The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [76]
“I told you: The bad guys won’t bother me until I find the Amulet,” she said. “It’s the good guys who are out to kill me.”
“That’s my Lara,” he said. “All I ever did was hunt angry elephants and man-eating lions and the like. You’re the one who leads an exciting life.”
“Right at this moment I could do with a little less excitement.”
“Well, with a little luck, you’ll have three days to rest and relax before you go to the Seychelles.”
“I certainly hope so,” she said.
They visited and discussed old times for another hour, then both walked over to the gift shop to purchase some much-needed bathroom equipment.
When they returned to the cottage, Lara found a robe that the hotel supplied, laid it out on the bed, then carried the toothpaste and toothbrushes they had just bought into the bathroom.
“I’ve got the blue one,” she said. “You can have the red one.”
“Whatever you say,” replied Oliver from the next room.
She put the toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet, rinsed her hands and face off, turned to the door—and froze.
“Malcolm,” she said softly.
“Speak up,” he replied. “I can’t hear you.”
“Malcolm, get over here—fast!”
He got up and walked to the bathroom, where the door was still open.
“Is it dangerous?” asked Lara.
Oliver looked at the snake that lay coiled on the floor between them.
“Don’t move!” he said tersely.
“What is it?”
“A black mamba,” he replied. “It’s the deadliest snake in Africa.”
The snake, annoyed by their voices, began raising its head. She stared into its cold reptilian eyes, almost mesmerized for a second.
“I’d better get my Magnum!” he said. “Don’t excite him!” He raced out the door before she could tell him to get her pistols out of her bag.
The mamba hissed and raised its head even higher.
Lara slowly, ever so slowly, began crouching down. The snake’s head lowered as it kept its eyes level with hers. When she felt she could reach her boot without any awkward motions, she moved her right hand down and slowly, gently pulled out the Scalpel of Isis.
She straightened up, and again the mamba raised its head. The snake was no more than two feet from her, within easy striking distance.
But I’m within easy striking distance of you, too, she thought.
She reached her left hand out very slowly. The snake watched it, unblinking. There was a box of tissues on the sink. Ever so carefully she pulled one out of the box and slowly moved it toward the mamba until it hissed again.
Then, tensing, she dropped the tissue. It fluttered toward the floor, and the mamba struck—and as its deadly fangs went through the tissue, she grabbed it just behind its head with her left hand and stuck the dagger up through its underjaw with all her strength. The blade went up through the mamba’s tongue and out the top of its mouth, pinning its jaws shut.
It began struggling in her grip, but it was unable to sink its fangs into her. She brought the snake’s head down again and again against the hard enamel edge of the sink. At some point she realized that it was dead, had been dead for a few moments and was simply jerking spasmodically. She walked to the door of the cottage, pulled the Scalpel of Isis out, and tossed the dead mamba onto the stone patio.
Oliver arrived less than a minute later, Magnum in hand, and saw the dead snake.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Those bastards parked my car a block away.”
“He couldn’t just have crawled in here on his own, could he?” asked Lara, gesturing to the mamba.
Oliver shook his head. “There hasn’t been a mamba in town in years. They’re actually getting rather difficult to find.” He lifted up the snake’s body. “I’d better dump him in the garbage before all the guests start leaving in a panic.”
He picked up the mamba and carried it off, returning a few minutes later.