Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (110 page)

‘A man brought this, Sitt,’ he said, handing me a folded paper.

‘What man?’

Abdullah shrugged. ‘One of the infidels.’

‘Thank you, my friend.’

Abdullah bowed and withdrew.

‘Well, Peabody, what is it?’ Emerson asked, adding a finished page to the stack of pay sheets.

‘It appears to be a note. It is addressed to me. I don’t recognize the writing, but I think I can guess – ’

‘Stop guessing and open it,’ Emerson said impatiently.

I shook off the strange apprehension that had seized me. Never before had I had so strong a sensation of evil – of some monstrous shadow waiting in the darkness with fangs bared. And all from a folded sheet of paper!

Something in my expression as I read alerted the others. Emerson threw down his pen and rose. John sat staring, mute and expectant.

‘It is from Charity,’ I said. ‘Your warning was not in vain after all, Emerson. She asks for our help.’

‘When?’

‘Now. This very night.’

John leaped to his feet. ‘Wot ’as ’appened?’ he cried, wringing his hands. ‘Where is she? Is she in danger?’

‘Now, John, calm yourself. She is in no immediate danger. She asks us to meet her …’ I checked myself. John’s staring eyes and pallid cheeks testified to the depth of his concern. I did not want him running to the mission to rescue his lady; he had already displayed an unfortunate propensity for unnecessary rescues. I said, ‘Go to your room, John.’

‘You can’t talk to him as if he were Ramses,’ said Emerson. ‘Speaking of Ramses – ’

‘Yes, quite. I follow you, Emerson. John, I assure you there is no need for alarm. We will meet the young lady and listen to her story. If in our opinion there is the slightest cause for concern as to her safety, we will fetch her here.’

‘You’ll come at once and tell me what ’as ’appened, madam,’ John implored.

‘Of course. Run along now.’

John departed, with dragging steps and backward looks. I handed Emerson the note.

‘Midnight,’ Emerson muttered. ‘Why do all persons in distress pick on midnight? It is a damned inconvenient hour, too early to get some sleep beforehand and too late to – ’

‘Sssh. I don’t want anyone to overhear. Especially Ramses.’

‘She does not appear to have any sense of imminent peril,’ Emerson said, reading on. ‘But she is obviously distressed. What do you suppose, is this “terrible thing” she has discovered?’

‘I have an idea, I think.’

‘Oh yes, so do I. I only wondered whether she had discovered what I already know.’

It lacked an hour till the time of the assignation. We employed it in putting Ramses to bed. He was in an aggravating mood, inventing one distraction after another in order to detain us. ‘I have deciphered de Coptic, Mama,’ was his final effort. ‘Do you want to know what it says?’

‘Not now, Ramses. Tomorrow.’

‘It is very interesting, Mama. Dere is a mention on de smaller fragment of de son of – ’

‘“The Son of God” is one of the appellations of Jesus,’ I explained. ‘Your religious training has been sadly neglected, Ramses. It is an omission I mean to remedy for, whatever are your dear papa’s opinions on the subject, an English gentleman should be familiar with the rudiments, at least, of Anglican doctrine. Hop into bed, now.’

‘Yes, Mama. De gospel according to Saint Thomas – ’

‘That is just what I mean, Ramses. There is no gospel of Saint Thomas. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John… There is a pretty little prayer that begins with the names of the Evangelists; I will teach it to you. But not now. Good night, my son.’

‘Good night, Mama,’ Ramses said resignedly.

The remaining time passed very slowly. I was intensely curious to hear what Charity would say. Finally Emerson decided we should leave. Abdullah had fallen asleep, but he woke instantly when we opened the door. Emerson explained we were going for a stroll and would be back before long.

‘I wonder why she chose such a remote spot,’ he said, as we set out across the moonlit sands.

‘She could hardly arrange to meet us in the village, Emerson. And she knows we have been working at the pyramid.’

