The Last Camel Died at Noon (42 page)

We had to search Ramses's little bag to find something enticing, for I had of course abandoned most of my luggage and I was loath to give up any of my accoutrements. I was astonished at some of the odd things Ramses had clung to, even in the face of death in the desert. A few marbles, a broken bit of chalk, a mummified mouse (his greatest achievement in his study of that art), the stubs of two pencils, a moustache (bright red in colour), a set of false teeth (very large and very yellow), and several pieces of India rubber were among them; I forget the rest. Several items I had expected to find were missing, including Ramses's battered notebook and the spool of thread he had lent me. I could only speculate on what other bizarre objects he had taken with him, but I found their absence reassuring, particularly that of the notebook. Ramses never went anywhere without it. If he had had time enough and wits enough to collect such impedimenta before he was forced to take flight, his situation might not be as desperate as I had feared.

Taking the false teeth, the moustache (which proved, he later informed me, a great hit), the marbles, and the pencil stubs, Emerson went whistling off, leaving me to my task of winnowing information from Amenit's replacement.

I decided a long, soothing bath would be just the thing. Women are more inclined to wax confidential during the ritual of the toilette, and I felt I deserved some pampering after the varied excitements of the day. The effect was certainly soothing, the women carried out their duties punctiliously; but it brought home to me more clearly than words how our position had changed. Formerly the women had chatted freely, trying their phrases of broken English and giggling over my attempts at their language. Now, though my command of Meroitic was much more fluent, they responded with 'yes' and 'no' or not at all. It was obviously impossible to attain confidentiality when they were all together; so after my bath I dismissed the rest and requested the assistance of the handmaiden in preparing for bed.

She might as well have been dumb as a post. I could not persuade her to unveil; my fascinating little bottles and jars of lotion interested her not at all. She did tell me her name was Maleneqen, and after insistent questioning about Mentarit she unbent so far as to ask why I wanted to know. I explained that Mentarit had been kind and amiable - that her nursing had saved my life. 'We English are grateful to those who help us,' I went on. 'We return kindness with kindness, not good with evil deeds.'

There was no visible or audible response to this sententious speech, and very little to my further efforts. When a cheery whistle heralded the approach of Emerson I was glad to dismiss the girl and seek my couch.

Emerson was not long in joining me, but he had quite an argument with Maleneqen before she consented to leave us alone. (She did not consent, in fact; she left the room under Emerson's arm, kicking and squealing. But she did not come back.)

'Cursed female,' growled Emerson, climbing into bed. 'They get progressively more inconvenient. Were you able to learn anything about Mentarit?'

'You first, Emerson.'

'Of course, my dear.' He drew me close and kissed me gently. 'I regret I have nothing to report. I persuaded my fellow gamesters to let me open the trapdoor by telling them the simple truth - that I hoped to find some sign that Ramses had come back. There was nothing, Peabody. I managed to leave a note for him, though.'

'I fear it is too late, Emerson. I fear he has gone - into the darkness, lost forever...'

'Now, now, my love. Ramses has got himself out of worse spots than this - and so have we. We'll have a look for him ourselves, tomorrow night.'

'Oh, Emerson, is it possible? Have you won the confidence of the guards to that extent?'

To the extent, at least, of persuading them to join me in a friendly cup of beer. I took a jar along this evening. It was harmless, but tomorrow's jar will not be - if you still have your supply of laudanum. Now then, did you discover anything of interest from that surly young woman?'

'Her name is Maleneqen, and I had the devil of a time getting that much out of her. She must be one of Nastasen's allies, Emerson, I gave her every opportunity to confide in me. All she would say about Mentarit is that she has gone.'

'Gone? where?'

'I don't know. That was the word she used, and she refused to elaborate. And then - this, I believe, you will find interesting - she said... good heavens!'

That was not what Maleneqen had said and Emerson knew it, for he had felt the same phenomenon that had prompted my exclamation - movement, sly and slinking, across the foot of the bed. Emerson tried to free himself of the bedclothes and only succeeded in entangling both of us. The thing, whatever it was, turned and glided towards the head of the bed. It made absolutely no sound. Only the pull of the linen fabric and the sense of something moving betokened its slow, inexorable approach. With a sudden bound it was upon me, muffling my breath, filling my mouth and nose with...

