The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [143]
“I thought that myself,” I said. “The men who attended Nastasen this time all wore leather helmets and carried spears; that must mean (and I ought to have noticed it before) that the archers, who wear the feather, are Tarek’s men. He told us not all those who wore his insignia were loyal to him, and it appears the reverse is true. I don’t suppose you observed which of the guards was especially clumsy?”
“No, curse it, I was too busy tripping people up.” Emerson scowled. “That’s the trouble with these conspiracies, they don’t give one time for leisurely discussion. If Tarek had taken the trouble to tell us whom we can trust…”
He took a savage bite of the bread. I looked at the little woman who was filling my cup. Had there been a murmur, soft as a buzzing bee or purring cat, when Tarek’s name was mentioned? I had no doubt of her sympathies, but I would not have endangered her by trying to speak to her. No doubt there were spies among the rekkit too. It would be so pitifully easy to bribe the weaker ones to betray their own people. To a starving man, a loaf of bread is riches beyond belief.
“I am glad we were able to enjoy that refreshing little tussle this morning,” I remarked to Emerson as we strolled arm in arm around the lotus pond. “For it appears our opportunity for healthful exercise will be very limited hereafter.”
Amenit had returned, bringing with her a fresh supply of little servants. The latter looked even more miserable and depressed than the first lot; I did not doubt they and their families had been threatened with unspeakable punishments if they attempted to render us aid.
Emerson had immediately tested the new security system by marching to the front entrance and demanding to be let out. He returned with the not unexpected news that the stratagem had failed, and “his men” were no longer on duty. “I only hope they have not been harmed, Peabody. That disgusting young swine is quite capable of slaughtering anyone he believes sympathetic to us.”
“My dear, you don’t understand Nastasen’s psychology,” I said. “He is in—what is the phrase?—the catbird seat now and able to indulge without restraint in his favorite hobby of tormenting people. I expect that as a child he pulled the wings off butterflies. He won’t slaughter any of our friends without making sure we are there to watch. And you may be certain we will be the first to know if Tarek is recaptured.”
“I don’t hold with this newfangled fad of psychology,” Emerson grumbled. “At worst it is fiddle-faddle and at best it is plain old common sense. You haven’t had an opportunity to chat with Amenit since she got back, I suppose.”
“Not yet. The girl is not very intelligent, Emerson; I certainly would not allow her to participate in any conspiracy I was directing. She would have given herself away if I hadn’t stopped her. I thought it was best to pretend ignorance of her role.”
“Quite. It was she who betrayed Tarek, I suppose.”
“It was she, I feel certain, who discovered we were not in our rooms last night. She was suspiciously alert today for someone who was supposed to have drunk drugged wine. She must have warned Nastasen or Pesaker—probably the latter, since he is the only one who would have sense enough to draw the obvious conclusion—that we were gadding about with some member of the opposition party. If I had been managing the affair I would have set ambushes outside the quarters of all those I suspected of being in league with Tarek, and of course the palace of Tarek himself. The fact that we were not waylaid on our way back here gives me hope that they don’t know how we got out of our rooms.”
“Or where we went?”
“Heaven grant that it is so.” I wiped away a tear. “That poor, brave child! What a terrible blow this news will be to her—how lonely and frightened she must be! If we could