#The Last Camel Died at Noon

[listening-to-free-audiobooks]

Guardian of the Horizon by Elizabeth Peters (Amelia Peabody #16)

Amelia Peabody and her husband Emerson, along with their son Ramses and foster daughter Nefret, are summoned back to the Lost Oasis, a hidden stronghold in the western desert whose existence they discovered many years ago (in The Last Camel Died At Noon) and have kept secret from the entire world, including their fellow Egyptologists. According to Merasen, the brother of the ruling monarch, their old friend Prince Tarek is in grave danger and needs their help, however it's not until they retrace their steps back to the Oasis, with its strange mixture of Meroitic and Egyptian cultures, that they learn the real reason for their journey. There's no better company on an archaeological expedition than the Father of Curses and the Lady Doctor, their beautiful Anglo-Egyptian ward, and Ramses, the Demon Brother who loves her, as Peters once again demonstrates in the latest historical mystery in this immensely popular series. If you haven't met the indomitable Amelia yet, this intriguing tale is a great place to start!

The Serpent on the Crown by Elizabeth Peters (Amelia Peabody #17)

A priceless relic has been delivered to the Emerson home overlooking the Nile. But more than history surrounds this golden likeness of a forgotten king, for it is said early death will befall anyone who possesses it..

The woman who implores the renowned family of archaeologists and adventurers to accept the cursed statue insists the ill-gotten treasure has already killed her husband. Further, she warns, unless it is returned to the tomb from which it was stolen, more will surely die. With the world finally at peace—and with Egypt's ancient mysteries opened to them once more—Amelia Peabody and her loved ones are plunged into a storm of secrets, treachery, and murder by a widow's strange story and even stranger request. Each step toward the truth reveals a new peril, suggesting this curse is no mere superstition. And the next victim of the small golden king could be any member of the close-knit clan—perhaps even Amelia herself.

Tomb of the Golden Bird by Elizabeth Peters (Amelia Peabody #18)

Convinced that the tomb of the little-known king Tutankhamon lies somewhere in the Valley of the Kings, eminent Egyptologist Radcliffe Emerson and his intrepid wife, Amelia Peabody, seem to have hit a wall. Having been banned forever from the East Valley, Emerson, against Amelia's advice, has tried desperately to persuade Lord Carnarvon and Howard Carter to relinquish their digging rights. But Emerson's trickery has backfired, and his insistent interest in the site has made his rivals all the more determined to keep the Emerson clan away.

Powerless to intervene but determined to stay close to the unattainable tomb, the family returns to Luxor and prepares to continue their dig in the less promising West Valley—and to watch from the sidelines as Carter and Carnarvon "discover" the greatest Egyptian treasure of all time: King Tut's tomb. But before their own excavation can get underway, Emerson and his son, Ramses, find themselves lured into a trap by a strange group of villains ominously demanding "Where is he?" Driven by distress—and, of course, Amelia's insatiable curiosity—the Emersons embark on a quest to uncover who "he" is and why "he" must be found, only to discover that the answer is uncomfortably close to home. Now Amelia must find a way to protect her family—and perhaps even her would-be nemesis—from the sinister forces that will stop at nothing to succeed in the nefarious plot that threatens the peace of the entire region.

A River in the Sky by Elizabeth Peters (Amelia Peabody #19)

August 1910. Banned from the Valley of the Kings, Amelia Peabody and husband Emerson are persuaded to follow would-be archaeologist Major George Morley on an expedition to Palestine. Somewhere in this province of the corrupt, crumbling Ottoman Empire—the Holy Land of three religions—Morley is determined to unearth the legendary Ark of the Covenant.

At the request of British Intelligence, Emerson will be keeping an eye on the seemingly inept Morley, believed to be an agent of the Kaiser sent to stir up trouble in this politically volatile land. Amelia hopes to prevent a catastrophically unprofessional excavation from destroying priceless historical finds and sparking an armed protest by infuriated Christians, Jews, and Muslims. Meanwhile, Amelia's headstrong son, Ramses, working on a dig at Samaria, encounters an unusual party of travelers and makes a startling discovery—information that he must pass along to his parents in Jerusalem...if he can get there alive.

The Painted Queen by Elizabeth Peters (Amelia Peabody #20)

Egypt, 1912—Amelia Peabody and her dashing archeologist husband, Radcliffe Emerson, are once again in danger as they search for a priceless, stolen bust of legendary Queen Nefertiti and Amelia finds herself the target of assassins in this long-awaited, eagerly anticipated final installment of Elizabeth Peters’ bestselling, beloved mystery series.

