The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [146]
“He is rich. And a great one among you.”
“Er—yes,” I said, wondering what Lord Blacktower would think of the arrangement.
“He said he would take me with him,” Amenit muttered. “He swore by his god. Can I believe him?”
“An Englishman’s word is his—er—truth,” I said, finding translation somewhat difficult, especially since in this case I was not entirely convinced myself.
“But I am not like the women of his country. My skin is dark, my hair has not the golden brightness of hers—”
She stopped with a snap of her teeth—one word too late.
“Mrs. Forth’s, you mean?” I said casually.
“And his,” Amenit said. “It is like red gold. He is very beautiful.”
My heart thudded with excitement. She did not know we had seen Nefret; that had been a genuine slip of the tongue which she had, with my assistance, managed to cover up. More than that—the difficulty of opportunity was solved! I saw the way clear before me.
“Would you like to be beautiful too, Amenit? The women of my country have ways to change the color of their hair, lighten their skin—”
“And their eyes? I would want mine to be blue, the color of the sky.”
I frowned. “That is more difficult. It takes a long time and is sometimes painful, at least in the beginning.”
“We could start now! Then I would be beautiful by the time we get to your country.”
“I don’t know.…”
“You will help me! I order you!”
“Well,” I said, “if you put it that way.…”
Plots within plots! Even Machiavelli would have been out of his depth. But not I; the conversation had resolved several hitherto unsettled questions. The girl’s desire to escape with her lover was entirely sincere, thanks to Reggie’s cleverness in seducing her not only with his charms but with the promise of wonders that must sound like magic to a primitive and ambitious young woman. I could believe in her desire for these things much more readily than I could in her love for Reggie.
I said as much to Emerson that night after we had sought the privacy of our connubial couch.
“I had no idea you were such a cynic about young love, Peabody,” was his reply.
“I am only cynical about Amenit. Not all women are like that, Emerson, as you ought to know.”
“You will have to convince me, Peabody.”
So I did—a procedure that has no part in this story. When he confessed that he was thoroughly convinced, I finished reporting my conversation with Amenit. “She wanted me to begin at once, but I put her off by demanding certain ingredients—oil, herbs, and the like—which she had not at hand. I had not quite decided what method to use—”
“Don’t tell me,” Emerson said nervously.
“You will have your little joke, Emerson. I also felt it advisable to wait another day, in case something develops.”
“It is likely to be something unpleasant,” muttered Emerson. “I have suggested to Ramses that he stay on the alert and be ready to bolt into hiding if Nastasen pays us another call. I am a man of iron control, Peabody, as you know, but I fear my control would snap if someone laid violent hands on my son. And you—I well remember what you did on an earlier occasion, when you believed Ramses had been seriously injured.” *
“You keep referring to that occasion and I keep telling you I have not the slightest recollection of behaving in such an ill-bred fashion. It is a good thought, though; getting Ramses out of a dungeon might present some difficulty.”
“You may get away, Peabody—as Amenit’s beauty consultant and personal maid.”
“Your humor is decidedly macabre tonight, Emerson. She is probably planning to take the magic potions I concoct and then do away with me. Now let us be serious. This is how I see it. Nastasen believes Amenit is loyal to him—he has probably promised to marry her and make her queen. She supports him against Tarek, but unbeknownst to either she plans to flee the country with Reggie. She is desperately jealous of Nefret—”
“It sounds like the plot of one of those absurd novels you women read,” Emerson muttered. “What makes you think she is jealous?”
“Oh, Emerson, it is obvious. Being a man you would not understand,