Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (122 page)

I thanked him abstractedly and hastened to Emerson, who was peering over the edge of the platform. ‘He has fallen off, Peabody. Curse it! Curse it! I will never forgive myself. I should have tied him to me with a rope as I usually do; I should have–’

‘Emerson, calm yourself. He can’t have fallen off. It is not a straight drop; we would have heard him bounce from step to step, and surely even Ramses would have emitted a cry on finding himself falling. No, he has started down by himself, heaven only knows why. I strictly forbade him to leave us–’

Emerson rushed to the north side of the platform and looked down that face of the pyramid. It was deep in shadow, but Emerson’s eyes, keen as an eagle’s, were further strengthened by the desperation of paternal affection. He let out a hoarse shriek. ‘There, Peabody– there, do you see? Two thirds of the way down, on the left. Are those not Ramses’ guides? And does not one of them appear strangely hump-backed?’

I could only make out the glimmer of the white robes the Egyptians wore. They resembled a patch of moonlight that was gliding down the weathered stones. There was certainly a group of people there – how many, I could not make out – and they were the only climbers on that side of the pyramid, since for obvious reasons the others preferred the lighted sides.

‘I can’t tell who they are, Emerson, nor can I determine–’

But I addressed empty air. Emerson had flung himself over the edge and was bounding down the giant staircase like a man possessed. I immediately hastened to follow him, though at a more discreet pace.

By the time I reached the bottom and found myself ankle-deep in sand, Emerson was nowhere to be seen. I consoled myself by the fact that his body was nowhere to be seen either, so I could assume he had reached the bottom unharmed.

It may seem to the reader that I was more concerned for my spouse than for my son and heir. This was indeed the case. I had long since given up worrying about Ramses, not because of lack of affection (my feelings for the boy were those of any mother of an eight-year-old son), but because I had worn out my stock of worry on that subject. By the time he was five, Ramses had been in more scrapes than most people encounter over a long lifetime, and I had expended more nervous energy over him than most mothers expend on a family of twelve. I had no more to give. Furthermore – though I would be ashamed to confess such irrational thoughts except in the pages of my private journal – I had developed an almost superstitious confidence in Ramses’ ability not only to survive disasters of truly horrendous proportions, but to emerge from them undamaged and undaunted.

Not knowing what direction Emerson had taken, I set off toward the northeast corner of the pyramid. There was no one about; tourists and guides alike preferred the lighted areas. I had almost reached the corner when a cry, faint but pervasive, echoed through the night: ‘Ra-a-a-mses!’

‘Curse it,’ I thought. ‘He has gone the other way.’ Instead of turning, I continued on the same path, for we would inevitably meet in the course of time, and in the process we would have circled (if such a word can be used of a structure whose base forms a perfect square) the pyramid.

The Giza pyramids are only the most conspicuous of the ancient tombs that honeycomb the surface of the plateau. The sand around me was dimpled and scarred by traces of the underlying structures. It was necessary to pick one’s way carefully for fear of tumbling into an open tomb chamber or tripping over a fallen block of stone, so my progress was somewhat deliberate. As I was running over in my mind the things I would say to Ramses when I found him – and I had no doubt I would eventually – I heard the sounds of an altercation. At first I could not make out from whence came the thumps and grunts and muffled cries, for such noises carry quite a distance in the clear desert air. Not until I looked back did I see a telltale flutter of draperies. The wearers seemed to be in rapid retreat, and they soon disappeared behind one of the small subsidiary pyramids – appurtenances of the Great Pyramid near which they are situated.

I set out in pursuit, my parasol at the ready, though I feared I had slight chance of catching up with the guides, if indeed that was who they were. Nor was it at all certain that Ramses was with them. However, the most logical theory was that, for reasons known only unto himself, he had persuaded the men to take him back down the pyramid in pursuit of heaven only knew what objective. Ramses always had reasons for his actions, but they were seldom readily perceptible to rational persons.

My progress was impeded by frequent falls, for I was still in the shadow and could not make out the outlines of objects scattered about. Picking myself up after one such tumble, I beheld a sight both alarming and astonishing, and yet one that was not without a degree of reassurance. The white-robed form some little distance ahead looked spectral in that eerie ambience, but I knew it must be one of the guides. In its arms, held close to its breast, was a small, darker form. The limbs of this latter being were in agitated motion and my ears made out the unmistakable tones of Ramses, demanding, with his usual prolixity of speech, to be put down.