Arriving in Cairo for another thrilling excavation season, Amelia is relaxing in a well-earned bubble bath in her elegant hotel suite in Cairo, when a man with knife protruding from his back staggers into the bath chamber and utters a single word—"Murder"—before collapsing on the tiled floor, dead. Among the few possessions he carried was a sheet of paper with Amelia’s name and room number, and a curious piece of pasteboard the size of a calling card bearing one word: "Judas." Most peculiarly, the stranger was wearing a gold-rimmed monocle in his left eye. It quickly becomes apparent that someone saved Amelia from a would-be assassin—someone who is keeping a careful eye on the intrepid Englishwoman. Discovering a terse note clearly meant for Emerson—Where were you?"—pushed under their door, there can be only one answer: the brilliant master of disguise, Sethos.

But neither assassins nor the Genius of Crime will deter Amelia as she and Emerson head to the excavation site at Amarna, where they will witness the discovery of one of the most precious Egyptian artifacts: the iconic Nefertiti bust. In 1345 B.C. the sculptor Thutmose crafted the piece in tribute to the great beauty of this queen who was also the chief consort of Pharaoh Akhenaten and stepmother to King Tutankhamun. For Amelia, this excavation season will prove to be unforgettable. Throughout her journey, a parade of men in monocles will die under suspicious circumstances, fascinating new relics will be unearthed, a diabolical mystery will be solved, and a brilliant criminal will offer his final challenge... and perhaps be unmasked at last.

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

3.3.23 Friday

8:18 am

This Uncle Jun is fake, not standing up to feed the dogs but angels he did this to John and Neko... But he can't actually manage....Coz all of the dogs were given to him by Uncle DD and Aunt Karen were all dead... He is fake...

It is not easy to have a pregnant dog... Expenses and everything...

I feel bitter... I can't be successful....I feel hurt. Something is always wrong with him or them... I wanna have yaya again....There are fake observer's on me...

They can't go up, I was the real one who got yaya's...

But this 2am until 3am Uncle Jun fixed in a way the cage coz puppies are able to go out on their own and crying...

If I'm not here probably all dogs died with Uncle Jun and he will never move at all...I knew him... Motivated only by me,angels...4 or 5 small dogs given by Uncle DD and Aunt Karen , 3 shitsu white, black and dark brown, 1 toy poodle and coton de tulear... On different time, all were dead by the hands of Uncle Jun... Time that Uncle DD thrown me at the side of my biological father... I wasn't here, so many plans from the past 16 years to damage me...

I hate cheap/chipay2x, I asked uncle DD for a puppies cage an after birth whelping box,Uncle DD told me that they don't have enough budget and we will sell it soon... Fine! They don't have budget....What can I do? I'm bum, their holding onto me for 16 years... Nobody can be on a good platform but me.... Love me or hate me, I know things that I deserve!

Coz I told Uncle DD,that I'm gonna put the puppies inside their new house for awhile every night coz they are started to cry and able to climb up the cage door that Uncle Jun made... Uncle DD told me that some of puppies will cut their tails coz they look so much alike of their mother Neko the rottweiler. I think there are 2 puppies who looks like mother Neko... So,it needs space coz it will be hellish bloody according to them... My ideal thingy is to actually have a whelping box and even the after birth whelping box... But there is no budget for it? Hope God and Angels can help me to pass this obstacle made by Uncle Jun...

Love me or hate me this is me...My memory went back and I'm not a bad person...I have other plans supposed to be.....There are group who are trapping me for 16 years,they always made me a child and they had fun and I have no happy moments since 2007...

10:31 am

Uncle Jun is still sleeping, I remember he said last night that "I feel cold"....Probably he is sick or something....

My personal case:

I need a career angels and to earn money seriously....I have plans for my baby John and we need money here and me as an individual I have the right to be successful coz I'm a college graduate angels...

10:54 am

I wanna wolf as new sister or brother of John if God will allow me to be wealthy and a raccoon.

So,pretty...

11:18 am

Uncle Jun is awaken already and said to me "I'm not eating pork liver".... I said that is our food meal for lunch... Now,he is cooking tonkatsu for our dinner...

11:58 am

Done,eating with my baby John... Uncle Jun cooked his beef steak for tomorrow not the tonkatsu later... I told him, the beef steak that he cooked this lunch that will be his food meal tomorrow lunch... Yeah! Everything here is budgeted now....

