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Authors: Elizabeth Peters

Tags: #Mystery Fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Historical, #Suspense, #Crime & mystery, #Crime & Thriller, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictitious character), #Mystery, #Detective, #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Egypt, #Fiction - Mystery, #Women archaeologists, #Mystery & Detective - Series, #Mystery & Detective - Historical, #Detective and mystery stories, #American, #Art

Lion in the Valley (6 page)

BOOK: Lion in the Valley
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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 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 ambiance, 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 facedown 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 the long knife that 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.

"Matekhafsh,
habib,"
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
azim,
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 savior 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.' "

The
word was repeated, just as distinctly, by the same
lips.
The closed eyes snapped open. The irises were a bright, fiery blue—not the deep
sapphire of Emerson's eyes, but the identical shade of the turquoise used so
often in ancient Egyptian jewelry.

I
sat back on my heels. "Nonsense," I said. "You will find high
cheekbones and blue eyes among the Berber tribesmen to the north. A splendid
race of men, true sons of the desert; it is a pity to find one of them in such
a state of degradation—"

BOOK: Lion in the Valley
4.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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