With the instantaneous mental agility on which I pride myself, I revised my earlier theory of the reason for Ramses’ failure to obey my orders. It now seemed clear that he was being held against his will. Perhaps that condition had prevailed from the first – though how the guides had whisked him away without causing some comment from Ramses or from the tourists, I could not imagine. However, that was a matter best left for later investigation. Ramses’ liberation was the first thing to be attended to, and I proceeded to attend to it, raising myself to my feet and rushing forward at considerable speed.

The man who held Ramses was, as I assumed, struck motionless with terror at the sight of me. He made no attempt to flee. I brought my parasol down on his head as hard as I could.

The kidnapper gave an anguished cry and clapped both hands to his head, dropping Ramses, who fell face-down in the sand. Realizing that the folds of the turban had lessened the effect of the blow I intended, I quickly shifted my grasp on the handle of the parasol and rammed the steel tip into the fellow’s midsection. He toppled over onto his back. I was stepping briskly forward to administer the coup de grace when two small hands wrapped round my ankle and sent me staggering. Only the deft reversal of the parasol and its forward thrust against a rock outcropping kept me on my feet.

I turned on Ramses with a reproachful cry. ‘Curse you, Ramses, what are you doing? This wretch abducted you – at least I hope for your sake he did, for if you went with him of your own free will –’

‘I was attempting to prevent you from an action you would most assuredly regret, Mama,’ said Ramses. He paused to spit out a mouthful of sand before continuing, ‘Dis man–’

‘Watch your diphthongs, Ramses.’ His adversary appeared to have been rendered unconscious, for he lay quite still. I kept a watchful eye on him, parasol raised, while Ramses went on with his explanation.

‘Yes, Mama. This man was not my abductor but my rescuer. It was he who saved me from the persons who carried me off from the top of, and down the side of, the pyramid, with, I might add, some risk to himself, for both my assailants were armed, one with a long knife and is locally known as a
sikkineh
, and the other–’

‘Never mind all that. Hmmm. Are you certain that … But I suppose you could hardly be mistaken. Why were you struggling then? I would not have been so precipitate had I not feared for your safety, since it certainly appeared you were attempting to free yourself from a captor’s grasp.’

‘I wanted him to put me down,’ said Ramses.

‘I see. Well, that makes sense.’ I stopped to look more closely at the recumbent man. I could make little of his features in the dark, but my nostrils caught traces of an odd smell, sweet and cloying. I stepped back in instinctive disgust. ‘Opium! The man is a drug addict!’

‘One might reasonably draw that conclusion,’ said Ramses judiciously. ‘Is he dead?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘I am glad of that,’ Ramses remarked. ‘It would be a poor return for his services to me; and his personal habits are not a matter of concern to us, particularly in view of –’

‘Do hush for a moment, Ramses. I hear your father approaching. He certainly sets a rapid pace! Call out to him, if you please, or he will go on circumnavigating the pyramid indefinitely.’

Ramses obeyed. The far-off wails of Emerson, repeating Ramses’ name in mournful accents, took on new poignancy. Ramses called again. The two of them exchanged outcries until Emerson burst upon the scene and flung himself at his son. I heard the breath go out of Ramses’ lungs in an explosive whoosh as his father seized him, and knowing that Emerson would be incapable of reasoned speech for several moments, I turned my attention back to Ramses’ presumed rescuer.

The sickening smell of opium again assailed my nostrils as I bent over him, but I conquered my repugnance and reached down to remove his turban that I might better ascertain the extent of the damage I had done the fellow’s head. As my hand went out, the man started convulsively, flinging his arms over his face.

‘
Mâtekhâfsh, habîb
,’ I said reassuringly. ‘Do not be afraid. It was in error that I struck; the child has told me of your courage.’

At first there was no reply. Then from under the ragged folds of cloth came a muffled voice. ‘Let me go, sitt. I did nothing. I want nothing, only to be left alone.’

‘
Wallahi-el âzim
, by God the great, I mean you no harm. Indeed, I wish to reward you. Come out into the moonlight that I may see if you are injured.’ The man did not move and I went on impatiently, ‘Come, you are safe with us. This is the great, the famous Emerson Effendi, Father of Curses, and I am his wife, sometimes called the Sitt Hakim.’