12:04 noon

Why is it always the reason of someone's death in the house was in the bathroom slip and fall just like the husband of Mommy Linda Arnan, that was my elderly patient.... Not good...

4:29 pm

I still have the windblow trap... It is weird day....I still wanna buy starbucks everyday...

I feel frustrated....Thinking of money and job... Wanna leave the hometown...

8:58 pm

I feel bitter,I still have the windblow trap....I wanna do a lot of things such as foot spa, collagen shots on my feet and butt... I feel irritated... I'm thinking of money!

Wanna see donkey and camel....I feel fat and ugly... I wanna dress-up and buy starbucks everyday!!! Our dog show,me and my baby John...

I want my own kingdom... I wanna crown...

[snackerdoodle]

Books Read in 2022

I almost lost my list of all the books I’ve read this year when my phone died in November, so I’m putting it here for safe keeping. I’ve read more books this year than I have since I started reliably keeping track, thanks in large part to all the audiobooks I’ve been listening to on my monster of a commute. Almost everything on this list is from the library because 💖 for the library always. If you’re nosy like I am, enjoy!

1/13 The Unspoken Name, AK Larkwood

1/17 The Last Graduate, Naomi Novik

1/27 The Secret Lives of Color, Kassia St Clair

2/2 A Wizard’s Guide to Defensive Baking, T. Kingfisher 

2/10 Recovering from Emotionally Immature Parents, Lindsay C Gibson (this is her second book on this topic. If this piques your interest, I strongly recommend reading her more thorough first book “Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents” instead.)

3/4 American Indian Stories, Zitkala-Sa

3/23 The Thousand Eyes, AK Larkwood

3/24 The Traitor Baru Cormorant, Seth Dickinson

4/11 Where the Drowned Girls Go, Seanan McGuire

5/3 Rhythm of War, Brandon Sanderson

5/6 Caring for American Indian Objects: A Practical and Cultural Guide, Sherelyn Ogden (ed.)—skimmed parts not relevant to research for work.

5/9 The Unbroken, CL Clark

5/18 The Monster Baru Cormorant, Seth Dickinson

5/21 Le Petit Prince, Antoine de St. Exupéry

5/21 Fantômes, Raina Telgemeier

5/23 Barbe Bleue, Perrault (short story, audio in French)

5/27 Dark Tales, Shirley Jackson

5/30 La Peste, Albert Camus —audio, did NOT follow the plot at all. Required way more focus than I could do but I did listen to the whole thing. Understood the words etc in parts I could pay more attention to. 

6/6 German Word Booster, Vocabulearn

6/6 The Animals at Lockwood Manor, Jane Healey

6/9 Black Tudors, Miranda Kaufman

6/15 Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia

6/21 Vol de Nuit, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry —also couldn’t follow the audiobook well. Same as Camus. I think same narrator too—he whispers and projects in turns so can’t hear half the time, and if anything happens while driving I completely stop paying attention then check back in. Will get non audio version sometime. 

6/27 The Heiress: The Revelations of Anne de Bourgh, Molly Greeley

7/6 Harry Potter à l’école des sorciers, JK Rowling (Don’t judge me too harshly—I’m at the mercy of what’s available in French at the library.)

7/14 The Heartbeat of Wounded Knee, David Treuer

7/25 Le Cerveau et la Musique, Michel Rochon (French Canadian audiobook—he spoke slower and because it is nonfiction didn’t whisper half the time so I could understand this one really well, yay!)

8/9 Gideon the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir

8/13 Nona the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir (ARC)

8/17 Harrow the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir

8/19 Crocodile on the Sandbank, Elizabeth Peters (I’m rereading this series for pure nostalgia. I do not recommend it if you haven’t already read it. There’s a lot of colonialism and period-accurate (Victorian) racism that isn’t interrogated as much as it could be, along with a kind of 1980s feminism that doesn’t read well now, imo. I would not like these if I had not read them in middle school, but as it stands, I have an unshakable if critical fondness for them.)

