The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [87]
“Damn the amphora,” Emerson cried. “No more Roman pots or mummies, Peabody. Tomorrow we begin on our pyramids. To be sure, they are not much in the way of pyramids, but they will be an improvement over what we have been doing.”
“Emerson, do you mean it?”
“It is only your due, my dear Peabody. Spite and selfishness alone kept me from beginning on them long ago. You deserve pyramids, and pyramids you will have!”
Emotion choked me. I could only sigh and gaze at him with the wholehearted admiration his affectionate gesture deserved. His eyes sparkling like sapphires, Emerson put out his hand and extinguished the lamp.
Eight
Emerson’s demonstrations of marital affection are of so tempestuous a nature that as a rule we succumb quickly to slumber when they are concluded. On this occasion, however, I found myself unaccountably wakeful long after my spouse’s placid breathing testified to the depths of his repose. Starlight glimmered at the open window, and the cool night breeze caressed my face. Far off in the stilly night the lonely howl of a jackal rose like the lament of a wandering spirit.
But hark—closer at hand though scarcely louder—another sound! I sat up, pushing my hair back from my face. It came again; a soft scraping, a scarcely audible thud—and then—oh heavens!—a cacophony of screams scarcely human in their intensity. They were not human. They were the cries of a lion.
I sprang from bed. Despite my agitation a sense of triumph filled me. For once a nocturnal disturbance had found me awake and ready; for once no cursed netting interfered with my prompt response to the call of danger. I snatched my parasol and ran to the door. Emerson was awake and swearing. “Your trousers, Emerson,” I shouted. “Pray do not forget your trousers.”
Since there was only one lion on the premises, it was not difficult for me to deduce whence the sound came. Ramses’ room was next to ours. On this occasion I did not knock.
The room was dark. The light from the window was cut off by a writhing form that filled the entire aperture. Without delaying an instant, I began beating it with my parasol. Unfortunately the blows fell upon the wrong end of the intruder, whose head and shoulders were already out of the window. Stimulated, no doubt, by the thrashing, it redoubled its efforts and made good its escape. I would have followed, but at that moment an excruciating pain shot through my left ankle and I lost my balance, falling heavily to the floor.
The household was now aroused. Shouts and cries of alarm came from all directions. Emerson was the first to arrive on the scene. Rushing headlong into the room, he tripped over my recumbent form and crushed the breath out of me.
Next to appear was John, a lamp in one hand and a stout stick in the other. I would have commended him for thinking of the lamp if I had had the breath to speak, for by its light he was able to recognize us just in time to arrest the blow of the cudgel which he had aimed at Emerson’s anatomy. The lion cub continued to gnaw at my foot. It had identified me, I believe, after the first impulsive attack, and was now merely playing, but its teeth were extremely sharp.
Emerson struggled to his feet. “Ramses!” he shouted. “Ramses, where are you?”
It struck me then that I had not heard from Ramses, which was unusual. His cot was a mass of tumbled blankets, but the boy himself was nowhere to be seen.
“Ra-a-amses!” Emerson shrieked, his face purpling.
“I am under de cot,” said a faint voice.
Sure enough, he was. Emerson yanked him out and unrolled the sheet in which he had been wrapped so tightly that it had the effect of a straitjacket. Crooning endearments, he pressed the boy to his breast. “Speak to me, Ramses. Are you hurt? What has been done to you? Ramses, my son…”
Having heard Ramses speak, I had no apprehension concerning his safety. I therefore returned the lion to its cage before saying calmly, “Emerson, he cannot talk because you are squeezing the breath out of him. Release your grip, I beg you.”
“T