Lion in the Valley (24 page)

Eight

S
uddenly
there was a violent upheaval. I found myself on hands and knees, staring
dizzily at what seemed to be twenty or thirty feet dancing briskly around me. A
few inhalations of blessed ozone cleared my brain; the feet reduced themselves
to four.

When
I had gained strength enough to sit up, the combatants were locked in a close
embrace. In their flowing robes they looked absurdly like two ladies performing
a polite social ritual. Only the looks of agonized strain on their faces
betrayed the ferocity of the struggle. One of them was Nemo. His turban had
been displaced, and his bare head blazed in the rays of the setting sun. The
other was a man I had never seen before. The darkness of his complexion
suggested that he was a native of southern Egypt.

In
a frantic flurry of fabric the men broke apart. Neither held a weapon. The hand
of the Egyptian moved
in a bewildering blur of motion. Nemo
grunted and staggered back, his hands pressed to his midsection. It was a foul
blow; but my defender was not daunted. Recovering, he knocked his opponent down
with a shrewd uppercut to the jaw, and fell upon him.

The
struggle was horrible to behold. I can only excuse my delay in halting it by
pointing out that the fumes of the drug still clouded my mind, and that I was
still trying to find my pocket. By the time I did so, Nemo was definitely in
need of assistance. His assailant had both hands around his throat, and his
face was turning black.

In
my excitement I forgot myself, and shouted a phrase I had learned from an
American friend: "Hands up, you varmint!" I doubt that the miscreant
understood, but the tone of my voice was vehement enough to attract his
attention, and when he glanced at me the sight of the pistol I held had the
desired effect.

Slowly
he rose from Nemo's prostrate form. The fury of battle had faded from his face,
to be replaced by a look of quiet resignation, as lacking in character as a
mummy's papier-mache mask. There was nothing distinctive about his features or
his faded cotton robe; they were similar to those of thousands of his fellow
countrymen.

Nemo
rolled over and staggered to his feet. He was panting heavily, in contrast to
his opponent, whose breast was as still as that of a man in prayer. White
patches which would shortly be bruises marked Nemo's face, and a bright stain
on his torn sleeve told me the violence of the struggle had reopened his wound.
He edged toward me, circling to keep out of the line of fire. "Splendid,
Mrs. E., splendid," he gasped. "Why don't you give me the pistol
now?"

"And
risk this fellow escaping while we made the
exchange? No, Mr. Nemo. You
may question my willingness to fire at a fellow human being—and my ability to
hit him if I did—but I'll wager he has no doubts. You know me now, don't you,
my friend? You made a mistake. I am not the lady you took me for, but the Sitt
Hakim, wife to the great magician Emerson, Father of Curses, and no less
dangerous to evildoers than Emerson himself. My eye is as keen as those of the
vultures overhead, and like them I lie in wait for criminals."

I
had, of course, addressed the man in Arabic. It is a language that lends itself
to vainglorious self-applause, which is indeed a style Egyptians rather admire.
The little speech had its effect. In the same tongue the man said softly,
"I know you, sitt."

"Then
you know I would not hesitate to use this weapon—not to kill, but only to
wound. I want you to live, my friend—to live and talk to us." Unable to
control my excitement any longer, I added in English, "Good Gad, Nemo, do
you realize who this man is? He is the first of the Master Criminal's
associates I have managed to capture. Through him we may reach his dread
master. Do you approach him—carefully, if you please—and bind his arms with
your turban. Are you too badly injured to do that?"

"No,
of course not," Nemo said.

The
man raised his hand. There was such dignity in the gesture that Nemo halted.
The Egyptian said quietly, "I have failed my master. There is only one
fate for those who fail him; but I feel no shame at losing to the Sitt Hakim,
who is not a mere woman, but one who has the heart of a man, as I was told. I
salute you, sitt." And he moved his hand from breast to brow to lips, in
the respectful gesture of his people.

