The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [126]
“Yes, Mama,” said Emerson. He has rather large, very white teeth; the reflection of the firelight off their surfaces presented a horrifying picture.
Bertha glided off to assist the chef. When the group reassembled, tempers had improved somewhat—I refer primarily to the temper of Emerson—and the consumption of an excellent meal put everyone into a more relaxed frame of mind. In relative affability we compared notes on the activities of the day and discussed plans for the morrow. The only discordant note was introduced by—whom else?—Emerson, who inquired why I was lounging around the fire instead of collating the copies I had made that day.
With perfect calm I replied, “It is impossible to do it properly under these conditions. The light is inadequate, there is not a flat surface large enough to spread the papers out—”
“Bah,” said Emerson.
It was not long before yawns and lengthening silences interrupted speech, and I decreed that it was time to retire. It had been a long hard day for most of us.
Bertha was not pleased to learn that she was to share my tent. Not that she said so—she was a very silent creature, at least with me—but she was very adept at conveying her feelings without the use of words. Removing only her outer robe and veil, she rolled herself in a blanket and within a few minutes her regular breathing indicated that she had fallen asleep. I had intended to ask her a few questions, but I was unusually tired myself. I felt my eyelids droop…
How long it took me to realize that my drowsiness was unnatural I cannot say. I am particularly resistant to drugs and hypnosis; it is not so much physical immunity as something in my character, I believe. For an indeterminate time I lay in a semi-stupor, dozing off and waking, hearing the low voices of the workmen and the clatter of cooking pots gradually fade into silence. It was well past midnight, I think, when the sleepless sentinel within my brain finally made itself heard. “This is no natural repose,” it cried. “Arouse yourself and act!”
It was easier said (or thought) than done. My limbs felt as limp as boneless tentacles. But the remedy was close at hand. I had employed it before in a similar situation, and thanks to the rearrangement of the tent made necessary by the addition of Bertha’s cot, all my equipment was nearby. I had only to stretch out my hand.
My fingers were as clumsy as an animal’s paws, but at last I managed to open the box of medical supplies and extract my smelling salts. A good whiff of them not only cleared my head, it left the distinct impression that the top of that appendage had been blown off. I sat up and put my feet on the floor. I had taken off my boots and jacket and my belt of accounterments before retiring. The boots, at least, I must reassume before proceeding to investigate. Not only was the ground uneven and painful to stockinged feet, but there were scorpions and other stinging creatures to be avoided.
I was still fumbling for my boots—for I did not deem it expedient to strike a light—when I heard a soft rattle of pebbles from without, and realized that a similar sound must have alerted my sleepless sentinel. An animal might have caused it, or a man abroad on some harmless errand. But I thought not. Leaping to my feet, I promptly fell flat onto the floor—or, to be more accurate, onto Bertha’s cot. The sudden impact was too much for the frail structure; it collapsed, with Bertha still on it.
Though I had not planned it that way, the incident had the desired effect, i.e., to alarm the camp. My startled shout was answered by a louder cry. Rocks crunched and rolled under running feet. A shot rang out.
I managed to extract myself from the mass of tumbled blankets and bits of broken cot. Bertha had not stirred. If I had had any doubts about being drugged, her immobility would have removed them; normal sleep would surely have been interrupted by the collapse of the bed and the impact of my body. First I located my parasol; then, finding my knees were still too unsteady to permit a more