8/20 The Mummy Case, Elizabeth Peters

8/22 Lion in the Valley, Elizabeth Peters

9/2 Deeds of the Disturber, Elizabeth Peters

9/15 The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog, Elizabeth Peters

9/16 The Last Camel Died at Noon, Elizabeth Peters

10/4 Sacrées Sorcieres, Roald Dahl (translated into French)

10/8 The Hippopotamus Pool, Elizabeth Peters

10/14 The Ape Who Guards the Balance, Elizabeth Peters

10/20 The Guardian of the Horizon, Elizabeth Peters

10/26 Seeing a Large Cat, Elizabeth Peters

11/1 A River in the Sky, Elizabeth Peters

11/7 Dracula, Bram Stoker (through Dracula Daily)

11/8 The Rise and Fall of Ancient Egypt, Toby Wilkinson 

11/10 Awakenings, Oliver Sacks 11/15 The Curse of the Pharaohs, Elizabeth Peters 

11/19 Treasured: How Tutankhamen Shaped a Century, Christina Riggs

11/21 Germany Travel Guide, Lonely Planet

11/29 Witch Hat Atelier 1, Kamome Shirahama 

11/30 Egypt Travel Guide, Lonely Planet

12/2 Witch Hat Atelier 2, Kamome Shirahama

12/2 Witch Hat Atelier 3, Kamome Shirahama 

12/7 Legends and Lattes, Travis Baldree

12/19 The Story of Egypt, Joann Fletcher

12/22 The Goblin Emperor, Katherine Addison

12/23 The Book of Hygge, Louisa Thomsen Brits

12/23 The Tea Dragon Society, Katie O’Neill

12/23 Witch Hat Atelier 4, Kamome Shirahama

Gave up on:

The Jasmine Throne, Tasha Suri (Disappointing—I wanted to like this one)

Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox, Forthright (Simply awful—not for me at all. Recommended by the library because of the audiobook narrator and I could not get through it.)

[peabodyandemerson]

Me before starting The Last Camel Died at Noon,

“Gee, I sure hope no actual camels die in this book!”

🐪

[quoteablebooks]

Genre: Mystery, Historical Fiction

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Synopsis: Bestselling author Peters brings back 19th-century Egyptologist Amelia Peabody and her entourage in a delicious caper that digs up mystery in the shadow of the pyramids.

*Opinions*

This is the first Amelia Peabody novel that I ever read and this read through, I picked up on a few things that I didn’t before and was a lot more sympathetic to poor Ramses, who took me a long time to warm up to the first time around. This novel deviates from the first five novels in the series by taking us to three separate locations and adding elements of the fantastical into the normally cut and dry mysteries. While there is always the hint of the mystical or supernatural, this novel takes a couple pages out of fantasy novels with the mystery of the hidden oasis. Still, at it’s core, this is still the same witty and engaging adventure that we have come to expect from the Emersons.

Amelia is a little more excitable and dramatic in this novel and lacks a bit of insight compared to the previous installments. As she is the first person narrator, that isn’t surprising, but it’s almost as if Peters realized that Amelia could be more flawed and the readers would still enjoy her voice. These flaws were most evident with how she treats Reggie and Ramses. While Amelia has always had a contentious relationship with her offspring, her inability to listen to him in this novel changed from understandable to verging on ridiculous. However, it is nice for the main character to have faults, even if it is frustrating at times.

I do want to point out how refreshing it is to have a married couple that is madly in love with each other and continue to be madly in love with each other through an extended series. While Emerson and Amelia have spirited debates, they are in love and will protect one another to the death. While there has been a little lack of faith in both parties in earlier books in the series, there is this current of unwavering love out of mutual respect that I adore and would love to see in more entertainment. You don’t need to cheat, argue, and hate one another for there to be drama.

While there is not the normal archaeological dig that are a staple of the novels, this novel does dig deeper into the practices of ancient Egypt in a very interesting and compelling way. There is also the added elements of political intrigue and thrust into an environment that leave the Emersons off balance, something that doesn’t happen to the family all that often due to Emerson’s number of old acquaintances. This novel is very different than the others in the series, which is a good thing in a long running mystery series.

The Last Camel Died at Noon marks a turning point in the Amelia Peabody series I believe. It showcases that Ramses is no longer just a little boy and is even more formidable than he had been shown previously. It introduces a new character who becomes a central figure throughout the rest of the series and the Emerson’s lives. It also shows a change in how Peters writes Amelia, making her more fallible and in a more obvious way. I just adore this novel and this series.

[the-final-sentence]

One could only hope that state of things would endure.

