The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [131]
There seemed to be an endless supply of the fine linen robes. I bundled the soiled ones up and hid them under the bed, hoping Amenit would deal with them in the morning. She apparently had other plans for the remainder of the night.
It was not long before Emerson joined me. “I won’t stay if you are sleepy, Peabody,” he whispered.
“I doubt if I will sleep at all. What are we to do, Emerson? Is that young woman true to poor Reggie, do you think?”
“If she isn’t in love with him she is putting on a convincing show. No woman could do more for a man.”
I sat up in bed. “Emerson! You didn’t!”
“Certainly I did. Our lives may hang on the genuineness of her affection. I had to find out.” He put his arms around me and pulled me down beside him before continuing, “There remains a more serious doubt. Has she the power to do what she has promised? It won’t be easy to equip an expedition of that size, in absolute secrecy, even for a princess of the royal house.”
“That is certainly a consideration,” I replied. “And there are others that suggest we ought not be in any particular hurry to rush off. We should at least hear what the promised messenger has to say.”
“I don’t know why you’re so set on that fellow and his vague promises,” Emerson said suspiciously. “What sort of man was he? Old and feeble, did you tell me?”
I smiled in the darkness. “I told you I never saw his face. He certainly was not old and feeble, though. Quite the contrary.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “It has been several days. He may have been captured.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Curse it, Peabody—”
He broke off with a sound that, in a lesser man, I might have taken for a muffled cry of alarm. I should explain that we were lying on our sides facing one another; in the heat of argument Emerson had raised himself on his elbow, so he could see past my recumbent body. Hastily I rolled over. A white-swathed form bent over me, its hand outstretched.
“Good Gad,” I hissed. “What is it, Amenit? Why do you disturb us?”
With a brusque gesture the girl tore the veil from her face. I could not make out her features clearly; it was the movement itself that betrayed her identity. “Mentarit,” I exclaimed.
Her hand covered my lips. The other hand reached into the breast of her robe and came out with…
“Emerson,” I whispered. “It is a book, I believe.”
“Another one?” said Emerson dubiously.
“Come,” Mentarit said softly. “Will you trust me? I bring the sign he promised you. There is little time and great danger. You must come now.”
“Emerson?”
“Are you asking me, Peabody? Remarkable. Well, why not? If you can persuade the lady to turn her back while I…”
“I will fetch the young one,” said Mentarit tactfully.
“He is probably under the bed,” I remarked, reaching for my robe. “What do you suppose she wants him for?”
“Ours not to reason why,” said Emerson. “Where the devil is my sash? Ah, here it is. Ours but to—”
The reappearance of Mentarit with Ramses in tow mercifully prevented him from completing the depressing quotation. “Ah, there you are, my boy,” he said pleasantly. “Sorry to knock you up; it was the lady’s idea.”
“I was not asleep,” said Ramses. “Where are we going, Papa?”
“Cursed if I know,” said Emerson.
“Sssh,” said Mentarit.
I wondered at her assurance, for although she had cautioned us to silence, she seemed not to fear being discovered. One part of the mystery was explained when we reached the anteroom. There were four guards, motionless as statues, their great spears reflecting the lamplight. They did not move even their eyes as Mentarit led us past them.
“Hypnotized, perhaps,” I breathed.
“By my eloquence,” said Emerson. “Hem. Didn’t you recognize them?”
The great wooden doors were closed and bolted. Mentarit ignored them, directing us through a series of corridors that grew ever narrower and plainer, and then down a flight of stairs that ended in a small door