My heart beat fast as we approached the sunken area. The trenches of our excavations cast dark shadows against the pale ground. At first there was no sign of a living form. Then something moved. I caught Emerson’s arm. ‘It is she! I would know that shape anywhere, especially that horrid bonnet.’

For an instant she stood motionless as a black paper silhouette, slender and featureless. One arm lifted. The dark form glided silently away.

‘She is beckoning us to follow,’ I exclaimed.

‘So I see.’

‘Where the devil is she going?’

‘No doubt she will explain when we catch her up.’

Emerson increased his pace. I had to trot to keep up with him, yet the distance between us and the slender form ahead never grew less.

‘Curse it,’ Emerson said. ‘This is ridiculous, Amelia. Is she going to run all the way to Dahshoor? I will give her a hail.’

‘No, don’t do that! Even a low voice carries a long distance here; a shout would waken everyone for a mile around.’

‘Well, damnation, we have been walking for a mile.’

‘Hardly that, Emerson.’

We went on for a time in silence. I began to share Emerson’s annoyance, and yet there was something uncanny about that silent pursuit across the quiet sand. Ever retreating yet ever beckoning us onward, the figure ahead seemed not a living woman but a symbol of mysterious fate.

‘Can she have mistaken us for someone else?’ I panted.

‘Impossible. The night is bright as day and we are, if I may say so, quite distinctive in appearance. Especially you, in those bloomers.’

‘They are not bloomers. They are Turkish trousers.’

‘And you are clashing like a German brass band.’

‘One never knows … when one will need …’

‘Save your breath, Peabody. Ah – there – she is turning east towards the cultivation.’

One lone palm, a giant of its kind, had invaded the rim of the waterless desert. The slim shadow vanished into its shade. Emerson broke into a trot and I into a run.

She was there. She awaited us. Her head turned.

Then from out of the very ground, or so it seemed, three ghostly forms emerged. Barely visible against the darkness, they moved with the speed and ferocity of the afreets they resembled. My hand went to my belt – too late! They were upon us. I heard Emerson’s shout and the smack of his fist on flesh. Rough hands seized me; I was flung to the ground.

S
O
sweet, submissive Charity was in reality the Master Criminal, mistress of vicious thugs! I proceeded no further with my reflections on the case, for other considerations supervened: for one, a large foot planted in the small of my back holding me prostrate while rough hands stuffed a gag into my mouth and rapidly enclosed my body with cords. Even more distracting than physical discomfort was my apprehension concerning Emerson. No longer did the sounds of complaint and struggle reach my ears. The miscreants must have rendered him unconscious – or worse… But no; I could not, I would not, entertain that ghastly thought.

One of the villains picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder. The muscular arm holding my lower limbs warned me of the futility of attempting to escape; I bent all my efforts instead to twisting my neck far enough to get a glimpse of Emerson. As my captor set out across the sands, I was finally rewarded in this endeavour, but what I saw was far from reassuring. Close behind came a pair of bare feet and a ragged robe. I could see no more of the second villain than that, owing to my unconventional posture, but behind the feet a lax, limp hand trailed through the sand. They were carrying him. Surely that must mean my dear Emerson yet lived. I clung to that thought while endeavouring to discern some sign of animation, however faint, in the member.

I could look no more. The discomfort of strained neck muscles forced me to relax. This brought my face in close proximity with the dirty robe covering my captor’s body, and I was conscious of a strange odour, even more unpleasant than that of unwashed flesh. I knew that smell. It was the unmistakable stench of bat droppings.

I could see only a small expanse of the desert floor, but I am not a trained archaeologist for nothing; the nature of the debris that, before long, cluttered the surface told me of my location. We were approaching the Black Pyramid. My kidnapper came to a stop before a gaping hole in the ground. If I had not been incapable of speech I would have cried, ‘Good Gad,’ or something equally indicative of surprise; for that hole had not been in existence earlier. I did not like the look of it. I resumed my struggles. The wretch replied by dropping me onto the ground. Emerson lay beside me. His eyes were closed, but he looked quite peaceful. Most marvellous of all was the rise and fall of his massive breast. He lived! Thank heaven, he lived!