Elizabeth Peters, from The Last Camel Died at Noon

[readingmabooks]

[teamramses]

The only other male person present was an eccentrically garbed individual who stood watching the discussion of the leaders. His long, rather shabby velvet cloak and broad-brimmed hat reminded me of a character from one of the Gilbert and Sullivan operas—the one that satirized the aesthetic movement and its languid poets. … Ramses, who sometimes demonstrates an uncanny ability to read my mind, began to sing softly. I recognized one of the songs from the opera in question. “ ‘A most intense young man, A soulful eyed young man, An ultra-poetical, super-aesthetical, out-of-the-way young man.’ ” 

The Ape who Guards the Balance by Elizabeth Peters

[ask-de-writer]

In the Desert (1 part), a fantasy of Dirkhan in the Desert and Uman the Fat

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IN THE DESERT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover by Wind the Mama Cat

1474 words

copyright 2013

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan activity including but not limited to art, stories, musical compositions, plays or anything else is ACTIVELY ENCOURAGED.

///////////////////////

The nomad’s arrow thumped into Uman’s camel. That was an accident. He had meant the shaft for Uman. The beast gave an expressive groan and took off like it had wings instead of feet. Very few things can catch a camel that has made up its mind to run. Uman the Fat hung on and let the camel have its head. It easily out-paced his pursuers’ horses and settled down to a distance-eating trot.

Uman reflected that he was not much better off now than he was as a prisoner in the gem mines of Lusk. He earned that fate by being a mercenary on the wrong side of a civil war. He’d always earned his living by dame Fortune. Uman had been many things in his life: fortune hunter, thief, adventurer, mercenary soldier. The big adventurer had worked harder for his independence than most who labored for a living. In the process, he had earned and lost more than many would ever see.

On the first day of his flight from Lusk, he had the misfortune to run into a band of nomads. Even worse, they knew him from the recent civil war. Hence, the arrow flighted at him.

On the second day after his camel was hit, it began to stagger and show severe distress. Before noon, it pitched onto the ground and died. Uman gathered as much of his gear as he could carry and began to walk.

The Skrald Iden seemed even hotter once he was on foot. The heat caused shimmering mirages that made the stones waver and dance. Uman walked as long as he was able. At last, he came to the end of his water, and soon after, the end of his considerable endurance.

Uman drained the very last drop of water from his canteen. He shook it in futile frustration. He was about to hurl it away with an oath. Thinking better of his action, he contented himself with the oath. Rehanging the canteen by its strap, he averred to himself, “Never can tell, it might be useful again.”

Spying an outcrop of rock that ran from east to west, Uman hastened into its shade. “This will last until the cool of the evening. Travel will be easier then,” he thought, loosening his head-cloth and settling himself as comfortably as he could. He began a futile attempt at napping to save his energy for the evening and night’s travel.

He could not get comfortable. There were hard, lumpy little stones everywhere. Looking more closely, he saw that there was a layer of gravel under the cap of rock on the outcrop.

“This looks like the gravel they made me dig when I mined for gems in Lusk,” he muttered to himself, running some of the small stones through his fingers.” I wonder…”

Uman began idly scrabbling at the gravel to pass the time. He was about to give it up as a complete waste of effort when he found a pebble that looked different from the others. He licked it, to see better what it looked like. A brilliant blue winked back at him when he held the dampened stone in the sunlight. “I don’t believe it! This is a sapphire or I’m a eunuch!” he exclaimed.

Uman began digging at the gravel like a terrier digging for a rodent. With each new find, he exclaimed in delight and dug again. After a while, he rested from his digging. In his hands were five sapphires, three rubies and a beryl.

As he admired his finds he said, “This is a nice little packet. Still, I have to get out of the Skrald Iden alive if I am to enjoy it. I would trade the lot for enough water to get to Derkhan.”

Suddenly he froze. A desert viper had silently crept to within inches of his leg. “You spoke my name and I am here,” said a voice that rasped like dry stones within his brain. “Your bargain is acceptable.”

“Who are you? Where are you?” asked Uman in an urgent whisper.

“I am Skrald Iden and I am beside your leg,” came a reply like a slide of sand.

“There is a viper by my leg. Is that you?” inquired Uman softly.

“That is my form. I am the god of these waste-lands. If you honor the bargain that you offered, I will not bite you. I will guide you to water.”

“It’s a bit strange, conversing with a serpent, but I will follow you,” replied Uman with more confidence. He gathered his few possessions and stood up, saying, “Lead on.”

As he followed the reptile through a maze of tortured rock, he said conversationally, “I thought that Skrald Iden was the name of the desert.”

The reply in his brain was like a sere wind. “It is the name of the desert. This desert was named for me.”

