The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [177]
“Nefret,” I began.
“She will meet us there. Hasten.”
Accompanied by several soldiers, we hurried along through endless winding corridors until we reached a door, barred and blocked and heavily guarded. As we approached, the men grounded their spears, dropped to their knees and bent forward till their foreheads touched the ground. From one averted face came a muffled voice that said, “We are your men, Father of Curses. We will follow you through life unto death.”
“I say, Peabody,” Emerson exclaimed in high delight. “It’s Harsetef and his chaps; they came through alive after all. Splendid, splendid!”
The men got to their feet and I said, “Yes, Emerson, I too am delighted, but I hope they don’t mean that literally. It would be frightfully inconvenient to have them following us through London and down to Kent, especially dressed like that.”
“Do you really think so? I was rather looking forward to introducing them to Gargery. He enjoys this sort of thing so much. And Peabody—only imagine the look on Lady Carrington’s face the next time she calls to complain about Ramses and is greeted by this lot, in full uniform.…”
“No, Emerson.”
“No?” Emerson sighed. “I suppose you are right. Hear then, my brave men, the last command of the Father of Curses. Serve King Tarek faithfully as you would serve me. The eye of the Father of Curses will be upon you and the blessing of the—”
“Emerson, do cut it short!” I begged, for Tarek was fairly dancing with impatience. Emerson gave me a reproachful look but obeyed, giving Harsetef his pipe as a memento. “I am out of tobacco anyhow,” he explained, as the young soldier regarded the sacred relic with awe.
We followed Tarek along the winding ways. The tunnel was only wide enough for two people to walk abreast; a few men could have defended it against a multitude. Finally we emerged into a courtyard open to the sky and walled with towering cliffs. It must have been a ravine or cleft which had been widened over the centuries until it was now large enough to serve as a corral. Cubicles cut out of the rock wail served as stables and storerooms. In the pale moonlight I saw that a dozen camels were waiting. Several of the men had already mounted; others, clad in the loose robes used for desert travel, gathered around at Tarek’s low-pitched call. He uttered a few curt instructions, and they scattered to finish the final loading.
Tarek turned to us. “Now is the moment my heart dreads,” he began.
I poked him, not ungently, with my parasol, for I knew that if he and Emerson got to exchanging compliments, we would be there all night. “Our hearts are heavy too, my friend, so let us get it over with. You must go back to your duties.”
“True.” Tarek smiled wryly. “There are pockets of rebellion still to be overcome, and my uncle Pesaker is yet untaken. I will also have to deal with Murtek and the other priests when they discover I have violated the oldest law of the Holy Mountain. Farewell, my friends, my saviors—”
“Where are the others?” I interrupted.
“They come.” Tarek gestured, and I saw a pair of white-clad forms emerge from the tunnel. “Again and yet again, farewell.”
He embraced me and Ramses, and would have done the same to Emerson had not the latter avoided it by grasping Tarek’s hand and wringing it vigorously. “Good-bye, Tarek, and good luck. You are a good chap. Come and see us if you are ever in England.”
Tarek nodded and turned away. He was incapable of speaking, I believe, for an even more painful farewell was yet before him. But as he started toward