Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [16]
“Curse it,” I thought. “He has gone the other way.” Instead of turning, I continued on the same path, for we would inevitably meet in the course of time, and in the process we would have circled (if such a word can be used of a structure whose base forms a perfect square) the pyramid.
The Giza pyramids are only the most conspicuous of the ancient tombs that honeycomb the surface of the plateau. The sand around me was dimpled and scarred by traces of the underlying structures. It was necessary to pick one’s way carefully for fear of tumbling into an open tomb chamber or tripping over a fallen block of stone, so my progress was somewhat deliberate. As I was running over in my mind the things I would say to Ramses when I found him—and I had no doubt I would eventually—I heard the sounds of an altercation. At first I could not make out whence came the thumps and grunts and muffled cries, for such noises carry quite a distance in the clear desert air. Not until I looked back did I see a telltale flutter of draperies. The wearers seemed to be in rapid retreat, and they soon disappeared behind one of the small subsidiary pyramids—appurtenances of the Great Pyramid near which they are situated.
I set out in pursuit, my parasol at the ready, though I feared I had slight chance of catching up with the guides, if indeed that was who they were. Nor was it at all certain that Ramses was with them. However, the most logical theory was that, for reasons known only unto himself, he had persuaded the men to take him back down the pyramid in pursuit of heaven only knew what objective. Ramses always had reasons for his actions, but they were seldom readily perceptible to rational persons.
My progress was impeded by frequent falls, for I was still in the shadow and could not make out the outlines of objects scattered about. Picking myself up after one such tumble, I beheld a sight both alarming and astonishing, and yet one that was not without a degree of reassurance. The white-robed form some little distance ahead looked spectral in that eerie ambiance, but I knew it must be one of the guides. In its arms, held close to its breast, was a small, darker form. The limbs of this latter being were in agitated motion and my ears made out the unmistakable tones of Ramses, demanding, with his usual prolixity of speech, to be put down.
With the instantaneous mental agility on which I pride myself, I revised my earlier theory of the reason for Ramses’ failure to obey my orders. It now seemed clear that he was being held against his will. Perhaps that condition had prevailed from the first—though how the guides had whisked him away without causing some comment from Ramses or from the tourists, I could not imagine. However, that was a matter best left for later investigation. Ramses’ liberation was the first thing to be attended to, and I proceeded to attend to it, raising myself to my feet and rushing forward at considerable speed.
The man who held Ramses was, as I assumed, struck motionless with terror at the sight of me. He made no attempt to flee. I brought my parasol down on his head as hard as I could.
The kidnapper gave an anguished cry and clapped both hands to his head, dropping Ramses, who fell facedown in the sand. Realizing that the folds of the turban had lessened the effect of the blow I intended, I quickly shifted my grasp on the handle of the parasol and rammed the steel tip into the fellow’s midsection. He toppled over onto his back. I was stepping briskly forward to administer the coup de grace when two small hands wrapped round my ankle and sent me staggering. Only the deft reversal of the parasol and its forward thrust against a rock outcropping kept me on my feet.
I turned on Ramses with a reproachful cry. “Curse you, Ramses, what are you doing? This wretch abducted you—at least I hope for your sake he did, for if you went with him of your own free will—”
“I was attempting to prevent you from