Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [131]
Without moving from my seat, I took stock of the situation. Now I understood the absence of the crystal glasses and decanter I had seen in my dream. There was not a single object in the room that could be used as a weapon. My tools and my parasol had been taken, my pistol had been removed from its holster; even the heavy boots were gone from my feet. I saw no mirrors, no vases, no glass objects of any kind, whose shattered shards could be used to strike at an enemy or slash a vein. A grim smile, worthy of Emerson himself, crossed my lips. If Sethos feared I would attempt self-destruction in order to cheat him of his revenge, he underestimated me.
The drug had left me extremely thirsty, but I was afraid to taste the delectable fruit or drink the water from the fountain, though a delicate silver cup had been provided. Rising cautiously to my feet, I was pleased to find that I experienced no recurrence of the giddiness. A hasty circuit of the chamber revealed what I had expected. The windows, concealed behind filmy draperies, were shuttered and bolted. The shutters were beautifully carved wooden affairs, pierced in a delicate pattern to admit air, but when I applied my eye to one of the larger holes I could see only a narrow sliver of daylight, owing to the cunning curvature of the aperture. No hinges were visible; evidently they were on the outside of the shutters.
The only other exit from the room was a heavy door behind a curtain of fringed damask. Its inner surface was unmarked by hinges or keyholes or handles. I put my shoulder against it but it did not yield so much as a fraction of an inch.
Returning to the couch, I pondered my new discoveries and was forced to conclude that they offered little hope. The room had been designed for a prisoner, and I was sure I knew what kind of prisoner. That the villain should insult me by putting me into a room of the harem made me grind my teeth in rage. Nor was my ire assuaged when I discovered, spread upon the couch, such a costume as was worn by favored concubines of wealthy voluptuaries—the flowing, semi-transparent shintiyan, or trousers, and the anteree, or vest, that leaves half the bosom exposed. A respectable woman would wear a robe over these garments even in the privacy of her house, but none had been supplied. I tossed shintiyan and anteree contemptuously onto the floor.
At the moment there appeared to be nothing more I could do. The lamps were too high for me to reach, the door and windows were unassailable. I could probably twist the filmy fabric of the trousers into a rope, but a rope was of no use to me except to hang myself. Yet the situation was not entirely hopeless. In his consummate arrogance, Sethos had not bothered to change his headquarters. Not that I expected anything would come of Ramses’ ridiculous idea of locating the place by means of the muezzins’ calls, but I knew Emerson would raze the city of Cairo to its foundations before he gave up the search. There was hope as well in the information Mr. Gregson had discovered. Perhaps even now he and Emerson were on their way to release me!
I cannot say the time dragged, for I was fully occupied in considering and dismissing ideas for escape (mostly, I confess, the latter). I had no intention of sitting supinely waiting to be rescued. When I heard the faint sound at the curtained door I was instantly on my feet and speeding across the room. I had no great expectation that my attempt would succeed, for I had only my bare hands with which to strike at the person who was about to enter, and I was also ignorant of whether the door opened in or out, to right or to left. Still, one must do one’s best. Clasping my hands together in the manner demonstrated to me by an Arab thug of my acquaintance, I took up my position by the door.
I did not see the door open, or hear it; the hinges had been well oiled. A faint draft of air was the only warning I had. It was followed by the abrupt displacement of the heavy curtain as a man passed through. I was ready. I brought my clenched