Uman was tired, hot and thirsty after several hours of following the reptile. He was beginning to stagger some when a small building came into sight. It was made of a translucent green stone.

The building proved to be a small temple. As he entered it, he faked a stagger so that he could lurch against the stone and feel it with his hand. It had a cool, almost silky feel.

The altar was empty. The snake crossed the floor, found purchase on several inconspicuous projections and climbed onto the altar. It grew larger, until it had filled the top of the altar, arranged itself neatly and turned to stone.

The desolate voice spoke inside his brain once more, “Your bargain, man. Put all the stones that you have found into my mouth.”

Prostrating himself before the altar, Uman asked, “Are your fangs still poisoned? They look sharp.”

The arid voice inside his head replied, “I will not hurt you, man, if you do as I say. Water awaits your cooperation.”

Placing the stones into the god̓s mouth, Uman asked, “I know that you do not come every time that someone speaks your name. Was I just lucky?”

“Indeed you were,” replied the god, its scales turning from dusty brown to jewel-like blues, reds and pale green as the stones vanished from its mouth. “Most of my time is spent with my fellow gods. I look over my desert about once every hundred years. Those works needed to keep my land untamed were just finished and I was about to go when you spoke my name and thereby gained my attention.

“Even when I am not here, worship pleases me. Bring others to my temple. You will know where it is.

“Dig no more gems from the desert. They are mine.”

A set of certainties began to form in Uman’s mind. He knew the location of all the water-holes between the temple and Derkhan and the best routes between them… Then, he felt an absence and knew that Skrald Iden was gone. It was only a short way to the first water-hole. He filled his canteen and took a long, refreshing drink. “I don’t have to dig any more gems,” he muttered as he returned to the temple. Carefully dislodging small block of the green stone from the temple, he said, “An adventurer has to take what fortune gives him.”

For four days, he was sustained by his dreams of the wealth that the temple would bring him. He worked his way through the wilderness of stone and sand, going from water-hole to water-hole until he came to the caravan track that lead to Derkhan-in-the-Desert.

Uman glared at his last date as if it were the fault of the fruit, somehow, that it was the last edible thing that he had. It did not make a satisfactory meal. After that, he went hungry.

A day and a half of trudging the dusty caravan route brought him to Derkhan. Uman entered the city by the Gate of the Setting Sun. He made his way past the blank facades of the homes of the wealthy, passing the small shops and hovels of the poor. He pulled his head-cloth tightly about his face. There seemed to be more flies in Derkhan than in all of the deserts round about. Once he found the market-place, he sought out a trafficker in gemstones.

“I have borne this across half of the Skrald Iden,” said Uman with pride, holding out the small block of translucent green stone. You will find it worth your while, I think.”

“You carried it that far?” asked the gem dealer, taking the stone. “Jade is indeed be worth my while,” he said, scratching the rock with the tip his dagger, “but this is only soapstone.”

In the back of his mind, Uman heard the sound of laughter like the sliding of dry gravel and sand.

-THE END-

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Return to Dirkhan in the Desert

This completes In the Desert. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr.

[team-ramses]

“Never fear,” I cried. “I will be with you to the end, my dear, and after. But I will not follow till I have avenged you!”

Amelia Peabody in The Last Camel Died at Noon by Elizabeth Peters

[listening-to-free-audiobooks]

The Snake, the Crocodile and the Dog by Elizabeth Peters (Amelia Peabody #7)

A brand-new Elizabeth Peters novel is one of the uncompromising pleasures in life. As Peter Theroux in the New York Times Book Review points out, "Her wonderfully witty voice and her penchant for history lessons of the Nile both ancient and modern keep [her] high adventure moving for even the highest brows." In her previous outing, The Last Camel Died at Noon, Amelia Peabody and her dashing husband, Emerson, discovered a fabulous lost oasis in the Nubian desert. Now, in the seventh mystery in the series, the Emerson-Peabodys are traveling up the Nile once again to encounter their most deadly adversary, the Master Criminal, who is back at his sinister best.

Amelia Peabody was unabashedly proud of her newest translation, a fragment of the ancient fairytale "The Doomed Prince." Later, she would wonder why no sense of foreboding struck her as she retold the story of the king's favorite son who had been warned that he would die from the snake, the crocodile, or the dog. Little did she realize, as she and her beloved husband sailed blissfully toward the pyramids of ancient Egypt, that those very beasts (and a cat as well) would be part of a deadly plot. The expedition began so happily....

