The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [157]
“I imagine he has gone to inquire of the guards whether there has been any sign of Ramses. I am a little curious myself, so if you will excuse me—”
“I will go with you.” Reggie shook his head. “I hope the professor is not planning some rash attack on the guards. He is the bravest of men, but if you will permit me to say so—”
“No, I will not,” I replied shortly. “Professor Emerson is not only the bravest of men, he is one of the most intelligent. No doubt your weaker wits are unable to follow the shrewd reasoning that guides his every action. I will brook no criticism of my husband, Mr. Forthright—especially from you.”
To my surprise Reggie responded to my sally with a smile and a soft clap of his hands. “Bravo, Mrs. Amelia! It does my heart good to see such wifely devotion. Your poor opinion of my courage is understandable, after my failure to join you and Ramses and the professor in freeing Prince Tarek; but allow me to say a word in my own defense.”
“That is only fair,” I allowed.
“You have a gentle, womanly heart, Mrs. Amelia; it is natural you should sympathize with Tarek, who wormed his way into your confidence when you were at Napata. No doubt he has assured you of his support and friendship. I take a more logical view of the case. I don’t give a tinker’s—er— curse which of these two savages rules this godforsaken spot, and I wouldn’t trust either of them if he swore by every god in their endless pantheon. I beg you, ma’am, not to risk your life for Tarek. Think of yourself, your husband, your little son.”
“I am thinking of them,” I said, wondering how any man could be so obtuse. “Come, if you are coming; stay if you prefer.”
He followed me, of course. “Poor little boy,” he exclaimed. “How frightened he must be, lost in that horrible place. But don’t give up hope, Mrs. Amelia. We will find him yet.”
“How do you propose to accomplish that?” I asked curiously.
“Amenit knows every foot of those passages.”
“But Amenit is not here, and the guards are.”
“It is unfortunate that she should be taken ill,” Reggie agreed. “But you say she will recover, and when she returns we will carry out the plan she and I had discussed.”
“Which is?”
“I will explain later,” Reggie said. “When the professor has joined us. We are almost there.… Good heavens! What are they doing?”
He might well ask. Emerson and the two soldiers squatted close together, their backs to us, their attention focused on something on the floor in front of them. An odd rattling sound was heard, and then Emerson’s voice exclaiming in Meroitic, “Seven! It is mine!”
One of the guards made a profane reference to Bes, the god of jocular pursuits. “Emerson!” I said severely. “Are you corrupting these innocent savages by teaching them how to gamble?”
Emerson glanced at me over his shoulder. “I didn’t have to teach them, Peabody. I simply introduced them to a new game. I have already won two strings of beads and a knife.” Gathering up his winnings and the dice, he rose lithely to his feet. “Farewell, my brothers; I go now.”
“At least leave us the magic cubes,” grumbled one of the guards—the one whose scabbard was empty.
Emerson grinned and slapped him on the back with a remark I did not understand. Both the men laughed, so I concluded it was as well I did not.
“Improving your colloquial command of the language, I presume,” I said, as Emerson escorted me out of the chamber.
“Among other things,” said Emerson, pocketing the dice.
“What of the boy?” Reggie asked. “It is too bad of you, Professor, to prolong your wife’s anxiety.”
“She knows I would have informed her at once if there had been any news, you blithering idiot,” said Emerson. “Ramses has not manifested himself by sight or sound. It has only been a few hours, Peabody.”
“I know. Reggie has a plan,” I added.
“I can hardly wait to hear it,” said Emerson in the same tone.
Hear it we did, in the coolth of the evening, as twilight spread her violet veils across the garden and the languorous