The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [48]
“Good heavens,” I exclaimed. “What, no champagne glasses?”
“Not even champagne,” said Reggie with a laugh. “However, brandy travels well, I believe; I hope you and the professor will join me in a glass after dinner tonight.”
The camels were in need of my attention—which was not surprising, considering the loads they had carried. Reggie’s servants looked on with ill-concealed derision as I applied ointment to the festering sores on the poor beasts’ sides, but their grins disappeared when I addressed them in forcible and idiomatic Arabic. There were four of them, three Nubians and an Egyptian, a native of the Thebaid, who answered (like about half his countrymen) to the name of Ahmed. When I asked him what he was doing so far from home, he said, “The Effendi offered much money, Sitt. What is a poor man to do?”
Reggie decided he did not need a rest, and followed me back to my tent. He was as cheerful and eager to please as a large, clumsy dog, so I allowed him to help me with the accounts. The men were to be paid that evening. We kept separate pay sheets for each individual, since the amount they earned depended upon the number of hours worked plus extra for each important discovery. “By paying the fair market value for artifacts, we remove the incentive to theft,” I explained, adding wryly, “Unfortunately, thus far we have had to pay very little extra.”
“The site does appear to have been thoroughly ransacked,” Reggie agreed, with a disparaging glance at the tumbled piles of stone that had once been pyramids. “How much longer will you stay here if nothing of value turns up?”
“You still don’t understand, Reggie. It is knowledge, not treasure, we seek. At the rate we are going, it will take the entire season to finish here.”
“I see. Well, this appears to be the last memorandum, Mrs. Emerson. The men will be off to their villages this evening, I presume; do you and the professor stay here, or are you going to the encampment?”
After considerable discussion and a good deal of profane and fruitless argument, Emerson had finally agreed to let the men leave early so they could reach their homes before dark, providing they returned the following evening. I explained this to Reggie, adding that I had planned to visit the market in Sanam Abu Dom next day to purchase fresh vegetables and bread. “But if you are going, Reggie, you could shop for me and save me the trip.”
A shadow crossed the young man’s smiling face. “I must go, Mrs. Emerson. Having beheld the vast and threatening face of the desert, I begin to realize how fruitless my quest must prove, but…”
“Yes, of course. I will give you a list this evening, then. I suggest you wait until morning; travel after dark is fraught with perils.”
“You need not argue that,” Reggie replied. His hand went to the neat bandage I had applied to the cut on his brow, and he glanced over his shoulder at Kemit, who was resting in the shade nearby. “I suppose it could not have been that fellow who attacked me, but I swear to you, Mrs. Emerson, it was a man so like him it might have been his twin. What do you know of him?”
“His village, which was destroyed by the Dervishes, is south of here. He was not more precise; as you know, Western notions of distance and geography are unknown to these people.”
“You trust him, then?” Reggie’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
“You need not lower your voice, he only understands a few words of English. As for trusting him, why should I not? He and his friends have worked faithfully and diligently.”
“Why is he staring at us?” Reggie demanded.
“He is looking, not staring. Come now, Reggie, admit that your suspicions of Kemit are unjust and unfounded. You couldn’t have got a good look at your assailant, since by your own account you didn’t realize anything was wrong until the missile struck you.”
After a few more hours of work, Emerson called