The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [68]
“He is fainting,” she whispered. “Let me give him something—water, at least …”
Fists on his hips, the villain studied her with a sardonic smile. “ ‘O Woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please… When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!’ Minister, then. If he dies before I can get that damned woman into my hands I’ll have no means of persuading her to talk.” He turned to the door, adding, over his shoulder, “Don’t be long.”
She waited until the door had slammed before relaxing. A long sigh issued from her lips.
“I have never understood the female sex,” said a voice from the bed. “Why do you tolerate such treatment?”
She spun around to face him. “You are awake? I thought so. You only pretended….”
“Not… entirely,” said Emerson.
She knelt by the bed, holding a cup of water to his lips and supporting his head while he drank thirstily. He thanked her, in a stronger voice. She lowered his head gently onto the hard mattress and stared at her stained fingers.
“It will not heal,” she murmured. “Does it pain you?”
“I have the devil of a headache,” Emerson admitted.
“And your poor hands …” Her fingers slid slowly up his right arm and touched the swollen, bloody flesh of his wrist.
“It would be pleasant to stretch a bit.” His voice had changed. I knew that purring note, and a shiver ran through me. I dislike, even now, admitting the emotion that prompted it. I believe it is not necessary for me to do so.
Emerson went on, in the same tone, “If my arms were free I could better express the appreciation I feel for your kindness.”
She let out a little laugh, in which coquetry and defiance were mingled. “Well, why not? You cannot pass the guards, you are not strong enough; and if you think you can win freedom by holding me hostage you deceive yourself. No English gentleman would harm a woman. He knows that.”
The key to his manacles were on the table. I appreciated the refinement of cruelty that left freedom in sight, but unattainable. As she bent over him to unlock them a tress of her hair brushed his face.
Well! I would like to believe I could have held firm, even in the face of what was obviously about to transpire; but I had seized the edge of the grille with both hands and my muscles were tensed, when there was an outcry from the direction of the house. Voices shouting, the rattle of gunfire! My faithful Abdullah and his valiant friends had arrived! Rescue was at hand! The time for action had come!
One heave of my shoulders pushed the grille aside. I inserted my feet into the opening and… and stuck, at a region I prefer not to specify. There was not a moment to lose; gritting my teeth, I squeezed myself through, landing with bent knees, upright and ready. Pulling out my pistol, I leveled it at the door.
In the nick of time! And I might not have been in time, owing to that moment of delay, had she not flung herself at the yielding door. Her strength was not great enough; even as I aimed my pistol she was crushed behind the opened panel. The sounds of combat rose in pitch and a dark form rushed in, intent on obeying his leader’s dastardly command.
There was no time for a reasonable discussion. I fired.
I could hardly avoid hitting him, for his body filled the doorway, but the wound was not mortal; his cry, as he recoiled, held more surprise than pain. Curse it, I thought, and fired again. I believe I missed him entirely on that occasion. However, the effect was gratifying. With another howl, he fled. These hired thugs are never reliable.
I now turned my attention to the woman, who had emerged from behind the door and stood watching me. It gave me an odd sensation to see her—the shadowy image of myself.
Emerson had swung his feet to the floor and sat up. Further effort was obviously beyond him; his face was ashen and his arms hung awkwardly at his sides. The very act of moving them must have been unutterably painful. He looked from me to the woman at the door and back to me, but he did not speak.
“Let me go,” she whispered. “If your