The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [96]
“You do not appear to be in a position to betray very much,” I said. “You don’t know where he intended to go, or what he intended to do. You cannot describe any of his friends or associates?”
“Only the men he hired in Luxor. They could not betray him either; they never knew his real name, only the one he used when he rented the villa.”
“Schlange,” I murmured. “I wonder why… Well. Is that all you can tell me, then?”
She nodded vehemently. “Do you believe me? You will not abandon me, unprotected and alone?”
“You don’t mean to insult me, I suppose,” I said calmly. “But if you imagine I would betray even an enemy to death or torture, you cannot be familiar with the moral code that guides a Briton. The beautiful tenets of the Christian faith require that we forgive our enemies. To that creed we all adhere … At least,” I amended, remembering Emerson’s unorthodox views on the subject of organized religion, “most of us do.”
“You are right,” she murmured, bowing her head submissively. “He would not abandon me.”
I knew to whom she referred. “None of us would,” I said somewhat sharply. “But we face a difficulty. Tomorrow we begin our excavations and for long hours, perhaps for days at a time, we will be away from the dahabeeyah. Are you afraid to stay here alone, with only the crew?”
She indicated, with considerable vehemence, that she was. “He is here, I know it! I have seen shadows moving in the night …”
“In your head, you mean. Our guards have seen nothing out of the way. Well, I suppose you will have to come with us. Though heaven knows what I am going to do with you.”
In fact, when we left the boat the following morning she blended in quite well with the interested villagers who gathered around our little group. There were women among them; I would not have been able to distinguish her from the other black-robed figures had she not stayed close to me. I had expected she would dog Emerson’s heels, but she did not, perhaps because she would have had to contend with the cat for that position.
Our entourage followed us as we passed through the village. Some of them hoped to be employed on the dig, others were drawn by idle curiosity. The people of Haggi Qandil had become more accustomed to visitors since the days when we had first worked there, for many of the tourist steamers stopped on their way upriver, but life in these small settlements is extremely dull; any new face, especially that of a foreigner, attracts a crowd. How these people had changed since our first visit! Fair dealing and kindly treatment had converted a once sullen population into ardent supporters; smiles and waves and Arabic greetings—and the conventional demands for baksheesh—followed us along the way. Even the lean, abused dogs slunk along behind at a safe distance; they had learned that visitors sometimes threw scraps of food to them. I always made a habit of doing so.
A number of men and children continued to follow as we left the village and headed for the cliffs. Emerson led the way as usual. The morning was pleasantly cool and he was still wearing his tweed jacket. I observed with a start of surprise that he had taken the cat up on his shoulder. Ramses had trained the cat Bastet to do the same, but owing to the meager dimensions of that portion of Ramses’s anatomy Bastet had to drape herself around his neck. Emerson’s frame suffered no such disadvantage; Anubis sat bolt upright, leaning slightly forward like the figurehead on a ship. I must say they presented an extremely odd appearance, and I wondered how Emerson had won the animal’s confidence to such an extent.
Emerson glanced back at the ragtag, cheerful straggle of people and called to Abdullah, “We shan’t want diggers and basket children till tomorrow or the next day. Tell them to go back; we will let them know when we intend to begin hiring.”
“I am hiring today,” said Cyrus, strolling