I
was about to respond to this graceful compliment when a dreadful change came
over the man's face. His
lips drew back in a hideous grin; his eyes
rolled up until only the blank white of the eyeballs showed. His hands flew to
his throat. He fell over backward and lay still.

Nemo
rushed to him. "It's no use," I said, lowering my pistol. "He
was dead before he struck the ground. Prussic acid, I suspect."

"You
are right. There is a distinct odor of bitter almonds." Nemo straightened,
white to the lips. "What sort of people are these? He took the poison
rather than..."

"Allow
himself to be questioned. Curse it! I should have taken steps to bind his hands
immediately. Well, I will know better next time."

"Next
time?" Nemo raised a trembling hand to his brow. His sleeve was drenched
with blood and I said, recalling myself from my chagrin, "You are not
yourself, Mr. Nemo. Loss of blood has weakened you, and we must tend to your
injuries without delay."

Dazed
and shaken, Nemo allowed me to bind his arm with a strip torn from the hem of
his robe. "That will stop the bleeding," I said. "But the wound
requires to be cleaned and bandaged. Let us return to the house at once."

"What
about—" Nemo gestured.

I
looked at the dead man. His empty eyes seemed to stare intently at the
darkening vault of heaven. Already the vultures were gathering.

"Turn
him over," I said brusquely.

Nemo
glanced from me to the birds circling overhead. Silently he did as I asked.

When
we got back, the gates were open and Abdullah was standing outside.
"Sitt," he began, as soon as we
were within hearing range,
"Emerson has been asking—"

"So
I imagine." I could hear Emerson rampaging around the house, yelling my
name. I had nurtured the fond hope he might still be absorbed in his work; but
now there was nothing for it but to admit at least part of the truth.

"There
has been an accident," I explained to Abdullah, who was staring at Nemo's
bloody sleeve. "Please take Ali or Hassan and go at once to the ridge
behind the tents. You will find a dead body there. Carry it here."

Abdullah
clapped his hand to his brow. "Not a dead man, sitt. Not another dead
man..." A flicker of reviving hope returned to his stricken face. "Is
it a mummy you mean, sitt? An
old
dead man?"

"I
am afraid this one is rather fresh," I admitted. "You had better
fashion a litter or something of that sort with which to carry him. Get on with
it, if you please; I cannot stand here
fahddling
with you, can't you see
Mr. Nemo needs medical attention?"

Abdullah
staggered off, wringing his hands and muttering. A few words were intelligible:
"Another dead body. Every year it is the same. Every year, another dead
body..."

"Am
I to understand you make it a habit to discover dead bodies?" Nemo asked.

I
drew him toward the house. "Certainly not, Mr. Nemo. I don't look for such
things; they come upon me, so to speak. Now let me do the talking, if you will.
Emerson is not going to like this."

Before
we reached the door, Emerson came bursting out. He stopped short at the sight
of us. The blood rushed to his face. "Not again!" he shouted. "I
warned you, Amelia—"

"Sssh."
I put my finger to my lips. "There is no need to make such a fuss,
Emerson. You will alarm—"

"A
fuss? A fuss?" Emerson's voice rose to a pitch I had seldom heard, even
from him. "What the devil have you been up to? You disappear for hours and
then return disheveled and sandy, accompanied by a bloody—"

"Emerson!
Language!"

"The
adjective was meant literally," Emerson explained. "Mr. Nemo, am I to
understand that once again I have to thank you for saving a member of my
immediate family from doom and destruction?"

"It
will all be explained to you, Emerson," I said soothingly. "Mr. Nemo
does indeed deserve your thanks, and the first expression of our gratitude
ought to be the tending of the wounds he courageously incurred in our service.
Will you be so good as to fetch my medical equipment? I believe I will operate
in the open air, where the light is better, and he won't drip blood on my
carpets."

Silently,
ominously, Emerson did as he was asked, and I led Nemo to the back of the
house, where I had set up a primitive but efficient area of ablution. It was
even possible to bathe behind a modest arrangement of woven screens, for a
ditch served as a drain to carry off the water. Emerson and Ramses did so
daily, Emerson of his own free will, Ramses because he was made to; but since
the exercise involved having a servant pour jars of water over one from above,
I did not consider it suitable for me to emulate them.

