Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [37]
“And there,” I continued, “the Emir cast off his silken robes; clad only in trousers and sleeveless vest—”
“—of silk brocade—”
“—he seized you in his arms. Struggling in his grasp, knowing it would be futile to call for help, you were on the verge of swooning when suddenly he released you and spun round, his hand on the hilt—”
“—jewel-encrusted golden hilt—”
“—of his sword. You sank trembling upon the silken cushions of the divan and what to your wondering eyes should appear but the form of a man, who had entered the room through a curtained doorway. Was he a rescuer or another foe? you wondered (pressing your hand to your heaving bosom, if I remember correctly). He wore the coarse cotton garments (I must say, that was a pleasant change) of a peasant, and in his hand he carried a naked blade. In deadly silence he rushed at the Emir, who drew his sword. The blades clashed. A grim smile playing about his well-shaped lips, the newcomer . . .”
Miss Minton fell back against the cushions, whooping with laughter. She wiped her eyes on her napkin and remarked, “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize it was as bad as that. Spare me the rest, Mrs. Emerson.”
“The end was never in doubt,” I continued remorselessly. “Your defender’s mighty thews (really, Miss Minton!) and tigerish agility soon overcame the Emir, who sank wounded and unconscious to the floor. Lifting your fainting form as easily as if you had been a child, the stranger carried you to the window and . . . well, to make an unnecessarily prolonged story short, he lowered you down to the ground with a rope—a silken rope, wasn’t it?—led you through the dark deserted streets to where your men were camped, awaiting your return, and clasped you to him in a long passionate embrace before lifting you onto your camel and vanishing into the night.”
“Oh, dear,” murmured Miss Minton. “Very well, Mrs. Emerson, you have had your fun. I hope you enjoyed that.”
“Why do you write such rubbish? You are capable of better; some of the passages in that same book are cogently argued and well expressed.”
“Why? Because it sells, of course. You know my financial situation; my father left me nothing but the empty title of ‘Honorable,’ and I am dependent on what I earn.” Another smile deepened the lines framing her mouth. “You must have been struck by my rubbishy prose, or you wouldn’t remember the very phrases I used.”
“You made it up out of whole cloth, didn’t you?”
“The story is true up to the point where the Emir took me to his private room. Would you like to know what really happened after that?”
Dignity warred with curiosity and lost. “Well . . .”
Miss Minton rose and went to the table. Selecting a small sheaf of papers from one of the piles, she came back and handed it to me. “Here is the true version. I composed it soon after the event.”
From Manuscript Collection M (Miscellaneous)
The Emir was only a boy, seventeen or eighteen at the most. A black mustache and goatee gave him a warlike look, but his cheeks were as smooth as those of a girl. He reeked of attar of roses and clanked with jewelry. I wondered he could raise his hands; there were rings on every finger and both thumbs. Enameled brooches set with emeralds and rubies pinned his garment; through his sash had been thrust a dagger that had to be purely ornamental—the hilt was so heavily encrusted with gemstones it would have been impossible to get a good grip on it—and on the front of his turban was an ornament many a woman would have sacrificed her virtue to possess—a spray of diamonds eight inches long and four inches across, with a white egret feather sticking up from it.
We were alone in that vast-columned audience chamber, but I knew there were guards at the doors. The invitation, though courteously couched, had been a command. I couldn’t be any worse off than I was, and after all, what choice had I? When he gestured again for me to follow him, I did so. He managed to keep a step or two