Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [119]
“Have some cognac,” said Emerson, handing me the cup. “Was the experiment a success, my son?”
“To some extent, Papa. I believe I have narrowed the area down to one approximately a quarter of a mile square.”
“I cannot believe this,” I murmured, half to myself—entirely to myself as it turned out, for none of the others was listening.
“It was very interesting,” said Father Todorus, nodding like a wind-up toy. “When I closed my eyes I could imagine myself in that house of Satan, listening, as I had done so often, to the calling of the heathen.”
“I cannot believe this,” I repeated. “Ramses. How did you learn to differentiate these calls? There are three hundred mosques in Cairo!”
“But only thirty or forty within the area I considered most likely,” said Ramses. “To wit, the old city, with its dark and secret byways and its crumbling ancient mansions and its—” He caught my eye. “I became interested in the matter last spring,” he went on, more prosaically. “When we were in Cairo before leaving for England. We were there for several weeks, and I had ample opportunity to—”
“I understand,” said Emerson. “A most ingenious idea, upon my word. Don’t you agree, Peabody?”
My cup was empty. I thought of asking for more, but my iron will rose triumphant over distress and disbelief. “I believe we should go home now,” I said. “Father Todorus must be tired.”
Father Todorus made polite protestations, but it was evident he would be glad to see the last of us. His manner toward Ramses as he bade him farewell was a blend of respect and terror.
As we emerged from the priest’s house, one of the villagers came up leading the mare and, with a deep salaam, handed the reins to Ramses.
Ramses’ excursion into grand theft had momentarily slipped my mind. I remembered reading that in the American West, horse thieves were usually hanged.
Perhaps Ramses remembered this too. In the act of mounting he hesitated and then turned to me. With his most winning smile he said, “Would you like to ride Mazeppa, Mama?”
“A very proper thought, Ramses,” said Emerson approvingly. “I am glad to see you show your dear mama the consideration she deserves.”
The mayor shared the opinion of the American cowboy with regard to horse thieves. I was obliged to propitiate him by hiring the horse, at a staggering fee, for the duration of our stay at Dahshoor. Leaving the mare with her owner, for we had no stabling facilities worthy of such a paragon, I returned to the house.
My annoyance was not assuaged by the sight of Ramses and his father deep in consultation over a map of Cairo that was spread across the table, on which our evening meal had already been set out. One end of the map was in the gravy. Ramses was jabbing at the paper with his forefinger and saying, “The most audible of the muezzins was the gentleman from the mosque of Gâmia ’Seiyidna Hosein. By a process of elimination and repetition I feel we can eliminate everything outside a region roughly seven hundred and fifty—”
Very firmly and quietly I suggested that the map be removed and the dishes rearranged. We sat down to the excellent (though tepid) meal Hamid had prepared. A distinct air of constraint was to be felt, and for a time all ate in silence. Then Emerson, whose motives are always admirable but whose notion of tact is distinctly peculiar, said brightly, “I trust the matter of the mare was settled to your satisfaction, Peabody.”
“It was settled to the satisfaction of the mayor, Emerson. We have hired the mare for the season, at a price of one hundred shekels.”
Emerson choked on a mouthful of stew and had to retire behind his table napkin. However, he did not complain about the price. Instead he suggested, “Perhaps we should purchase the animal outright. For you, Peabody, I mean; wouldn’t you like to have her for your own? She is a pretty creature—”
“No, thank you, Emerson. The next thing, Ramses would be demanding that we ship her back to England with us.”
“You are quite mistaken, Mama; such an idea had not occurred to me. It would be more convenient to keep Mazeppa