The Last Camel Died at Noon (Amelia Peabody #6)
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It's true: the last camel is gone, leaving Amelia, Emerson and Ramses to bake under the desert sun in the winter of 1897. Armed with a mysterious note and map, they have been commissioned to locate a lost English aristocrat and his wife, who disappeared over a decade ago. In this tribute to H. Rider Haggard (King Solomon's Mines), the family marches into the desert where survival depends on solving a mystery as old as Ancient Egypt, and where they meet a young girl, Nefret, who will join their family and change their lives forever.
expected to find were missing, including Ramses’s battered notebook and the spool of thread he had lent me. I could only speculate on what other bizarre objects he had taken with him, but I found their absence reassuring, particularly that of the notebook. Ramses never went anywhere without it. If he had had time enough and wits enough to collect such impedimenta before he was forced to take flight, his situation might not be as desperate as I had feared. Taking the false teeth, the mustache
noble gift. It will be one of the treasures of my house.” “Oh, good Gad,” growled Emerson. “Amelia, if you have finished corrupting the literary tastes of a royal house, I would like to ask a few sensible questions.” “Ask,” said Tarek, tucking the copy of King Solomon’s Mines carefully into his pouch. “We know now why you were so anxious to bring us here, and some of the tricks you used,” Emerson began. “But why the devil did you go through such intricate maneuvers instead of simply telling
attracts admirers and I had become more or less used to it, though I did not like it. “I hope Ramses is all right,” I said, turning to look at the rapidly dimming outline of the tent where he slept. “He was most unlike his normal self. Hardly a word out of him.” “You said he was not feverish,” Emerson reminded me. “Stop fussing, Amelia; the train ride was tiring, and even a gritty little chap like Ramses must feel its effects.” The sun dropped below the horizon and night came on with
Budge kept shooting glances at me, and something in his look aroused the direst of suspicions. It was as if he knew something I did not know—and if it amused Budge, it was certain not to amuse me. Sure enough, as the last course was being cleared away and a lull fell upon the conversation, Budge addressed me directly. “I do hope, Mrs. Emerson, that you and young Ramses aren’t planning to go with the professor when he sets off in search of the Lost Oasis.” “I beg your pardon?” I gasped. “Do
provided a useful distraction in turning the queen’s attention to my attire. I had to display and explain the use of every object on my belt. The ladies of the court edged closer and all hung breathless on my words. My parasol was a great attraction; they understood its function, for they possessed sunshades of various kinds, but the mechanism fascinated them, and I had to raise and lower it a dozen times before they tired of it. I considered giving it to the queen, but decided I dared not part