‘I know you, sitt,’ came the reply.

‘Then what are you cowering there for? If you know my name, you know its meaning; I am somewhat skilled in the art of medicine–’

As I might have expected, this statement caught the ear of Emerson, who seldom misses an opportunity of jeering at my medical qualifications. However, on this occasion he refrained from his customary caustic comment; Ramses had evidently explained the situation, and gratitude prevailed over irony. Seizing the fallen man by the arm, he hauled him vigorously to his feet and began wringing his hand. ‘A father’s blessing be upon you,’ he began in sonorous Arabic, but before he had got any further, the saviour distracted him by dropping to his knees, his head bowed.

‘You need not kneel, my good fellow,’ Emerson said graciously.

‘I believe, Papa, he is not paying his respects but fainting,’ said Ramses coolly. ‘As I informed you, one of the men had a knife, the type that is known as–’

‘Bless me,’ said Emerson in mild surprise. ‘I believe you are right, Ramses. Yes, this sticky substance on his fingers seems to be blood.’

‘So long as you have hold of him, Emerson, you may as well drag him out into the moonlight,’ I suggested. ‘Though a less painful hold, one that does not put such a strain on his presumed wound–’

‘Hmmm, yes, quite right, my dear,’ said Emerson. He transferred his grip to the man’s shoulders and with a heave of his mighty arms pulled him across the sand until the bright rays of the moon illumined his body.

A crowd of curiosity seekers had collected. The non-Arabs among them soon turned away in disgust upon seeing that the object of attention was only a ragged beggar. The Egyptians recognized Emerson and promptly squatted in a circle, waiting to see what would transpire, for, as one of them remarked to a friend, ‘The Father of Curses is a great magician. Perhaps he will bring this dead man to life.’

Some of the onlookers carried torches and lanterns. Among them was Sheikh Abu, who hastened to Emerson with ejaculations of relief and congratulation. ‘Your son has been restored. Praise Allah!’

‘Yes, quite,’ Emerson replied. ‘No thanks to the guides you assigned to us. See here, Abu–’

‘First things first, Emerson,’ I interrupted. ‘Abu, please bring the lantern closer. And lend me your knife.’

In the warm yellow glow of the lantern the inky stains on the man’s sleeve sprang to ominous life. I seized Abu’s knife and prepared to cut the cloth away. The crowd, which resembled nothing so much as an assortment of laundry bags fallen haphazardly from the back of a cart, squirmed closer, and the same commentator remarked, ‘It is the Sitt Hakim. No doubt she will cut off the man’s arm,’ to which his companion replied eagerly, ‘Lean back so that I may see better.’

The knife wound was on the outside of the man’s arm, from just above the wrist almost to the elbow. Fortunately it had not touched any of the major muscles or blood vessels, but it was still oozing the roseate ichor of life, so I bound it up as best I could. My patient lay quiet, his eyes closed, but I suspected he had regained consciousness, and this suspicion was confirmed when, upon my again attempting to remove his turban, my hand was pushed away.

I repeated my reassurance, adding, ‘I must see your head, friend, to determine whether you suffer from … Curse it,’ I added in English, ‘what is the Arabic for concussion?’

‘If such a word exists, I am not acquainted with it,’ said Ramses, squatting beside me with the same boneless ease Egyptians demonstrate in assuming that awkward position. ‘But you need not tax your knowledge of Arabic, Mama. The gentleman is English.’

‘Courtesy is a quality I always commend, Ramses,’ I said. ‘But the word “gentleman,” when applied to this no doubt honest but somewhat disreputable … What did you say? English?’

‘Unquestionably,’ said Ramses. ‘I thought as much yesterday, when I saw him juggling the oranges the fruit vendor had let fall. There are certain idiosyncratic structures of face and body found only in the members of the Celtic subrace, and the stubble of beard on his face, though darkened by prolonged abstinence from the means of ablution, had a reddish tinge. Should there be any doubt in your mind, Mama, as to the extent of my anatomic expertise or the accuracy of my observations, let me add that I distinctly heard issue from his lips, when one of his assailants attacked, the word “Damn”.’