The Last Camel Died At Noon by Elizabeth Peters

Author:Elizabeth Peters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1972-04-13T05:00:00+00:00

The Last Camel Died At Noon

I found him in the antechamber, expostulating with the guards. Their great spears barred the doorway like a cross of iron, and their faces remained averted even when Emerson shook his fist under each nose in turn.

'Come away, Emerson,' I begged, seizing him by the arm. 'Don't lower your dignity by screaming. They are only obeying orders.'

'Curse it,' said Emerson; but the force of my argument prevailed, and he allowed me to lead him away. 'I was not screaming, Peabody,' he added, mopping his perspiring brow.

'The word was ill-chosen, Emerson. What were you trying to do?'

'Why, go out, of course. I don't understand why we have had no official reaction to our unorthodox activities in the village. Murtek's consternation made it obvious that we must

have committed a gross social error, if nothing worse. I cannot believe it will be passed over without so much as a reprimand. The suspense is preying on my mind. Better a confrontation, even of a physical nature, than this uncertainty.'

'I would much prefer uncertainty to a physical confrontation, my dear. These people are not so unsophisticated as to be unaware of the effect of delay on characters such as ours. They may take several days to respond.'

'They are already responding,' Emerson said grimly. 'The guards refused even to answer me when I demanded they take a message to Murtek. And look here' - his gesture took in the reception room and the garden beyond - 'they have all disappeared. Not a soul around. Not even the handmaiden.'

He was quite correct. Absorbed in my writing, I had not observed the servants leave. We were alone.

It is difficult to defend oneself against the unknown, but we did what we could. Emerson had already changed into his civilised garments and I followed suit, buckling the belt around my waist and placing my parasol conveniently at hand. At my insistence Emerson put my little pistol and a box of ammunition in his coat pocket. He dislikes firearms - and indeed manages quite well without them - but on this occasion he did not argue, and the grim look on his face assured me that in the final extremity I could count on him to use the last bullet as I would myself.

In addition to my useful parasol, I had my knife and a pair of scissors. Not a great armament with which to combat an entire city; but it was comforting to realise that express rifles or even Gatling guns would have been little more use, with only two of us to wield them.

So we sat waiting as the shadows lengthened and the blue dusk crept in. I occupied the time by bringing my journal up to date. I had just reached the line 'only two of us' when a sudden recollection made me drop my pen. 'Where the devil is Ramses?' I asked.

'Language, Peabody, language,' said Emerson, grinning. 'He is in the garden with the cat.'

'Well, get him in here at once. We must stand together.

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