“I cannot fault him for that. I have spent many seasons in the Middle East and am aware of the customs and traditions of the Arab people. The British are equally reserved in matters of familiarity. One does not wink at the king or offer one’s hand to the queen. Queen Victoria, in particular, was not amused by informality.” I opened my parasol as I felt the sunshine on my neck. “You and I, Omar, must figure out how to transport Herr Morgenstern to Amarna as quickly as possible so that he can receive proper treatment. Now that I no longer have an electric torch or a notebook with which to barter, may I offer you a camel?”

I would have preferred to wait until the sun had begun to retreat, but I knew very well that my absence had been noted not only by Nefret, but also by Emerson, Selim, Daoud, and no doubt Fatima. I did not anticipate what might be categorized as a warm welcome back, particularly from my beloved husband, who can be irritable (and irritating) when he believes I have behaved recklessly.

Half an hour later Omar and I left the Bedouin camp. Herr Morgenstern, loosely wrapped in a sodden robe and kaffiyeh, was draped over the camel, and my parasol was open and secured to the saddle to provide shade. I had covered my head and neck as best I could with wet scarves. Omar, on foot, held the reins of both camels, utilizing verbal cues, untranslatable invectives, and a switch (most likely made of camel hair) to encourage them to move at a brisk walk. My head ached too severely to attempt congenial conversation. I sipped water and clung to the saddle. Less than a mile from the camp, Omar found my pith helmet and returned it to me with a cheery smile that I was unable to reciprocate. I did insist that we stop every now and then to sprinkle Herr Morgenstern’s inert body with water that Sheikh Nasir el-Din had generously provided us.

The sun was in my face as we approached Hag Kandil. The residents were moving about, conducting business and behaving in an ordinary fashion—with one exception. As in most villages, the well serves as a communal center for the exchange of gossip, arbitration by the elders, and negotiations regarding the purchase of wives and livestock. One expects to see a modicum of activity at any given moment. A lone figure stood next to the well, arms crossed.

“Oh dear,” I murmured. “I do believe Emerson has ascertained that I was here this morning, and has learned of my Christian endeavor to rescue Herr Morgenstern. I suspect he is not pleased.”

Omar gulped. “This is not the way I had hoped to encounter the Father of Curses. Have you any suggestions, Sitt Hakim?”