The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [58]
“You have a point there, Emerson,” I admitted. “Then may we conclude that they want us to set out to rescue the Forths?”
“Cursed if I know,” said Emerson candidly.
A brief silence followed this noble admission of fallibility; pondering, we sipped our cooling tea. Finally Reggie asked timidly, “What are you going to do, Professor?”
Emerson set his cup in the saucer with a decisive thump. “Something must be done.”
“Quite,” I said, with equal decisiveness.
“But what?” Reggie demanded.
“Hmmm.” Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. “Well, I am certainly not going to set out on some harebrained expedition into the desert.”
“We might try to hypnotize Ramses again,” I suggested. “He may know more than he is aware of.”
Ramses uncurled himself from his squatting position and rose to his feet. “With all respect, Mama, I would rather not be hypnotized again. From my reading on the subject I feel it is a dangerous activity when practiced by one who is untrained in its techniques.”
“If you are referring to me, Ramses,” I began.
“Weren’t you referring to yourself?” Emerson inquired, his eyes twinkling. He put a friendly hand on Ramses’s shoulder. “Sit down, my son; I won’t let Mama hypnotize you.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Ramses sank down, keeping a rather wary eye on me. “I have given the matter considerable thought, and I can say with some certainty that the voice I thought I heard, and that I assumed to be that of Mama, was no more than my own interpretation of a wordless but urgent demand. I heard it as a single word: ‘Come.’ ”
“Come… where?” Emerson asked softly.
Ramses’s narrow shoulders lifted in the ineffable Arabic shrug, but his normally imperturbable countenance showed more than a trace of perturbation. “There.” His outflung arm indicated the western desert, barren under the steaming sun.
A shudder ran through my limbs. “Ramses,” I exclaimed. “I insist that you—”
“No, no,” Emerson said. “No hypnotism, Amelia. I agree with Ramses that it might do more harm than good. It appears that something must be done, however. We can’t have Ramses trotting around the desert, or guard him every second.” His eyes were fixed on the far horizon, where sand faded into sky, and the longing in his mind was as clear to me as if he had shouted it aloud. The lure of the unknown and of discovery—it called to that sensitive and brilliant spirit as strongly as the unknown force called his son. Had he been alone, with no fears for my safety or that of Ramses, he would have set out on the greatest adventure of his life. I remained respectfully silent in the presence of that noble forbearance (and because I was trying to think how best to express my own opinions on the subject).
“An expedition must be mounted,” Emerson said at last. “But not by me, and not without careful preparation. Unpleasant as the prospect may be, I will consult with Slatin Pasha and the military authorities at the camp.”
“They won’t believe you, Emerson,” I cried. “The evidence is too complex for their limited minds to comprehend. Oh, my dear, they will mock you—think how Budge will laugh—”
Emerson’s lips writhed with fury. “It must be done, Peabody. There is no other course. If it were only a question of searching for our hypothetical lost culture, we could wait a year—plan a proper expedition, gather supplies and sufficient manpower—but Forth and his wife may be in deadly danger. Delay could prove fatal.”
“But—but—” Reggie gasped. “Professor, this is a complete volte-face! In England you laughed at me, you refused my grandfather’s request.… What has changed your mind?”
“This.” Emerson picked up the broken arrow. “To you it may seem a fragile reed on which to risk men’s lives. It is useless to explain. You would not understand.”
His eyes met mine. It was one of those thrilling moments of absolute communication that so often occurs with my dear Emerson and myself. “But you,” that silent message said, “you understand me,