The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [165]
Before long Abdullah was squatting comfortably on the floor next to the bed, and we were deep in friendly consultation. Accompanied by Abdullah, Daoud and Ali (he had at least had sense enough to take them with him), Emerson had attempted to learn where the mysterious tourists had gone. No boatman admitted to having taken them across the river, and it was unlikely the former would have lied—for, as Abdullah innocently expressed it, “the threats of the Father of Curses are stronger than any bribe.” That meant that the men we sought were still on the east bank. An itinerant camel driver had confirmed this assumption; he had seen a group of horsemen heading for the northern end of the plain, where the cliffs swung close to the river.
“We lost them then,” Abdullah said. “But they must have a camp somewhere in the hills or on the high desert, Sitt. We did not look farther; it was growing late, and Emerson said we would turn back. He was looking very pleased.”
“Of course he is, curse him,” I muttered, clenching my fists. “That explains his sudden interest in boundary stelae; it is only an excuse to search that area and, with any luck—as Emerson would probably put it—be violently attacked again. Furthermore, he believes I am out of commission and cannot interfere with his idiotic scheme. Well! Just wait till he sees—”
An almost imperceptible twitch of Abdullah’s beard made me break off. His is a particularly impassive countenance, or so he fondly believes. Since he also believes that I have occult powers, he finds it difficult to conceal his thoughts from me.
“Abdullah,” I said. “My father. My honored friend. If Emerson tries to leave the boat tonight, stop him by any means necessary, including violence. And if you tell him of our conversation …”
I paused for effect, having found that unuttered threats are the most terrifying. Besides, I could not really think of one I was capable of carrying out.
“I hear and will obey.” Abdullah rose in a graceful flutter of skirts. The formal words of submission would have impressed me more if he had not been trying to repress a smile. He added, “It is very difficult, Sitt, to walk the knife’s edge between your commands and those of Emerson. He said the same thing to me not an hour ago.”
CHAPTER 15
“I always say there is nothing more comfortable or commodious than a tomb.”
I was up and dressed at dawn, belt of tools strapped at my waist, parasol in my hand. My martial appearance was only a trifle marred by the pale-blue woolly slipper on my left foot. Leaning heavily on the parasol, I made my way to the dining saloon. (The stairs presented something of a difficulty until I thought of ascending them in a sitting position.)
There was less fuss and complaint than I had expected. Kevin greeted me with a knowing grin, and Cyrus’s feeble, “Amelia, I really don’t think you ought …” was never completed. Emerson looked at the pale-blue woolly slipper, raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth, closed it, and reached for another piece of bread.
After we had finished eating, Cyrus went off to make sure the donkeys were ready. Bertha, followed by the three young men like ganders after a comely lady goose, had offered to collect my gear, an offer I was glad to accept.
“Just a moment, Emerson,” I said, as he pushed his chair away from the table. “I want to speak to you for a moment about Charles.”
He had not expected that. Pausing with his hand on the back of the chair, he studied me suspiciously, his head tilted. “What about him?”
“He has not told you of his fear of heights? Oh, dear, I feared he would not. Men are so—”
“He did tell me,” Emerson interrupted. His brows drew together in a scowl. “How he ever expects to qualify as an archaeologist I cannot imagine. What with tombs in the cliffs, and pyramids, and—”
“That is all right, then,” I said, recognizing the start of one of Emerson’s notorious lectures. “It was cruel of you to tease him about it yesterday.”
“Don’t push me too far,