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

That which ensued happened so rapidly that I could scarcely recall the events later. Ramses, who had been standing with his arms crossed in a menacing fashion, yelped and clasped his hand to his neck. A woman behind him screamed as she collapsed on the platform. I attempted to rise in order to offer assistance, but Daoud grabbed me with such vigor that my feet were dangling several inches above the concrete. At the same time, Ramses and David thrust their way through the frenetic crowd and disappeared. I shouted at them to stop to no avail; my words were drowned out by not only shrieks but also the imminent arrival of the train.

Despite my strident pleas to be released, Daoud carried me across the platform, and when the train shuddered to a halt, opened the door of the nearest passenger car and deposited me on the top step. “I must protect you, Sitt Hakim. We will find the proper compartment after the train leaves the station.”

There was no point in arguing with him or attempting to elude him. The woman who had collapsed was now surrounded by family, friends, officials in khaki uniforms, and gawkers. I could not see if she was able to stand up. I was struggling to peer over Daoud’s shoulder for Ramses and David when they came running toward us. Daoud allowed them to join me, although he continued to block the door, to the indignation of our fellow passengers.

“What is happening?” I demanded as we entered the nearest compartment. “Is that blood on your neck, Ramses? Are you wounded?”

Ramses’s complexion was disturbingly pale. “The projectile only grazed me. I felt nothing more than a momentary weakness in my neck and shoulder. Considering the status of the woman who was struck, I was most fortunate. There is a long and varied history of the utilization of poison darts. Heracles and Odysseus used them to defeat their enemies, but Magellan, Alexander the Great, and Lucullus all fell victim to them. In Africa, the most common poisons come from oleander and milkweed, although tribes in the Kalahari Desert often use the larvae and pupae of a particular species of beetle.”

I realized that the motive behind his lecture was not to illuminate me, but to give all of us the opportunity to regain our wits. “Fascinating, my dear boy,” I said, “but I insist on knowing what happened after you and David dashed through the crowd in what I must assume was to give pursuit to the perpetrator.”

Rather than complying, Ramses said, “Let us locate our reserved compartment, where we might do well to have a sip of whiskey before I continue.”

“Indeed,” said David, who was quite as pale as Ramses and shivering despite the stifling heat.