When
Emerson joined me, I had persuaded Nemo to remove his tattered robe. It was
beyond repair, and I directed one of the men, who had gathered round, to fetch
one of his, promising, of course, to replace it. Under his robe Nemo wore the
usual cotton drawers, reaching to his knees and tied around the waist with a
drawstring. The bright flush of embarrassment that suffused even his bare
breast assured me he had not lost as much blood as I feared.

I
hastened to set him at ease. "I assure you, Mr. Nemo, bare skin is no
novelty to me. I have tended many wounds and seen many naked breasts—and yours
is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, your pectoral development is quite
admirable."

A
growling sound reminded me of the presence of my irate spouse, and I hastened
to add, "Though not as admirable as Emerson's. Now, Emerson, as I work I
will inform you of the latest occurrence—''

But
that offer had to be delayed. Through the ring of interested onlookers burst a
slight form, wild-eyed and agitated. Nemo made a violent movement as if to
turn, but stopped himself.

For
a moment they confronted one another in a silence fraught with emotion, their
faces matching one another's in snowy pallor. Enid raised a delicate hand to
her throat. "You," she choked. "You ..."

I
said sharply, "Do not for a moment entertain any notion of fainting, Enid.
I cannot attend to both of you."

"Fainting?"
The hot color rushed back into her face. She darted forward. She raised her
hand—and struck Nemo full across the face! "You bloody idiot!" she
cried.

Even
I was taken aback. Such behavior and such improper language from a young lady
left me momentarily incapable of speech. It was my dear Emerson who rose to the
occasion as only he can. Enid turned and ran, her hands over her face. The men
gave way before her, but
not Emerson; his mighty arm swept out and
wound round her waist, lifting her clean off her feet. As she hung in his
grasp, kicking and—I regret to say—swearing, he remarked calmly, "This has
gone far enough. I have resigned myself to being the pawn of those vast
impersonal powers who guide the destinies of humanity; but I am cursed if I
will submit to being manipulated by mere mortals, and kept in ignorance even by
that individual whom I had believed united to me by the strongest bonds of
faith and affection, not to mention trust."

The
eloquence of his speech—aye, and the justice of his complaint—brought an
unaccustomed flush to my cheeks. Before I could respond, Emerson went on in a
less literary vein. "Sit down," he bellowed. "You too, young
lady—" And he deposited Enid onto the nearest stool with a thump that made
two combs and a number of hairpins fly into the air. "No one is moving
from this spot until I have received a full account of this astonishing
affair."

"You
are quite right, Emerson," I murmured. "And I will sit down—I really
will—the instant I have finished washing—"

"You
can wash him just as easily in a sitting position," thundered Emerson.

I
sat.

Appeased
by this gesture of compliance, Emerson lowered his voice to a fairly endurable
level. "Pray confine your attentions to the young man's injury, Amelia. If
the rest of him requires washing, he can do it himself."

"Oh,
quite, Emerson. I was only—"

"Enough,
Amelia." Emerson folded his arms and surveyed us with a masterful air. The
men had collapsed onto the ground at the instant of his command, and now
formed
a fascinated audience, mouths ajar and eyes wide. Enid clutched the sides of
the stool with both hands, as if she were expecting to be plucked off it; Nemo
sat with bowed head, the mark of the girl's fingers printed crimson on his
cheek.

"Ha,"
said Emerson, with satisfaction. "That is better. Now, young lady, you had
better begin. I address you in that manner since I am certain your name is not
Marshall."

I
could not but admire my husband's cleverness; for his statement was admirably
composed so as not to give away the fact that—as I firmly believed, and believe
to this day—he was still ignorant of her true identity. Only the briefest
flicker of his lashes betrayed his surprise when she admitted who she was, and
repeated the narrative she had told me.