The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [84]
“Why, certainly, Emerson. And the point I am endeavoring to make is that it is time we made an effort to learn these things. I am fully recovered and ready to take that place at your side you so kindly offered me.”
“I believe you are,” said Emerson, without the wholehearted enthusiasm I had expected. “All right, then. The first step is to get in touch with Tarek. Do you suppose that omnipresent column of white swaddling will carry a message to him? If you can convince her that you have made a full recovery, we may be able to dispense with her services,” he added, brightening visibly at the idea. “The confounded girl is getting on my nerves, gliding around like a ghost.”
Amenit made it clear that carrying a message was beneath her dignity, but she agreed to find someone to take it. She admitted I was no longer in need of her medical attention. This did not have the effect Emerson (and I) had hoped, however; when I suggested, as tactfully as my still limited command of the language allowed, that her services could now be dispensed with, she pretended not to understand.
We had made our move; it remained only to await a response. After luncheon we retired for the brief rest that is customary in warm climes. Not for the first time, I regretted the loss of my little library. I would as soon think of traveling without my trousers as my books—cheap paperbound editions of my favorite novels and works of philosophy—for I preferred to spend my resting time reading, my normally vigorous health making extra sleep unnecessary. The books had, of course, been among the unnecessary luxuries discarded after the mutiny of our servants. With nothing better to do, I did sleep for a few hours. When I awoke I went into the reception room to find Ramses and Emerson already there, hard at work on a language lesson.
“No, no, Papa,” Ramses was saying in an insufferably patronizing voice. “The imperative form is abadamu, not abadmunt.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “Hallo, Peabody; did you have a good rest?”
“Yes, thank you. Has there been any word from Tarek?”
“Apparently not. I can’t get a word out of that wretched girl. She just squirms and grunts and scuttles off when I speak to her.”
“Yet it appears we are about to have guests,” I remarked, taking a seat next to him.
“Why do you say that?”
I indicated Amenit, who was hopping around the room like a flea on a griddle, as my old North Country nurse would have put it, her hands flying as she directed the servants.
“I have never seen her move so briskly. The room was already spotless (as indeed it always is), but she has made them clean it again, and now they are setting up those little light tables and chairs. I recognize the actions of a nervous hostess.”
“I do believe you are correct, Peabody.” With an obvious air of relief, Emerson pushed his lesson aside and rose. “I had better change. These loose robes are quite comfortable, but I feel at a disadvantage in skirts.”
I felt the same. I hastened to assume not only my trousers but my belt. Thus accoutred, and with my parasol ready at hand, I felt ready for anything that might ensue.
It was a good thing I had noticed Amenit’s behavior, for we were given no other warning. The curtains at the entrance were suddenly flung aside. This time Tarek’s entourage was more extensive and impressive. There were six soldiers instead of two and four of the veiled maidens. They were followed by a number of men, all of them richly dressed, and by several young women who were hardly dressed at all. (A few strings of beads, however strategically placed, do not in my opinion constitute clothing.) These damsels carried musical instruments—small harps, pipes, and drums—on which they began to play, enthusiastically if not euphoniously. All fanned out as they entered and took up positions on both sides of the door. An expectant pause ensued; then came Tarek—and his twin.
There were two of them at any rate, almost equal in height and dressed identically; but a second