Fur. Purring hoarsely, the creature fitted itself into the narrow space between us in the fluidly pervasive manner cats have in such situations.

The soft sound that emerged from Emerson might have been a chuckle, but I am inclined to believe it was a short burst of stifled profanity. I myself was strangely moved; once I had got my breath back, I whispered, 'I would not want you to think me superstitious, Emerson, but I cannot help feeling there is some strange, occult significance in this visitation. After fleeing from us before, the cat now exhibits an uncharacteristic affection, almost as if it were a manifestation, in some sense I dare not contemplate, of - of - '

'Cursed if I don't think you are right, Peabody,' Emerson breathed. 'Didn't you tell me the cat wears a collar?'

That brilliantly incisive question dispelled the clouds of superstition. As one man, so to speak, we fell upon the cat, but with the circumspection Bastet had taught us to exhibit towards felines. While I stroked the cat and complimented it, Emerson managed to undo the collar, and almost at once let out a muffled cry.

'Are you missing any hairpins, Peabody?'

'That is an impossible question to answer, Emerson. One is always missing hairpins. Have you found one?'

'I just pricked my finger on it. It has been used to fasten a bit of paper to the collar. Here, hold on' - to the cat, he meant; it had indicated its intentions of leaving - 'I had better put the collar back on.'

The cat submitted with relative grace; after it had slid away I sucked my scratched finger and asked, 'Is it a message? Who is it from? What does it say?'

'It is paper, not the local imitation,' Emerson replied. 'That is in itself suggestive, but further than that I cannot say without reading it. Dare we light a lamp?'

'We must take the chance,' I whispered. 'Suspense weighs heavily upon me. Wait, I will get a match.'

Emerson did not wait, he followed me while I located my belt, the tin box, the matches within, and one of the small pottery lamps. In the wavering light, heads together, we read the words on the paper.

'Tutus sum, liber sum, et dies ultionis meae est propinqua.Nolite timere pro filio vestro fortimissimo et astutissimo. Cum summa peritia et audacia ille viam suam ad me invenit. Conviemus in templo in die adventus dei. Usque ad illud tempus manete; facile nihil.'

'Thank heaven,' whispered Emerson. 'Our son is safe. The handwriting is his. He must have written this at Tarek's dictation.'

'Certain of the expressions strongly suggest that Ramses not only wrote it but composed it,' I replied. '"Astutissimo," indeed. I suppose he used Latin to prevent the message from being understood if it were intercepted.'

(For the benefit of those few among my Readers whose command of the language of the Caesars is weak, I append a translation; 'I am safe, I am free, and the day of my vengeance is near. Fear not for your very brave, very clever son. With consummate skill and daring he found his way to me. We will meet in the temple on the day of the coming forth of the god. Till then, wait; do nothing.')

Emerson blew out the lamp. 'Back to bed, Peabody. We have much to discuss.'

'I have an uneasy feeling that we are being watched, Emerson.'

'That is almost a certainty, my dear. I am glad we took the risk, though; I can sleep more soundly knowing that Ramses is with our friend. It will be hard to wait, though. We must find out when the ceremony is to take place.'

'That is what I was about to tell you, Emerson, when the cat arrived. The ceremony is in two days' time - the day after tomorrow.'

The message opened endless avenues of speculation. How had Ramses managed to find his way to Tarek? Where were they now? What precisely were the prince's plans? He sounded very confident that matters would work out to his advantage, but we agreed we would feel easier if we knew what he intended. Emerson expressed some indignation over Tarek's (or Ramses's?) order to refrain from action. 'There is a decided suggestion of criticism there, Peabody, don't you think? As if we had done too much already. And how does he expect us to sit twiddling our thumbs for two cursed days? It is not humanly possible. What if his plans go awry?'

They were legitimate questions, but unfortunately I could no more think of sensible answers than could Emerson.

