“You seem to have devised a reasonably efficient method, Peabody,” Emerson said with a very slight undertone of admiration. He shouted at one of the villagers, who dashed away and quickly returned holding the bridle of a sturdy black steed. Once my husband had deposited me on the saddle, he took the reins of the camel and swung himself behind me. Our small and peculiar processional headed for Amarna.

I felt his breath on my neck as he said, “When I deduced where you had gone, I nearly went mad from worry. I was waiting for my horse to be watered before coming to find you, even if I had to scour every inch of this bloody awful desert from here to the Suez Canal. I am willing to sacrifice my life for you, Peabody, but less eager to sacrifice my sanity. Is there any hope that you are capable of paying the slightest bit of attention to me when I beg you to resist these ridiculous impulses and protect yourself?”

“There is always hope, Emerson.”

We had a reception party awaiting us when we arrived at the dock, although no one was cheering. Selim’s arms were akimbo as he glowered at me. The workmen dared not do more than grumble (Emerson does have that effect on them). Daoud loomed behind them, his jaw clamped.

“I’m relieved to see my search parties have returned safely,” I said, resolved not to allow myself to be intimidated further. “This body draped over the camel is Herr Morgenstern, who was incapacitated by heatstroke. We must convey him to the boat and do what we can to help him recover.”

Emerson set me down on the ground as Selim and the crew pulled Herr Morgenstern off the camel. They did not do so gently, I regret to say, but I could hardly reproach them—nor could Emerson. “We shall stop work for the day,” he announced, “and after I have seen to our undesirable guest, I will return to reward you for helping search for him. There will be additional baksheesh for whoever volunteers to return the camel to its rightful owner in Hag Kandil.”

I could feel the aura of disapproval begin to dissipate, or so I thought until Nefret appeared from behind Daoud. Her scowl was fierce, her eyes flickering like those of an incensed cobra.

“Aunt Amelia! What is wrong with you? How could you take this—this inexplicably bizarre risk?” she began in a strident voice that ricocheted off the cliffs and might have sent crocodiles slithering into the water. I permitted her to scold me (which she did in no uncertain terms) until she paused to catch her breath.

“Yes, dear girl, you are absolutely right, but we cannot remain here while Herr Morgenstern battles for his life. You may resume your meticulously detailed analysis of my rash foray later this afternoon. Have you ever treated a patient for heatstroke?”