Lion in the Valley by Elizabeth Peters Read Free Book Online Page A

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