Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [86]
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Nine
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Neither of us slept well that night. My lecture had obviously made a deep impression on Emerson, in a sense I had not at all anticipated but to which I had no objection.
Even after the time for slumber had arrived, Emerson was unusually restless. He kept starting up at the slightest sound; several times his abrupt departure from the nuptial couch woke me, and I would see him crouched at the entrance to the tent with a heavy stick in his hands.
All the sounds were false alarms—the far-off cries of jackals prowling the desert waste, or the surreptitious movements of small nocturnal animals emerging from their lairs in the relative safety of darkness to seek refreshment and exercise. I myself was not troubled by such noises, which I had long since learned to know and recognize. But I dreamed a great deal, which is not usual with me. The details of the dreams fled as soon as I woke, leaving only a vague sense of something troubling my mind.
Despite his disturbed night Emerson was in an excellent mood the following morning. As he stretched and yawned outside the tent, his stalwart frame stood out in magnificent outline against the first rays of dawn. We had brought a spiritlamp and supplies of food and water, so we were able to make a scanty morning meal. As we waited for the workmen to arrive, Emerson said, “You were restless last night, Peabody.”
“So would you have been had you been wakened hourly, as I was, by someone prowling round the tent.”
“You talked in your sleep.”
“Nonsense, Emerson. I never talk in my sleep. It is a sign of mental instability. What did I say?”
“I could not quite make out the words, Peabody.”
The arrival of the crew put an end to the discussion and I thought no more about it. Ramses was in the van, of course, with Donald close beside him. The young man assured me there had been no trouble during the night. “Except,” he added, scowling at Ramses—who returned the scowl, with interest—“I caught this young man halfway up the stairs to the roof shortly after midnight. He refused to tell me where he was going.”
“I could not go out the door because Hassan was on guard there,” Ramses said—as if this were an acceptable excuse for his attempt to creep out of the house.
“Never mind,” I said, sighing. “Ramses, in case I neglected to mention it, I forbid you to leave the house at night.”
“Is that a wholesale prohibition, Mama? For instance, should the house catch fire, or be invaded by burglars, or should the roof of my room appear in imminent danger of falling—”
“Obviously you must use your own discretion in such cases,” said Emerson.
I abandoned the lecture. Ramses could always find a way to do what he wanted, if he had to burn the house down in order to justify it.
“Where is Enid?” I asked.
Then I saw her standing some distance away, her back turned. “She wanted to stay at the house,” Donald said. “But I insisted she come with us.”
“Quite right. She must not be left alone for an instant.”
“Besides, I need every pair of hands,” Emerson announced. “Listen to me, all of you. I intend to work without interruption this day. If all the powers of hell were to choose this spot on which to wage the final battle of Armageddon, I would not be distracted. If one of you feels a mortal illness come over him, pray go off and die at a distance. Come along, Ramses. You too, Fraser.”
And he marched off, shouting for Abdullah.
“Well!” I said to Enid, who had approached me. “He is in a temper today! We had better humor him, my dear. I have a great treat for you—we are going to explore the interior of the pyramid!”
Instead of mirroring the enthusiasm I expected, the girl’s face lengthened. “But Ramses said—”
“My dear girl, I hope you are not suggesting that a mere infant has my expertise in archaeology? There may be many important signs Ramses has missed.”
I set the men to work clearing away the debris and enlarging the entrance. A closer examination of the ceiling of the descending passageway convinced me there was no danger of further collapse except