The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [170]
The sharp crack of a rifle interrupted his lecture and cast some doubt on the accuracy of his assessment of our present situation. Stone chips spattered down from the cliff. Some must have struck the poor donkey; with a terrified bray he bolted, tearing the reins from my hand. The other donkey followed. Pausing only long enough to snatch up the rifle, Emerson ran, pushing me ahead of him.
Behind the spur of rock he had indicated there gaped not one but a dozen cracks and fissures, at least three of which were wide enough to admit a human form. Through one of these, which appeared no different from the others, Emerson propelled me. Cyrus was close behind.
The space within was roughly circular and approximately ten feet in diameter. It narrowed toward the back like a funnel and went on into darkness; how far, I could not see.
Emerson whirled to face Cyrus. “Abdullah was supposed to be covering that fellow,” he said in an ominous growl. “Where are your men, Vandergelt?”
A series of shots struck the cliff face nearby. There was no answering fire.
Emerson drew a long breath. “Well, well. I suppose this weapon you kindly lent me … ? Yes, I see. One bullet in the chamber. A poetic touch, that. I ought to use it on you.”
Cyrus stepped forward till the muzzle of the gun touched his breast. The light was almost gone; I could see only their outlines as they faced one another. “That is not important now,” Cyrus said coolly. “What matters—” He gestured at me.
“Hmmm, yes.” Emerson leaned the rifle against the wall and flexed his hands. “There is another way out of here.”
“What?” Cyrus cried eagerly.
“Oh, come, man, you don’t suppose I would be stupid enough to lead us into a dead end? I had this in mind as a bolt-hole in case my plans went awry. Which,” Emerson said caustically, “they certainly have done. The trouble is, the exit tunnel is very narrow. I barely made it through last time. We can only hope it has not been blocked further since.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” I demanded. I had not spoken before because my brain was reeling under the impact of the dreadful implications Emerson’s speech had contained. Why had not Abdullah and Cyrus’s two men returned the fire of our attackers? The rifles all belonged to Cyrus; had the one he had given Abdullah also been rendered ineffective? The suggestion of treachery, from the man I had considered a dear and trusted friend, was almost too much to bear. That treachery had not been directed against me, for Cyrus had not anticipated I would be present. I knew only too well what motive he might have for wishing to betray Emerson.
But this was not the time for retribution. We were all in peril now; escape was the most important consideration. How glad I was that I had rushed to Emerson’s side! “What are we waiting for?” I repeated.
“Only this,” said Emerson. He took me gently by the shoulder and struck me on the chin with his clenched fist.
When Emerson hits people, he hits as hard as he can, which is quite hard indeed. I presume that being unaccustomed to judging the amount of force necessary in a situation such as this, he underestimated it. I do not suppose I was unconscious for more than a few seconds. He had gathered me up as I fell; when my senses returned I realized that my head lay against his breast, and that he was speaking.
“… if they have not already, that we are unarmed. Someone must hold them off for a while. If you are stuck like a cork in that bloody tunnel when they break in…”
“Yes, I understand.”
“You should be able to squeeze through, your shoulders are a trifle narrower than mine. If you cannot, try to block the tunnel from the other side. And take that damned parasol away from her or she will batter her way back out.”
Cyrus said quietly,