Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [67]
I couldn’t walk. The roof was too low. So I crawled, as fast as I could, leaving John calmly discussing the situation with Larry.
I emerged from the opening to find myself in the middle of a fight, if one can use that word to describe an altercation between a fat elderly midget and a tall muscular man. Ed had Schmidt in a close embrace and Schmidt was pounding on his back and yelling in Mittelhochdeutsch, his favourite language for swearing.
‘Cut it out, you little lunatic,’ Ed said. His breathing wasn’t even fast. ‘Here she comes. Safe and sound.’
He released Schmidt. Schmidt darted at me. ‘Vicky! Are you all right? I was trying to get to you – ’
‘Stop squeezing me, Schmidt. I’m fine.’ But I didn’t try to free myself; it felt good to be held by someone who loved me. Over the top of Schmidt’s head I saw other members of our group, in various poses of curiosity and concern. Feisal clutched Suzi’s voluptuous form. Her eyes were closed, but I doubted she was unconscious; one of her arms was draped around Feisal’s neck. Pale and shaken, Mary leaned against a wall. She wasn’t as pale as the young archaeologist, who had just seen his hopes of a generous contribution go up in smoke. It is difficult to win the heart of a potential donor after he has fallen down a shaft.
‘I don’t understand how it could have happened,’ he insisted. ‘The ladder was perfectly sound, we’ve been up and down it a hundred times . . . Oh! Oh, thank God, Mr Blenkiron. Are you all right?’
‘Just a few bruises.’ Followed closely by John, Larry emerged from the tunnel. He was dusty and sweaty and dishevelled, but he didn’t seem to be damaged. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he went on sheepishly. ‘The ladder is intact. I guess my foot slipped when the lights went out. And someone screamed – ’
‘Probably Suzi.’ Feisal lowered her unceremoniously to the ground. She promptly opened her eyes and muttered, ‘Where am I?’
Nobody told her.
‘It’s fortunate that no one was injured,’ said Feisal, in a voice that reminded me he was responsible for the safety and well-being of the group. Did they dock his pay for every tourist he lost? If so, he was already out a few bucks on account of Jen. Had she really left Cairo? I had only John’s word for it and I wouldn’t have relied on that if he had assured me the world was round.
Urged on by Feisal, we started back to the bus. Nobody asked why the power had failed. Apparently that sort of thing happened all the time. It was probably just an odd coincidence that it had happened after Vicky Bliss, the well-known phobic, had crawled down into a tomb. If I hadn’t baulked at the last minute I might have been on the ladder when it happened.
There were only two people who knew about my phobia. I thanked God I hadn’t made an abject fool of myself in front of Larry; he had realized I was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t aware of the disgusting performance I had put on. My vocal reaction had been in the form of whimpers rather than screams.
My eyes focused on John, who was ahead of us. Mary was clinging to his arm. They hadn’t been part of the original expedition. They – and Suzi and the others – must have accompanied Schmidt. John could have managed it. A yank at the electric wire that snaked around the wall . . .
Another warning, designed to inflict emotional rather than physical damage. It was a low-down filthy trick to pull on a person under any circumstances; the circumstances under which John had learned of this particular Achilles heel made the trick even filthier.
Schmidt looked up at me. ‘You are very red in the face, Vicky. Is it the sunburn?’
‘No, Schmidt. It’s not sunburn.’
II
The boat got under way as soon as we boarded. We were due in Luxor next day. I could hardly wait. By hell or high water, hook or crook, I was going to get myself into the presence of an actual living unmistakable policeman or a member of State Security Investigation, and demand to know what was going on. The situation was coming apart like a soggy paper towel and I must be losing