The Last Camel Died at Noon (45 page)

My reply was curt and pungent. Tarek looked despairingly from me to Murtek.

'The gods decree this,' said the old hypocrite. 'How can you stop the wind from blowing, or a woman from having her way?'

'Especially this woman,' I said, taking a firmer grip on my parasol. 'Hurry, Tarek.'

Tarek made no further protest. At first his pace was so quick, Ramses had to run to keep up. Gradually it slowed; and as we entered an antechamber, richly furnished with embroidered hangings and cushions, he came to a stop. Lamps burned in alcoves, but there was no one present. Silently Tarek gestured towards the curtains at the far end of the room. Shifting my parasol to my left hand, I drew my pistol and plunged through them.

In this secret and secluded chamber had been gathered the richest treasures of the kingdom. Every surface of every article of furniture was covered with beaten gold and set with gems and enamel. Embroidered hangings hid the stone walls. The vessels on the tables were all of solid gold and heaped with food of every variety. Animal skins covered the floor. In a curtained alcove stood a low couch. Emerson lay there, his eyes closed, his face ruddily lit by a lamp that burned in a niche above. And over him bent the veiled form of a woman.

I had beheld such a scene before, through the eyes of im-agination, but this was a grotesque parody of the original. My husband's ruggedly masculine features bore no resemblance to those of the golden-haired hero of the classic novel, and the shape that hovered over him would have made four of the immortal She. It was as squat and square as a huge toad.

As I stood gaping, Emerson opened his eyes. The most extraordinary grimace of horror and surprise passed over his face, and he promptly fainted again.

My parasol fell from my nerveless hand. Soft as it was, the sound of its fall alerted the creature to my presence. Moving with the ponderous deliberation of a giant slug, she straightened and started to turn.

I heard the rustle of draperies behind me and knew Tarek had entered the room, but I could not take my eyes off the sight before them. I had been wrong; this monstrous thing could not be the queen It must be something indescribably horrible to have caused the bravest of men to lose his senses. The living image of one of the beast-gods of ancient Egypt? The wizened, mummified countenance of a woman thousands of years old?

What I saw was infinitely worse, and in that moment of revelation I understood Emerson's shock and Tarek's warning. The face was only that of a very fat woman, her features dwarfed by ballooning cheeks. But it was white - the pallid dead-white of a stiffening corpse. The hair that streamed over her shoulders almost to the floor was silvery gold; the eyes squinting at me through folds of flesh were the soft blue of cornflowers in an English meadow.

Remote as the sky whose colour they had borrowed, they contemplated me with inhuman detachment. So might a normal woman have viewed a fly that had dared to light on her hand. Through the fog of horror that clouded my mind I seemed to hear Emerson's voice repeating the words he had spoken only a few months earlier, on a rainy evening in England. 'An exquisite creature, looking no more than eighteen; great misty blue eyes, hair like a fall of spun gold, skin white as ivory...'

'Mrs Forth,' I gasped. 'Is it - can it be - you?'

The vast white expanse of her brow rippled. 'I know that name,' she said in strongly accented Meroitic. 'It is the name of one I hate. Go away, woman, and do not speak that name again.'

The truth, the pitiful, painful truth, was clear to me now. She bad died after the birth of her child, in all but body. From such cases come the old legends of demonic possession, when a man or woman unable to endure the pain of existence retreats from reality into a new identity. She was not Mrs Willoughby Forth. She was the God's Wife of Amon. She had forgotten her daughter, her husband, the world from which she had come.

Could I restore her? I could but try. And of course it was unthinkable that I should not make the attempt.

I addressed her in the strongest terms. I assured her that I felt only the tenderest compassion for her (despite her unlicensed attraction to a married man). Moved as I was by intense emotion, I believe I have never risen to greater oratorical heights. Emerson's eyes remained tightly closed, but I knew he had regained consciousness. He had wisely decided to refrain from joining in the conversation.

Her face remained unmoved until I made what, in the light of later developments, I must confess to be an error in judgment. 'We will take you away with us, Mrs Forth. A home awaits you, where you will be tenderly cherished - your husband's father lives only to clasp you again in his arms - '

She let out a shriek. 'Away? From my temple, my servants? You speak when I have told you to be silent. You remain when I have told you to leave me. I would have been merciful, but you try my patience, woman! Kill them! Kill the blasphemers!'

