The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [38]
As John and I retraced our steps through the crooked, shady streets, I kept on the lookout for a lithe, tawny form, but to no avail. There was no answer to my repeated cries, except for curious glances from passersby. I heard one say, in response to a question from his companion, “It is the name of one of the old gods. They are magicians of great power, she and her husband; no doubt she is pronouncing a curse on that—Aslimi.”
Reaching the Muski we took a carriage at the entrance to the bazaar. John sat uneasily on the very edge of the seat. “Madam,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Oi—I won’t be mentioning this to the master, if you like.”
“There is no reason why you should bring up the subject, John. But if you are asked a direct question, naturally you will tell the truth.”
“I will?”
“Certainly. We were looking for the cat. Unfortunately we found no trace of her.”
But when I entered my room the first thing I saw was the familiar feline shape, curled up at the foot of my bed. As I had predicted, Bastet had found her way home.
iii
The sun was setting the gilded spires and minarets of Cairo ablaze when the wanderers returned, in precisely the state I had expected. Ramses rushed, as usual, to embrace me. I was wearing my oldest dressing gown in anticipation of this. I was the only person, aside from his Aunt Evelyn, with whom Ramses was so physically demonstrative. Sometimes I suspected him of doing it out of malice, for he was almost always covered with some noxious substance or other. On this occasion, however, he veered off at the last moment and flung himself on the cat.
“Where did you find her, Mama?”
I was flattered by his assumption that I was responsible, but truth compelled me to reply, “I did not find her, Ramses—though I did look for her. She found her own way back.”
“That is a relief,” said Emerson, smiling wanly. “Ramses was quite cut up about her. Keep her on the lead from now on, my boy.”
“And put her down until after you have bathed,” I added. “I spent an hour combing and cleaning her. You will get her dirty again.”
Clutching the cat to his bosom, in flagrant disregard of this order, Ramses retired, with John in attendance. He (Ramses) smelled very peculiar. Goat, I believe.
Emerson also smelled of goat, and of the strong tobacco favored by the men of Aziyeh. He looked tired, and admitted as much when I questioned him. When I questioned him further, he admitted that Ramses’ “boyish joie de vivre,” as he put it, was responsible for his fatigue. Ramses had fallen out of a palm tree and into the river; he had been attacked and slightly trampled by a goat after attempting to loosen the rope around its neck, which he felt was too tight (the animal had either mistaken his motives or yielded to the irascibility of temper to which billy goats are traditionally prone); and had concluded the afternoon by consuming several pints of date wine, forbidden to devout Muslims, but brewed on the sly by some of the villagers.
“Strange,” I said. “He did not appear to be inebriated.”
“He rid himself of the wine almost immediately,” said Emerson. “On the floor of Abdullah’s house.”
At my suggestion Emerson retired behind the screen to freshen up, while I called the safragi and ordered whiskey and soda for both of us.
As we sipped this refreshing beverage, we compared notes on the day’s activities. The results were most satisfactory. All the necessary arrangements had been completed and we were ready to leave at dawn. I had spent the remainder of the afternoon packing and sealing up our boxes—or rather, supervising the hotel servants in that endeavor—so we could spend the evening in quiet enjoyment. It would be the last evening for many weeks that we would enjoy civilized amenities, and although I yield to no one in my appreciation of desert life, I intended to take advantage of wine and good food, hot baths and soft beds while they were available.
We took Ramses with us to dinner, though he was reluctant to part