The following day stands out in my mind as unquestionably the most unpleasant of the entire adventure. Dying of thirst is not an activity in which I would care to engage again; anticipating the violent death of Emerson was extremely painful; the anguish of believing that Ramses had vanished forever into the rocky bowels of the cliffs tried my nerves severely. But on the whole, activity of any kind is preferable to waiting, especially when one has some reason to believe that waiting may end in a sticky death.

We made what preparations we could. I made certain my little revolver was loaded and my knife readily accessible, and prepared myself for the physical exertion that might be necessary by exercising my limbs vigorously. This procedure had an unexpected advantage, for as soon as I began jumping, skipping, and swinging my arms, the attendants incontinently fled. I suppose they mistook my actions for magical gestures.

Finding ourselves alone, Emerson and I made the best possible use of our time. Indeed, our enjoyment of one another's company was the only thing that made that long day endurable. The cat did not come back, though I stood by the garden wall for some time calling it. There was no word from Reggie or from Amenit. No one came to threaten or reassure us.

Fortunately we were not called upon to endure another such day. It was mid-morning when they came for us, and as the curtain was thrust aside Emerson heaved a mighty sigh of relief. 'As I hoped and expected. High noon is the time.'

We were forced to sit around for an hour or more, since we flatly refused to go through any ceremonies of purification or put on the handsome robes that had been supplied. 'If we go down, we will go down fighting, and attired like an English lady and gentleman,' I decreed.

Emerson looked me over from head to foot, his lips twitching. 'A proper English lady would faint dead away seeing you attired like that, Peabody.'

Alas, he was correct. I had done the best I could to press and brush our travel-stained garments, but I could not mend the rents or sew on missing buttons. I had searched in vain for the grubby spool of thread Ramses had lent me. It required no great stretch of the imagination to understand why he had taken it with him, but it was deuced inconvenient. Emerson's shirt was beyond repair; he was wearing one of the locally produced substitutes and I must admit it was unexpectedly becoming to him, especially since it had been made for a much slighter individual.

'I hate to think what a proper English lady would do on seeing you, Emerson,' I riposted with a smile. 'Are you sure you don't want to borrow my knife?'

'No, thank you, my dear.' Absently Emerson flexed his arms. One of the attendants, who had timidly advanced towards him waving a pleated kilt like a parlormaid shaking a rug, jumped back with a squeak.

'Your costume requires something, though,' I said, frowning. 'Why don't you put on that beaded collar? And some of the bracelets.'

'I will be cursed - ' Emerson began loudly.

'Some of the beautiful heavy gold bracelets,' I said.

'Oh,' said Emerson. 'Excellent idea, Peabody.'

Once this had been done - and the effect, let me add, was very fine - we were ready. However, our escort was not. I don't know how they knew the time, having no clocks or watches, but apparently we were early. A debate ensued; it ended with the decision that it would be better to be too early than too late.

'Have we everything, Peabody?' Emerson asked, knocking out his pipe and putting it carefully in his trouser pocket.

'I think so. Notebooks' - I felt the front of my blouse - 'my belt and accoutrements, my weapons, your pipe and tobacco... I am ready.'

As the guards closed around us I cast one final look at the room where we had spent so many painful and yet fascinating hours. Whatever ensued, it seemed unlikely that we would return. We had decided that Tarek probably intended to wage an attack upon his brother's forces during the ceremony. We would of course support our friend to the uttermost; but if he went down and his cause with him, we would make a break for it. The details of that action were necessarily vague, for they depended on too many unknown factors, the most important of which was whether Ramses and Nefret would be present. If we could scoop them up and take them along, we would try to get over or through the cliffs, steal camels and supplies, and ride hell-for-leather (if the Reader will excuse the vulgarity) for the Nile. Otherwise we would have to hide in the tunnels until we found both children, for as Emerson had said, we would as soon have abandoned Ramses as the golden-haired maiden whose courage and beauty had won both our hearts.

The weather was certainly propitious. The sun beamed down from a cloudless sky; not a breath of wind or haze of sand broke the still, clear air. As we marched along, hand in hand, closely surrounded by a heavy guard, Emerson began to whistle and my spirits soared. We were about to go into action, and when the Emersons act in concert, few can stand against them. Something was bound to turn up.