Leaving their delightful, but catastrophically precocious, son, Ramses, back in England, Amelia hoped this romantic trip might rejuvenate her thirteen-year-old marriage and bring back the thrills that she feared were fading. She and her dear Emerson were returning to the remote desert site where they had first fallen in love, Amarna, the holy city of Akhenaton and his beautiful queen, Nefertiti. But their return would threaten not only their marriage, but their very lives with perils as chilling as a mummy's curse. An old enemy was determined to learn Amelia and Emerson's most closely guarded secret: the location of a legendary long-lost oasis and a race of people bedecked in gold. So cunning was his scheme that Amelia might overlook - until it was too late - the truth about the myst.

The Ape Who Guards the Balance by Elizabeth Peters (Amelia Peabody #10)

The Ape Who Guards the Balance begins in 1907 in England where Amelia is attending a suffragettes' rally outside the home of Mr. Geoffrey Romer of the House of Commons. It seems Romer is one of the few remaining private collectors of Egyptian antiquities, and a series of bizarre events at the protest soon embroil Amelia in grave personal danger. Suspecting that the Master Criminal, Sethos, is behind their problems, the Emerson Peabody's hasten to Egypt to continue their studies in the Valley of Kings where they soon acquire a papyrus of the Book of the Dead. As with past seasons, however, their archaeological expedition is interrupted. The murdered body of a woman is found in the Nile. Ramses, Radcliffe, and Amelia all have their theories as to the origin of the crime, but their own lives might soon be at stake if the cult of Thoth and their ancient book is, indeed, involved.

Falcon at the Portal by Elizabeth Peters (Amelia Peabody #11)

Amelia and family have arrived in Egypt for the 1911 archeological season -- after the marriage of young Ramses' best friend David to Amelia's niece Lia. But trouble finds them immediately when David is accused of selling ancient artifacts.

While Amelia and company try to clear his name and expose the real culprit, the body of an American is found at the bottom of their excavation shaft. As accusations of drug dealing and moral misconduct fly, a child of mysterious antecedents sparks a crisis that threatens to tear the family apart. Amelia brings her brilliant powers of deduction to bear, but someone is shooting bullets at her -- and coming awfully close!

[clatteriing]

The animals of Eden have grown old. Beneath swayback spines, the sides of their bellies almost touch. The camel’s fur is clumped with dung and bits of hay and, one day, the second emu just lies down and dies. The donkeys bray like sirens. One sheep’s rear legs barely bend; its hooves drag the concrete pen, sending up no sparks. For a blade of grass, a peacock displays himself. ∞ The poet who owns this place steers the stead from her kitchen table. She wakes early, before the world comes calling, to prop her elbows there and divine from coffee grounds her lapsarian lines. Who needs Adam? Who needs Eve? There is paradise enough here for the rest of us. ∞ Crows declare from the bare branches of the beech trees, leaving the leafed boughs for birds weak enough to need that shelter. ∞ A woman is dying in the back room. Her TV flickers while another beautiful day slumps off beyond her window. We are staying in the room below and the sound of her chair’s motor floats down between the rafters. It whirrs her upright for a bowl of blueberries with heavy cream and six spoonfuls of sugar—sweetness the last taste left to her. ∞ Each morning, the emu peers through our window: deep amber eyes above a blunted black beak, thin neck plucked to bare blue skin, his body is a cross between an ostrich, an umbrella, and a disheveled epaulet. His feet are massive, blackened and leathery with dagger-sharp claws and thick meaty pads. A vestigial talon crowns each wingtip, commemorating dinosaur days. Fluffy pterodactyl, he eats the peach slices my wife offers while I watch from behind the lattice. When she has no more, he pecks the top of her head. His thin feathers gleam. ∞ Along the chipseal lane, tiger lilies slum among ditch weeds. Nothing goes to waste here: teasel pods are dried to card the wool, empty feedbags store the winter tinder, and scrub grass is converted to milk and meat. ∞ In the daylight, we drag our mattress to the hallway, the only place in our room without windows. Endless gratitude for the press of her thighs to my sides, for her warm weight, for the sky shining in, her eyes met by the blue at her back. ∞ Even once all the grass is gone, the camel’s lips are gentle and searching on my palm. He lets me pet his throat as though he’s beginning to trust me. ∞ Two pygmy donkeys, we call them the Balthazars, scratch their tired necks against trees bent from years of that service. ∞ To be happy, the poet farmer says, an animal must have another of its kind. Goat with goat, donkeys together. And, without a mate, the lone horse makes due with the camel. They graze together in adjacent enclosures; when one is called to the barn to eat, the other races inside to keep watch, staring over the fence that divides them. ∞ In the sheep’s paddock, we lie in the grass. She traces a message across my skin. Now your shoulder knows something the rest of you doesn’t. ∞ The camel’s softest place is the warm valley behind his jaw. Around each eye, a muff of spiky, sun-bleached fur. This farm is strange enough to make us, within it, children again, the world new and full of wonder. ∞ Bravo, brave Maremma sheepdog, white wonder who noons in a pit dug beneath the picnic table and sleeps nights outside the front door, is this farm’s protector. He chases bears from the cherry trees, yet presses his head to my knees when it thunders. ∞ We have fought, falling into argument like we too often do, fast and with nothing much behind it. She calls me outside to the folding green chairs, to the charged night air. Sits in my lap in apology, points to the sky. The sheet lightning is silent, without companionable thunder. Bravo’s fur flashes back its own bolts. The whole sky is a child’s night light, a midnight mountain storm globe. She brings my reluctant head to her chest, wraps my arms around her. ∞ On farms, you learn to leave gates as you found them. What is penned must stay penned; the so many things that must be kept out, kept out. Is marriage any different? Yet we’ve vowed to be not just honest but forthright, to leave every gate open. No wonder this is difficult.

