The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [117]
I now believe the tales of those who claim to have relived their entire lives in the space of a few seconds, for those thoughts and others that do not merit description flashed through my mind in the moments that elapsed before I reached the bottom of the pit. To my astonishment I found it was covered with water. Under the water was mud and under the mud was stone. The presence of the water and the mud broke my fall, though it was hard enough to bruise me and knock the breath clean out of me. Not until I made instinctive swimming motions did I realize that my limbs had been freed. Swimming was unnecessary; the water and underlying slime were scarcely three feet deep. After I had gained my feet my first act was to pluck the gag from my mouth. It was saturated with water and tasted foul, but it had prevented me from swallowing the revolting liquid.
Scarcely had I gained an upright position when I was thrown back into the water by the impact of a heavy object that narrowly missed me and sent a fountain of spray high in the air. Without an instant’s hesitation I dropped to my hands and knees and began feeling about. My groping hands encountered a substance that felt like the fur of a drowned animal, slippery with slime and water, but I knew the feel of it, wet or dry, muddy or slimy; and thanking heaven for Emerson’s thick, healthy head of hair, I twisted both hands in it and dragged his head up from under the water. The angelic choir will sound no sweeter to me than the sputtering and cursing that told me Emerson was alive and conscious. Presumably the water on his face had brought him around.
His first act, after spitting out the mud that had filled his mouth, was to aim a blow at my jaw. I had expected this, and was able to avoid it, while announcing my identity in the lowest possible voice.
“Peabody!” Emerson gurgled. “Is it you? Thank God! But where the devil are we?”
“Inside the Black Pyramid, Emerson. Or rather, under it; though overcome by bat effluvium and other physical inconveniences, I am certain the general direction of the passageway was—”
During my reply Emerson had located my face by feeling around; he put an end to the speech by placing his mouth firmly over mine. He tasted quite nasty, but I did not mind.
Eventually Emerson stopped kissing me and remarked “Well, Peabody, we are in a pretty fix. The last thing I remember is an explosion somewhere around the base of my skull. I take it you did not have the same experience; or are you merely producing one of your imaginative hypotheses when you claim we are inside the pyramid? I have never been in one that was as wet as this.”
“I was gagged and bound, but not unconscious. Emerson, they have found the entrance! It is not on the north side, where de Morgan looked, but at ground level near the southwest corner. No wonder he could not find it.” A critical clearing of the throat from the darkness beside me reminded me that I was wandering off the subject, so I went on, “I suspect we are in the burial chamber itself. This pyramid is quite near the cultivation, if you recall; the recent inundation must have flooded the lower sections.”
“I don’t understand the point of this,” Emerson said, in almost his normal voice. “Why did they not murder us? You can, I presume, find the way out.”
“I hope so, Emerson. But this is a very confusing pyramid—a maze, one might say. And I was not at my best. The kidnapper dragged me most of the way and my—er—my body kept bumping on the stones, and—”
“Grrr,” said Emerson fiercely. “Dragged you, you say? The villain! I will have his liver for that when I catch up with him. Never mind, Peabody; I would back you against any pyramid ever built.”
“Thank you, my dear Emerson,” I replied with considerable emotion. “First, though, we must have a look at our surroundings.”
“I don’t see how we are going to manage that, Peabody. Unless you