The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [91]
Emerson let out a roar of laughter, which I stifled promptly and efficiently. While he was trying to catch his breath I said severely, “Physiognomy is a science, Emerson, and I have always been a keen student of it. So we throw our weight to Tarek?”
“Such as it is. I find it difficult to understand why we were lured here—for we were, Peabody, I am convinced of that—or why our presence is so important.”
“We must know more,” I agreed. “Not from what people tell us, but from our own observation. I have now made it clear that my health is fully restored, so they can’t use that as an excuse to keep us confined.”
We discussed this matter a while longer, considering various alternatives. Then I started to yawn, and Emerson said that if I was bored, he had an idea that might relieve my ennui.
It did.
We were awakened rather late the following morning by Mentarit pulling back the curtains Emerson had drawn around the bed. Veiled though she was, she managed to convey interest and curiosity by the very tilt of her head. Fortunately, the nights being quite cool, we had ample covering, but still Emerson did not like it and swore a good deal. After considerable thrashing about under the covers he managed to get into his robe and stalked off, still muttering, to his own chamber.
We had decided to try two methods of winning freedom from the building and I put the first one into effect immediately, picking at my breakfast and trying to look limp and depressed—not an easy task, for I was as hungry as a lioness and had never felt more alert. Mentarit observed my behavior and asked what was the matter.
“She fades and droops in this room,” Emerson answered. “The women of our country are accustomed to walk abroad freely, to go wherever they wish.”
He had deliberately spoken English. The girl did not pretend she had not understood; she pointed to the garden.
“That is not enough,” I said. “I need to walk, exercise, go far. Tell the prince.”
A brusque nod was the only response, but before long she left the room and I hoped she had gone to pass on my request. Emerson followed her through the curtain.
While he was gone I reclined on a bench or divan covered with soft cushions, to carry out my claim of weakness, and watched the servants. A new idea had come into my head.
In any society (save the Utopian inventions of imaginative writers), there are at least two classes: those who serve and those who are served. Human nature makes it inevitable that there should be conflict between these groups; the history of mankind holds innumerable examples of the horrors that may ensue when the downtrodden working class rises up in resentment of those who oppress them. Could we, I wondered, make use of this well-known social phenomenon? Could we, in short, foment a revolution?
The servants I had seen certainly appeared to have been trod upon. They might have been a different race from the rulers, being on the average four to six inches shorter, and far darker in color. They wore only loincloths or lengths of coarse, unbleached fabric wound about their waists. They might not be servants at all, but serfs or even slaves. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that slaves was probably the proper word. The utter silence in which they carried out their duties confirmed this theory; the poor things were not even free to chat among themselves, or sing a merry tune. A slave uprising! My spirit thrilled at the thought of leading a fight for freedom!
Acting upon my impulses has always been one of my characteristics. One of the women, a stocky individual whose waving hair showed a piebald blend of brown and gray, was on her knees sweeping under the bed. I stretched out my hand and touched her shoulder.
She reacted as violently as if I had struck her. Fortunately she hit her head on the bedframe and let out an involuntary yelp of pain, which enabled me to kneel down beside her and offer assistance. At least that was what I meant to do, but perhaps she misunderstood my gesture, for instead of responding she