The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [147]
“Wouldn’t it be ironic if she attempted to poison us while you are in the process of poisoning her? Bodies everywhere, like the last act of Hamlet.”
“Emerson, if you don’t stop that—”
“Sorry, my dear. Continue; your exposition is quite clear and logical.”
“I… Where was I? Oh, yes. If Nastasen does decide to commit murder, he will make a clean sweep of it—all three of us and Reggie as well. So far as he is concerned, we are equally expendable, and she can hardly explain to him why Reggie should be treated differently.”
“Yes, that’s fine as far as it goes,” said Emerson, who seemed determined to look on the gloomy side. “But there are other complications. Pesaker—”
“Seeks power for his god and, thereby, for himself. He will insist we be saved for the sacrifice. Bread and circuses, you know—the method by which tyrants control the mob. Murtek is another complication; in my equation he is represented by an x, for unknown. I have not abandoned all hope of his assistance, however.”
“I have,” said Emerson. “What about Tarek?”
“We have to assume he spoke only the truth, Emerson. Nefret trusts him, and we have no reason not to. There is something about his role I don’t understand, though. He is now discredited, a fugitive—why is it so important that he be recaptured before the ceremony, at which Nastasen will certainly receive the nod of the god, since the High Priest of Amon is one of his supporters? They are even willing to take the risk of leaving us here, in relative freedom, in the hope of trapping Tarek. Unless Murtek, devious old man that he is, is secretly on Tarek’s side and thinks Tarek can still rescue us.…”
“I wouldn’t count on Tarek,” said Emerson, sighing deeply. “He’ll do well to avoid recapture.”
“Oh, I am not counting on anyone, Emerson. Except ourselves. If all else fails, we will simply have to drug our attendants, overpower the guards, raise the rekkit to arms, and take over the government.”
“Peabody, Peabody!” Emerson seized me tightly in his arms and muffled his laughter against my hair. “You are the light of my life and the joy of my existence and—and all that. Have I mentioned lately that I adore you?”
I was pleased to have put him in a more cheerful mood.
We needed all the good cheer we could summon, for the following day proved to be full of unpleasant surprises.
The first occurred in the morning. I was inspecting my medical chest trying to decide what to use on Amenit when the now-too-familiar tread of marching feet heralded a new danger.
My first thought was for Ramses. Turning, I was just in time to catch the flutter of his little kilt as he scuttled into the next room. One anxiety being relieved—for I had often had occasion to search for my son and knew he could elude pursuit indefinitely—I braced myself for the next.
The guards did have a prisoner, but it was not Tarek. I had not realized I was holding my breath until it burst explosively from my lungs. Reggie—for it was he—smiled at me and waved his hand in greeting. He was a trifle pale but appeared to be unharmed.
After a brief delay Nastasen entered, accompanied by more soldiers and the two High Priests. He did not appear to be in a pleasant state of mind—which augured well, I thought, for Tarek. “This one has confessed,” he announced, gesturing at Reggie. “You are all guilty—you tried to kill me and steal my crown.”
“Don’t believe him,” Reggie cried. “I—”
One of the guards gave him a shove that sent him staggering. “I have no use for him now,” Nastasen went on. “Where is the boy?”
Before long not a single article of furniture remained upright and every hanging had been torn down. Early in the proceedings Nastasen lost his temper and began throwing the furniture around with his own royal hands. It would have been humorous had I been less worried; at one point