Back The Painted Queen
Chapters (28)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. ForewordEgyptologists Together: Amelia Peabody, Elizabeth Peters, and Barbara Mertz
  4. Preface
  5. Introduction
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. About the Authors
  27. Books by Elizabeth Peters
  28. About the Publisher

“Not at all, Emerson. I had already ascertained that he is not wearing such peculiar things,” I said after a brief stare at our guest’s eyeballs.

“Then why did he run away this morning?”

“Because you threw me to the ground and began pummeling me!” Dullard squeaked.

“Then you ran away.”

“It did not seem wise to linger and endure further pummeling.”

“So you took the coward’s way out and fled!” Emerson’s tone was triumphant.

“My religious beliefs prevent me from injuring any of God’s children.” Dullard’s left eye, almost hidden under a bristly black eyebrow, twitched. “Therefore, I had no choice but to leave rather than defend myself.”

Emerson’s jaw jutted forward. “You presume you are capable of injuring me?”

“I was a professional wrestler before I was called upon to spread the word of God. For nearly fifteen years, I traveled in a caravan in the Yorkshires. I was known as ‘Blackbeard.’ In Germany, they called me ‘Schwarbar,’ or ‘Black Bear.’ I was ne’er defeated by man nor beast.”

“Nor squirrel nor squire,” my husband said with a sneer.

I put an end to this unproductive dialogue by inquiring, “May I ask, Mr. Dullard, what sect or organization is sponsoring you?”

“The Enlightened Brethren of the Church of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. We are a small group dedicated to spreading the gospel across the world. Doing so is a hardship, since we have taken vows of poverty and must rely on the charity of strangers.”

Emerson made a strangled noise.

“Another scone, Mr. Dullard?” I said brightly.

Accustomed as I am to my son’s unpredictable habits, his appearance at breakfast next morning produced a resonating exclamation of surprise from me.

“I apologize for startling you, Mother,” Ramses said as he bent down to kiss my cheek. He nodded at Emerson, who had not yet consumed enough coffee to be civil. “I arrived late last night and decided not to wake you and Father. As I have come to expect of her, Fatima had my room ready for me.”

“It is always ready for you,” said Fatima. She clutched her hands together and gave him a broad smile.