The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [127]
“He gave it to her,” Reggie said. “Upon his deathbed. She was his favorite pupil.”
“She,” Emerson repeated thoughtfully. “Are you telling us that she—your friend—confound it, what is the girl’s name?”
“She is Princess Amenit—the daughter of the former king.” Reggie smiled at our looks of surprise. “You see now why I am so confident she can arrange for our escape.”
“Can she also arrange for us to see the High Priestess of Isis?” I asked.
“I don’t think.…” Reggie’s face brightened. “That won’t be necessary; all we need do is ask her. She must know whether the woman she serves is—”
“I do not wish to question the veracity of your sweetheart, Reggie, but you must see that her mere word would not be sufficient. She may be deceived; she may be so concerned with your safety that she would conceal the truth if it meant further risk to you.”
“I can’t believe she would lie to me,” Reggie muttered.
“Mrs. Emerson can,” said Emerson, knocking out his pipe. “And so can I. We must see the High Priestess unveiled!”
“I could not have put it better myself, Emerson,” I said approvingly.
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “It’s a rather tall order, though. If she doesn’t receive visitors, and dwells in the most remote areas of the temple… I doubt the high-handed methods we employed this morning would work, Peabody.”
“We can but try, Emerson. We must make the attempt.”
“Let me talk with Amenit,” Reggie said urgently. “Promise me you won’t do anything until I have consulted her. She may be able to arrange something, but if you go blundering in… Excuse me! I meant to say—”
“I will pretend I didn’t hear it,” said Emerson, rising in awful majesty and scowling like Jove. ” ‘Blundering’! Come along, Peabody, it is time for your rest.”
We left Reggie frowning at his feet, deep in thought. “You were a little hard on him, my dear,” I said. “And I really don’t see how Amenit can get us admitted to the presence of the High Priestess.”
“There’s no harm in asking, is there?” Emerson sat down beside me on the edge of my bed. “Curse it, Peabody, I’ve got to the point where even a tombstone would fail to convince me. All we have is a series of unproven and contradictory statements; I don’t know what to believe or whom to trust.”
“I quite agree, Emerson. By the way, thank you for setting my trousers on fire. I keep forgetting that Reggie has no more sense than a lizard. He certainly can’t be the messenger promised us by my nocturnal visitor. But that little book of Mr. Forth’s was a strange coincidence. Could Princess Amenit be the messenger?”
“If so, she has taken a dangerously roundabout method of approaching us,” said Emerson. “It may be no more than a coincidence after all; we don’t know the size of Willie’s library, or how many books he gave his friends and students. I recommend discretion on the subject of the rekkit with both young lovers, Peabody. People of that sort seldom give a curse about anything except their own precious skins.”
“I would not go so far as to say that. However, they are inclined to be gullible when they fancy themselves in love. Reggie may be deceived by this young woman.”
“Quite so. Confound it, Peabody, I hate to sneak away without having done something for those poor devils in the village. We’ll have to mount a second expedition.”
“Of course. But I haven’t given up hope of hearing from my mysterious visitor, one way or another.”
* * *
I looked forward with great anticipation to the lovers’ first meeting after so many days of separation and uncertainty. My sympathetic imagination visualized Amenit’s tears of anguish as she contemplated her sweetheart’s danger, her tears of joy when she learned of his deliverance. I pictured them flying into one another’s arms—their embraces—their murmured endearments. And then they would wander off, hand in hand, to the seclusion of the garden, where, soothed by the humming of bees and the cooing of doves in the mimosa trees, they would lose themselves in the rapture of love restored and hope renewed.
I pictured it, but of course I knew it was