will you begin on that plan?”
“I will ask for something to drink,” Selim announced. And he did so, directing his gestures at the young woman who had been our most assiduous follower. She appeared to have no difficulty in understanding.
I said, “If you will all excuse me, I am going to sponge off some of this dust.”
“Don’t be long,” said Emerson. “I have a little surprise for you, Peabody.”
I accepted the assistance of one of the serving girls, humming a cheerful tune as she helped me into a clean robe and tied a bright red-and-blue scarf round my waist. (I added several safety pins along the opening.) When I returned to the sitting room, Emerson had his hands behind his back. “You look very charming, Peabody. Guess what I have for you.”
I wished I could say the same about him. He had at least washed his hands, which was all to the good if my guess about his “surprise” was correct. I had not the heart to spoil it by guessing correctly, however. The smile he had forced himself