From the shadows at the far end of the room came the Hand, his spear poised and ready, his face set in a hideous smile. Emerson rolled off the couch and bounced to his feet.

'Get out of the line of fire, my dear,' I called, leveling my pistol.

'Oh, good Gad, Peabody - no - don't - '

He made certain I would not by dashing impetuously at the Hand. Light streaked along the blade of the spear as it plunged towards Emerson's breast. With catlike grace he ducked aside and caught hold of the haft of the weapon, just above the blade. Clutching the other end of the haft, the Hand strove to pull it from Emerson's grasp. Back and forth they swayed, matched in strength, the wooden shaft between them like a rope stretched taut by a titanic tug of war.

I pushed Ramses into Tarek's arms. 'Hold on to him,' I ordered, and began to circle around, trying for a clear shot.

Murtek had retreated behind the curtains but no farther; his eyeballs rolled as he watched in fascinated horror. The God's Wife (for so, alas, I must call her) shook so violently, her draperies flapped up and down; she was screaming curses and orders. She reached out a mammoth arm as I edged past her, but her movements were so slow I easily evaded her.

Emerson appeared to be winning the tug-of-war. Fighting every inch of the way, his face twisted with effort and disbelief, the Hand was being pulled slowly towards his mighty opponent. What Emerson meant to do with him when he had got him within arm's reach I did not know, but evidently the Hand feared the worst; suddenly he let go of the spear and reached for the long knife at his belt. Emerson staggered back, recovered, and drove the butt end of the spear into the midsection of his opponent with such force that the Hand flew backwards like a stone shot from a catapult. He hit the wall with a crash and fell to the floor.

'Oh, well struck, Papa,' called Ramses.

'Is he dead?' Tarek asked hopefully.

'I trust not.' Emerson was breathing in great gasps, and the napkin I had tied around his arm was drenched with blood. 'This is becoming tiresome. Peabody, my dear, do me the favour of holstering your pistol before you embrace me.'

I had intended to throw my arms around him, not only because it is a favourite habit of mine, but because he was swaying on his feet. Something held me motionless, however, and that something was the face of the unfortunate woman who called herself the God's Wife of Amon. No longer was it pale as snow. Dark blood suffused it. No longer was she screaming in outrage. A dreadful bubbling, gabbling gurgle issued from her gaping mouth.

She toppled, like a great boulder pushed from the top of a cliff, slowly at first, then with gathering momentum, striking the floor with a hideous, sodden thud.

The magnitude of that fall had about it an air of heroic tragedy that held us all frozen for several seconds. Then Emerson whispered, 'Oh, good Gad. Is she... is she...'

I went through the motions, kneeling by the body and trying to find a pulse, but I had seen death take her even as she stood. Amid the bloated, purple congestion of her face her blue eyes stared emptily into mine. In medical terms her demise could be attributed to the effect of frustrated fury - for since she had assumed her exalted station her will, I suppose, had never been thwarted - upon a body worn out by excessive eating and lack of healthful exercise; but I was inclined to give credit to Another, more Beneficent Source. 'She is gone,' I said solemnly. 'A merciful end, Emerson - all things considered.'

'As always, the Lady speaks well,' said Tarek. 'It is the only possible end to her troubles and ours, for you would have tried to take her away and she would have fought to stay. Now Nefret need never know the truth.'

I drew a fold of her robe across that terrible face. 'You lied to Nefret, Tarek, as you lied to us?'

'It was not a lie, Lady. She went to the god of her own will, denying her former self. Nefret was only an infant. Why should I tell her her mother had turned away from her, after trying twice to kill her?'

'I have heard of such things,' I said sadly. 'There is a sickness that afflicts women sometimes after the birth of a child.'

Murtek squatted beside the great still bulk and began intoning prayers.

'Come away, Lady,' Tarek said. 'You can do no more for her.'

'You have done quite enough already,' said Emerson. I looked sharply at him, suspecting sarcasm, but his face was grave and sympathetic. It was also ghastly pale. The sooner he received my medical attention the better, and yet I lingered, unwilling to leave the unhappy woman without some final word of farewell. But what word ? The noble phrases of the Christian burial service seemed somehow inappropriate.

