The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [22]
‘It was the most sensible course of action,’ Emerson declared. ‘You know we are still arguing about where we plan to excavate for the next several years; until we settle on a particular site, we cannot construct permanent quarters. The boat will serve in that regard until we do. It is an infernal nuisance having to pack up our books and papers every year, and now we won’t have to stay at that bloo – blooming hotel.’
‘Yes, Emerson, of course,’ I murmured, conscious of a faint qualm. ‘But you know, my dear, it will require some time to get our staterooms in proper order.’
‘All done,’ said Emerson, beaming with obtuse satisfaction. ‘I have been working on this for months, Peabody; I began searching for a boat last spring, before we left Egypt, and when I saw the Philae, I knew it was just the thing. She was in sad condition, to be sure, but I ordered the proper repairs to be made, and as you can see they are complete.’
‘Bedding,’ I began. ‘Linens, dishes –’
‘All supplied. I had a quantity of articles shipped out this past summer. But why are we sitting here talking? Come and inspect your new domain, Peabody.’ He jumped lithely from the carriage and helped me out. ‘No doubt you will want to make a few small changes, women always do – hurry along, Ramses, give Nefret your arm, the bank is cursed slippery – but I am sure you will find everything to your satisfaction.’
The bank was cursed slippery, littered with a variety of unpleasant objects from rotting fruit to dead rats. I clung to Emerson’s arm and nerved myself to ask the question whose answer I dreaded. ‘Who was in charge of the arrangements, Emerson? Was it . . . Surely it was not . . .’
‘Why, Abdullah, of course,’ Emerson answered, steadying me as I staggered. ‘Watch where you step, Peabody.’
‘Abdullah,’ I repeated faintly. ‘Of course.’
He was waiting at the top of the gangplank, and when I saw the familiar form, its snowy robes and turban matching the white of his beard, affection overcame my dread of what he had done – or, to be more accurate, probably not done. Abdullah had been our reis, or foreman, for many years. He and the members of his extensive family had been trained by Emerson in the methods of scientific excavation; they were not only indispensable and valued assistants, they were trusted friends. To complain of the fact that, like all men, Abdullah had not the faintest notion of what constituted decent housekeeping would have been unreasonable.
So I addressed him as ‘my father,’ and knew it pleased him, though dignity and the watching audience – the aforesaid members of his family, all jumping up and down and calling out in welcome – prevented him from displaying emotion. Formal Arabic greetings can take quite a lot of time. To my surprise Abdullah cut them short and said, with an odd look at Emerson, ‘There is someone here to see you, Father of Curses.’
‘What?’ Emerson freed himself from the fond embrace of Daoud, Abdullah’s nephew, and directed a formidable scowl at his foreman. ‘Here? What the devil do you mean, letting a stranger on board, when this was supposed to be a private family occasion? Get rid of him.’
Abdullah began, ‘He insisted –’
That was an error, and he ought to have known better. Emerson’s roar hurt my ears. ‘Insisted? Oh, he insisted, did he? Where is he? Devil take it, I will throw him overboard myself!’
Abdullah’s bearded lips twitched. ‘That feat would tax even your powers, Emerson. He is on the upper deck.’
Emerson charged towards the stairs. I followed close on his heels, for I dared not allow Emerson to encounter a visitor when he was in one of his rages. It had occurred to me, as it must have occurred to you, Reader, that ‘Mr Saleh’ had called again, but I immediately dismissed the idea. Only a man of extraordinary importance could have persuaded Abdullah to violate his orders. The Khedive? The British Consul-General? Lord Kitchener? In his present state of mind Emerson was quite