The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [29]
“Why did you bring up the subject in that rude way? The others were willing to let the past be forgotten—”
Emerson whirled, his manly countenance aglow with honest indignation. “I, rude? You know nothing about the traditions of masculine conversation, Peabody. That was just a friendly jest.”
The succeeding days were very pleasant. It had been a long time since we had had the leisure to wander around Cairo renewing old acquaintances, to linger in the coffee shops fahddling with grave scholars from the university, and to explore the bookshops in the bazaar. We spent an evening with our old friend Sheikh Mohammed Bahsoor, and ate far too much. Not to have stuffed ourselves would have been a grievous breach of good manners, even though I knew I would have to put up with Emerson’s snoring all night as a result. He always snores when he has taken too much to eat. The sheikh was disappointed to learn that Ramses was not with us and shook his head disapprovingly when I explained that the boy had remained in England to pursue his education. “What useful matters can he learn there? You should let him come to me, Sitt Hakim; I will teach him to ride and shoot and govern the hearts of men.”
M. Loret, the Director of the Department of Antiquities, was in Luxor, so we were unable to call on him as was proper, but we spent time with other colleagues, bringing ourselves up-to-date on the current state of archaeological excavation and the availability of trained personnel. One day we lunched with the Reverend Sayce on his dahabeeyah in order to meet a student of whom he had great hopes. The Istar was not nearly so fine a boat as the Philae, my own beloved dahabeeyah, but it recalled poignant memories of that never-to-be forgotten voyage. I could not restrain a sigh when we took our leave, and Emerson glanced questioningly at me.
“Why so pensive, Peabody? Were you not impressed with Mr. Jackson’s qualifications?”
“He seems intelligent and well-trained. I was thinking of the past, my dear Emerson. Do you remember—”
“Oh, your dahabeeyah. They are picturesque but impractical. We can reach Luxor by rail in sixteen and a half hours. Shall we go to Meidum tomorrow? The nearest station is Rikka; we can hire donkeys there.”
He went on chatting, seemingly unaware of my failure to respond.
As we went along the corridor toward our rooms I began to hear the sounds of what resembled a miniature war—shouts, crashes, thuds. The door to our sitting room stood open. It was from this chamber that the noises came and my astonished gaze fell upon a scene of utter confusion. Striped galabeeyahs billowed like sails in a storm as their wearers darted to and fro; cries and fulsome Arabic curses reverberated.
An even more fulsomely profane shout from Emerson, whose powers along those lines exceed any I have ever heard, rose over the uproar and stilled it. The men stood still, panting. I recognized our safragi, who had evidently recruited several friends to assist him in whatever endeavor he was pursuing. As their robes fell into place I saw the object of that endeavor.
It had alighted on the back of the sofa, where it stood at bay, fur bristling and tail lashing. For a moment a sensation of superstitious terror came over me, as if I beheld a supernatural emissary announcing disaster to one I loved. If the demonic Black Dog appeared to herald the death of a member of some noble families, what more appropriate Bane of the Emersons could there be than a large, brindled Egyptian cat?
“Bastet!” I cried. “Oh, Emerson—”
“Don’t be absurd, Peabody.” Emerson, wise in the ways of cats, cautiously circled around the animal. Its head swiveled to follow his movements and I saw its eyes; they were not golden, like those of our cat Bastet, but a clear pale-green, the color of peridots. “For one thing,” Emerson went on, “Bastet is at Chalfont with Ramses. For another… Nice kitty then, good kitty…” He bent down and squinted at the posterior of the feline. “It is a male cat. Very definitely male.”
It was also bigger and darker in color. Nor did its countenance