Elizabeth Peters - Night Train to Memphis

‘I’ll – uh – I’ll just get another cup.’ Keith retreated.

‘Tactful lad,’ John said. ‘Aren’t you going to come here and soothe my fevered brow?’

I crawled to the bed and touched his forehead. ‘It is warm.’

His hand slid up my arm inside the loose sleeve. ‘So are you. So is the climate of Upper Egypt.’

‘You look terrible.’

His fingers tightened, drawing me closer. ‘“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.”’

‘The mind has very little to do with it,’ I said wryly.

‘If I were as ill-mannered as some people,’ said my beloved, ‘I would point out that you aren’t at your best just now either. But you’re my darling, you’re my sunshine, and I won’t stop loving you when your hair has turned to silver. Can you say less?’

‘No fair. That’s at least two different songs.’

‘Answer the question.’

‘What question?’

I hadn’t supposed we’d be left alone for long, and I would have bet money on the identity of the next visitor. John let go of me and I sat back on my heels.

‘Ah,’ said Schmidt, pleased. ‘You are feeling better.’

‘I hope you aren’t going to make a habit of this, Schmidt,’ John said.

‘No, no. Don’t mind me. Just go on with – ’

‘Give me the coffee, Schmidt,’ I said.

Schmidt did so and then seated himself. ‘If you don’t want to make love some more, then perhaps we should talk, eh? Yes, that is best. You must save your strength, my friend. Making love is weakening to the vital forces of even a man who is in perfect health, and making love with a woman like Vicky – ’

‘Uh – right,’ John said. ‘If you don’t mind, Schmidt, we ought to turn our attention to more pressing matters than my vital forces. What’s been going on in the great outside world? I seem to have wasted the day in slothful slumber.’

‘It was not wasted,’ Schmidt assured him. ‘You needed to recover your strength. Perhaps we will be able to go on tomorrow morning. Assuming, of course, that you and Vicky do not – ’

‘Shut up, Schmidt,’ I said automatically.

I would have liked to give John a hand with his toilette (without engaging in any of the debilitating activities Schmidt had mentioned) but the only way I could get Schmidt out of the room was to take him out.

It was later than I had realized. Schmidt had the right idea; John needed another night’s rest before we could continue our journey and we needed clothes, nourishment and, above all, more information before we decided how to proceed.

Feisal had gone out in search of the last. Keith was brewing something on a two-burner hot plate; when he asked if I was hungry I said I’d wait for the others.

‘I’m sorry we descended on you like this,’ I added. ‘We’ll try to make it up to you.’

Keith turned down the burner and squatted beside my chair. I remembered now where I had seen him – talking to Schmidt, the day the tour visited Amarna. Schmidt would, of course, view that brief encounter as the beginning of a beautiful friendship. What were friends for if not to help their friends in an emergency? Maybe this development would cure Keith of talking to strangers.

‘I have to admit I thought Dr Schmidt had lost his marbles when he turned up with a wild story about robbing the Cairo Museum.’ Keith glanced at Schmidt, who was sitting on the floor next to the rug where the dog lay. The dog’s tail was flopping up and down and Schmidt was talking to him in German. ‘But when he said Mr Tregarth was meeting him, I figured it was all right. I hope I didn’t offend Mr Tregarth when I mentioned his generosity, he asked to remain anonymous when he offered to support my work here for an additional month.’

‘He’s a very modest man,’ I said. ‘When did he do that?’

‘About six weeks ago. I had permission to work here, but I only had enough funding for a month, with strict economy. Now I can finish my survey.’

I let him tell me about the survey, nodding and smiling at appropriate moments. I don’t believe in coincidences; it was reassuring to know that this wasn’t one. John’s ‘generosity’ had been nothing of the sort. Having been informed of Blenkiron’s plans he had realized he would need all the allies he could find, and he had had to pick someone who already had the EAO’s permission to work at a given site, since official permission wasn’t easily or quickly achieved. He must have planned to leave the cruise at Amarna, and he had undoubtedly prepared a plausible story to win Keith’s cooperation. My arrival had put an end to that scheme; he hadn’t even bothered to approach Keith during our visit. But Schmidt had, and nice indiscreet Keith must have told Schmidt about his generous patron, and Schmidt had assumed that when he indicated Amarna as our meeting place, John would go to Keith.

As he had. So far Schmidt was way ahead of the rest of us. He had known exactly what he was doing. I still didn’t know what I was doing.

Tiring of Schmidt’s attentions, the dog wandered over to inspect me. He was a nondescript creature, like all the other pathetic strays, except that his ribs weren’t showing and he seemed to trust people.

‘What happens to him when you leave?’ I asked, scratching Fido behind his ear.

‘He’s not mine. One of the Egypt Exploration Society people adopted him a couple of years ago – they come out for a few months every winter – and the custodian looks after him when they’re away. He must prefer Boston baked beans to rice, though, because he’s been hanging around me since I got here. I’m afraid that’s the main course tonight,’ he added with a grin. ‘My commissariat isn’t extensive.’

I assured him I shared Fido’s passion for baked beans.

‘I’ll get to it, then,’ Keith said, unfolding himself and rising. ‘Feisal should be back any minute. I hope Mr Tregarth is better. I’ve never seen injuries quite like those. It’s almost as if someone deliberately . . .’

‘I don’t think you want to know the details,’ I said. ‘It’s not because we don’t trust you.’

‘That’s okay. The less I know, et cetera. Here’s Feisal,’ he added. ‘Baked beans coming up.’

Schmidt rushed to greet Feisal. ‘Sehr gut, mein Freund, you are safely returned. What is happening?’

‘It could be worse,’ Feisal admitted. ‘The whole damned village knows we’re here, of course.’

‘How did you explain our presence?’ I asked. I know small towns; gossip is a favourite sport and personal questions aren’t considered rude, just friendly.

Feisal ran his fingers through his dusty hair and squatted down on the floor. ‘I said I’d been hired to drive a couple of Kendrick’s archaeological friends, who had come to visit him for a few days. Nobody questioned the story, but the sooner we move on the better. How’s Johnny?’

Johnny made his appearance at that point. ‘Anything else of interest?’ he inquired.

‘Not much. I didn’t want to ask questions about the kidnapped American tourist and nobody brought it up. You know villages; they’re more interested in local scandal than in issues of national importance. Turn on the radio, Kendrick, and let’s see if we can get a news broadcast.’

We were eating dinner – Keith had also opened a couple of cans of beef stew – before the news came on. It was, of course, in Arabic, and I had to wait for a translation, but I could tell by Feisal’s lengthening face that it would not be good news for us.

‘They know we’ve changed vehicles,’ Feisal said, switching off the radio. ‘Amr reported the jeep stolen. Damn him!’

‘One can’t blame him for protecting himself,’ John said. ‘And his friends and family. So they know we’re on this side of the river?’