The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [104]
“Don’t be a fawning fool, Vandergelt,” Emerson growled. “She is talking nonsense in the hope of annoying ME.Who the devil began this talk of beards, anyway? Hurry and finish, all of you, I want to be off.”
And he was off, leaving the door swinging wildly on its hinges. The young men jumped up and galloped after him. I buttered another piece of toast.
“I didn’t mean you, Cyrus,” I said, smiling at him. “That goatee is so much a part of you, I cannot imagine you without it.”
I meant it as a compliment, but he did not seemed pleased.
The air was still cool and pleasant when we went ashore. I lagged behind, talking with young Charlie, who had sought me out with the obvious intention of consulting me. It took him a while to get to the point; in fact, I had to ask him straight out what was worrying him.
“It’s the stela,” he admitted. “The one high up on the cliff—you remember?”
“Stela U,” I said. “Don’t concern yourself about it, Charles; it will be some time before Emerson turns his attention to the stelae.”
“No, ma’am, it won’t! He wants me to get at it today. And—er—I couldn’t tell the professor, I didn’t dare; but I can’t—I have not—rather, I should say I have …”
“Fear of heights?”
He looked as guilty as if he had just confessed to murder.
“My dear Charles, that is nothing to be ashamed of. Scientific research indicates that such fears are weaknesses the sufferer cannot control. You must confess the truth; it would be dangerous, possibly fatal, for you to force yourself to a task you cannot perform.” Charles did not appear to be cheered by this consoling diagnosis, so I went on, “If you like, I will tell Emerson.”
The young chap squared his manly shoulders. “No, ma’am, I thank you, but that would be cowardly.”
“Tell him yourself, then, but bear in mind that I will disclose the truth if you do not do so. Now hurry on, we are falling behind.”
The others were already out of sight. As we hastened along the village street, returning the greetings of those who hailed us and stepping over dogs and chickens and children, a man came to meet us. I stifled an exclamation of impatience; it was the sheikh, the mayor of the village, and I could see from his manner that he was intent on delaying me. We had managed to avoid the time-consuming ceremonies of welcome which courtesy normally requires in such little communities, but I saw no way of getting out of it now without mortally offending the man.
The poor old mayor we had known was long dead; his successor was a man in the prime of life, who looked healthier and better-fed than most of the fellahin. He greeted me with the customary formula and I replied in kind. “Will the Sitt honor my house?” was the next question.
Knowing this visit might take an hour or more, I sought a courteous way of escape. “The honor is too great. I must follow Emerson Effendi who is my—er—who is the leader of the work. He will be angry if I delay.”
I had thought the argument would be persuasive in this male-dominated world, but the mayor’s brow grew troubled. “The Sitt must hear me. I tried to speak with the Father of Curses, but he would not stop. He is a man without fear, but he should know. Mohammed has returned.”
Mohammed is a very popular name in Egypt. It took me a moment to identify this one. “The son of the old mayor? I thought he had run away, after the affair of the mummy that was only an evil man.”
“He ran away, yes. When you and the Father of Curses unmasked the evildoer, Mohammed knew he would go to prison for helping the bad man. Or that the Father of Curses would punish him, which would have been just as painful. He was gone from the village for many years; but he has returned, Sitt, for I saw him myself last night.”
I wished, not for the first time, that some ineffable Power had not chosen to interpret my prayer so whimsically. Another ghost from the past!