But for how long? This unpleasant question inevitably arose, and ensuing events made the answer seem highly doubtful. The man who had been carrying me seized me by the collar and started into the hole, dragging me after him.

It was not a grave pit, then, but a structure considerably more extensive. A wild surmise rose and strengthened as we went on into the darkness. I deduced the presence of a flight of steps leading downward, from the impression they made upon my helpless form. At the bottom of the stairs my captor paused to light a candle; then we went on, more rapidly than before, and in the same manner. In justice to the fellow who transported me in such an uncomfortable manner I must admit he had little choice; the ceiling of the passage was so low he had to bend double, and it would have been impossible for him to carry me.

The thieves had discovered the entrance to the interior chambers of the pyramid, which de Morgan had sought in vain. A thrill of archaeological fervour overcame my mental and physical distress. It soon faded, however, for even a lover of pyramids cannot enjoy being in one when she is in the position I then occupied – my collar choking me, the stones of the floor bruising my lower back. Another discomfort soon took precedence. The floor of the passageway was thick with sand and disintegrated bat manure. This rose in a cloud as we proceeded, and being so low to the floor, I found it increasingly hard to breathe.

The candle held by my kidnapper gave little light to my own surroundings. A twinkling starry point behind indicated the presence of the others. Were they still transporting my unconscious spouse, or had they flung his corpse into an empty tomb?

Decayed bat droppings are not precisely poisonous, but they cannot be breathed in too long without ill effect. My head began to swim. I was barely aware of being raised and dragged, or carried, up a wooden ladder. This occurred several times, and I verily believe that but for these intervals I would have been overcome by the effluvium of the excretions of the flying mammals. I had lost all sense of direction, despite my efforts to make a mental map of the path we followed. The passageways formed a veritable maze, designed to confuse tomb robbers as to the location of the king’s burial chamber. It succeeded in confusing me, at any rate, but in my defence it must be said that my position was not conducive to clear thinking.

Finally the villain came to a stop. My eyes were streaming with tears from the irritation of the dusty dung. The man bent over me. I did not want him to think I was weeping from fear or weakness, so I blinked the tears away and frowned – that being the only expression of disapprobation available to me at that time. An unpleasant smile spread over his face, which shone like greased mahogany in the dim light. He held the candle in one hand. In the other hand was a long knife, polished to razor sharpness. The light ran in glimmering streaks along the blade.

Two quick slashes, and a sharp shove… I toppled – tried to cry out – fell, helpless and blind, into impenetrable darkness.

An individual who has been kidnapped, bound and gagged, suffocated and tossed into a seemingly bottomless pit in the heart of an unexplored pyramid – that individual is a fool if she is not afraid. I am not a fool. I was terrified. In the Stygian blackness the pit seemed a chasm into infinite depths where the monsters of the abyss lay waiting to devour the bodies and souls of the dead. One part of my frozen brain knew better, of course, but that part was well aware that the bottom of the pit was undoubtedly floored with stone, against which my bones would be broken to splinters.

I now believe the tales of those who claim to have relived their entire lives in the space of a few seconds, for those thoughts and others that do not merit description flashed through my mind in the moments that elapsed before I reached the bottom of the pit. To my astonishment I found it was covered with water. Under the water was mud and under the mud was stone. The presence of the water and the mud broke my fall, though it was hard enough to bruise me and knock the breath clean out of me. Not until I made instinctive swimming motions did I realize that my limbs had been freed. Swimming was unnecessary; the water and underlying slime were scarcely three feet deep. After I had gained my feet my first act was to pluck the gag from my mouth. It was saturated with water and tasted foul, but it had prevented me from swallowing the revolting liquid.