As he so often does, Emerson came to my rescue. Softly and sonorously he intoned, 'Sleep, Servant of God, in the protection of God.'

So speak the angelic judges of the Moslem faith to the new-born souls of true believers who have passed the test and are destined to breath the sweet air of Paradise.

'Very nice, my dear,' I said. 'Whatever their origin, the words are beautiful and comforting.'

'And general enough to cover all the contingencies, Peabody.'

'You don't deceive me, Emerson,' I said, taking his arm - and quickly releasing it, as he yelped with pain. 'Your cynicism is only a mask.'

'Hmph,' said Emerson.

Tarek led us to a handsome suite of rooms which must have been the living quarters of one of the high-ranking priests.

'Rest and restore your strength, my friends. Whatever you wish shall be given unto you; you have only to ask. Forgive me if I leave you now; there is much to do. After night has fallen I will return, to lead you to the caravan and bid you farewell.'

He hastened out before I could ask even one of the many questions that were bursting for utterance. 'Don't bother him now, Peabody,' said Emerson, sinking gratefully onto a soft couch. 'A successful usurper has his hands full.'

'He is not a usurper, but the rightful king, my dear.'

'Pretender, usurper, rightful heir - the key word is "success-ful,"

Peabody. Is there anything to drink? My throat is dry as a bone.'

Reminded thus of my own duties, I hastened to relieve my suffering spouse. Servants, who treated us with the awe accorded royalty, supplied my requests for water and food, wine and bandages. Not until Emerson's wounds had been tended, and I had seen the colour return to his cheeks, did I allow him to talk. There was no dearth of conversation, however, since Ramses had a good deal to say.

I permitted this - nay, I encouraged it - since I was somewhat curious as to how he had managed to get from the tunnel to the interior of the statue. I did not even complain when he talked with his mouth full. As he ate voraciously of the roasted meats and fresh fruit with which we had been supplied, he explained it was his first meal for almost twenty-four hours. 'Approxi-mately half of the carriers of the god were supporters of Tarek's. They smuggled me into the temple before daylight. As you may have observed, Mama and Papa, I am not unlike the people of this place in physical appearance; in the darkness of the sanctuary I was able to pass for the individual who had been selected (by Nastasen and the high priest) to manipulate the statue. He was - er - removed by Tarek's men. I was assured he would come to no harm.'

He paused to swallow a mouthful of grapes that would have choked a normal boy, and his father said interestedly, 'But how did you get in touch with Tarek?'

'Thanks to your warning, Papa, I was able to hide a number of useful articles in the tunnel before I had to retreat there myself. I had, of course, observed how Amenit opened the trapdoor -'

'Of course,' I muttered.

'Adults underestimate children,' said Ramses, looking smug. 'She was careful to prevent you from seeing what she did, Mama, but she did not care if I saw. Also, Tarek had told me, during the dinner party when I had the honour of sitting with him, that there was a means of escape through the tunnel should we need to employ it. Additional messages, giving further details, came to me tied to the collar of the cat.'

'Of course,' I cried in deep chagrin. 'Ramses, why did you not share this information with your parents?'

'Now, Peabody, don't scold the lad,' said Emerson cheerfully. 'I am sure he had excellent reasons for doing as he did. I want to hear how you found your way through that maze of tunnels, my boy.'

On the occasion of our visit to the false High Priestess, and again when Mentarit took us to Nefret, Ramses had marked the path by means of the chalk he carried in his pocket or pocket pouch. He was therefore able to retrace his steps to the room where Nefret had met us. Not only had he taken my matches and candle, he had squirrelled away a lamp and an extra pot of oil, several small jars of water, and a packet of food. He was thus equipped for a fairly prolonged stay, should this be necessary, once he reached the room aforementioned. The message he had sent Tarek, via the cat, informed the former that that was where he could be found should it be necessary for him to retreat into the tunnels. He had beguiled the time of waiting by exploring other passages, using trails of thread to avoid losing his way.

'I discovered a number of interesting tombs,' he explained. 'And of course I took copious notes.'