Postcards, After the Fall by Jessica Jacobs

[karenpage]

1!!!!!!! For the prompt!

1. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it. 

It’s cold in January, wet cold, the kind cold that has Karen Page clutching her coffee like a lifeline to her numb fingertips. Anything to thaw out as she stands with snow melting into puddles at her feet, in the hallway outside of Ellison’s office. She’s started staking him out every day - in between meetings, editorial reviews, and even at his favorite hot dog stand. You’re stalking me, he pointed out a handful of times, only to be met by Karen listing the practicalities of giving her her job back (and she has not nor will she ever take ‘no’ for an answer).

They settle someplace in the middle. Compromise, it’s called, where Karen will be a freelance journalist and provide the Bulletin with pieces that come from her and are run as an advocate for the independent New Yorker’s voice.

But, he’d lifted his finger up to tone down her giddy, delighted outburst, you have to run a piece on Frank Castle, an honest one.

There’s no shortage of suspicion, edged under the rim of his glasses or how he sees Karen, really and truly sees her - until she’s forced to reluctantly concede.

So that’s where she is now, sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed with only the title of ‘He’s not who they say he is’ and a long, blank page beneath it mocking her.

How does she begin to quantify her relationship with Frank? Does she start from the beginning? How and where she knew she could trust the man every media outlet painted as a monster?

Karen’s fears are rooted in selfishness; what will people think of her, if they knew. If they knew that she smiled at him, bruised and bloody. If they knew that he’d used his body as a shield from bullets, and she’d held on just a little bit longer than necessary. If they knew she cried when the roses started to wilt or when setting them on her window sill became a melancholic habit, knowing he wouldn’t call.

She slams her laptop shut, the glow of the screen had been the only source of light in her room, leaving Karen staring into the abyss like it might provide inspiration. Pretending that even now, her broken heart doesn’t cast a shadow in the dark.

This is her chance to get back into Ellison’s good graces and she’s not going to martyr herself over it. It’s just an article. She’s written a thousand of them about a thousand different people and it didn’t matter then, so why does it now?

Frank’s the one who is gone. She doesn’t owe him her silence after a year of his.

Karen grabs a beer from her fridge, brings her laptop into the living room, and gets to typing. It doesn’t have to be an extensive expose, the nitty-gritty details can be glossed over. The public wouldn’t care if she tweaked some things, painted Frank as a friend she needed, not necessarily as one she chose.

It’s a lie. A column’s worth of it. But by the time six A.M rolls around, Karen’s done. She stares at what she’s just written, neatly packaged as an attachment in the email sent to the Bulletin’s newest editor, and feels nothing like the thrill she’d had, bringing down scandals, exposing criminals, doing right by the downtrodden and exacting justice onto the cruel. It’s the least excited she’s ever been to see her byline and knows that Ellison won’t believe a word of it anyway.

But it’s her shot to reintroduce normalcy into her life and at this point, Karen is desperate to have a routine.

She’s mad at Frank, Karen realized the moment she pressed send. And somehow, admitting that to herself in the cold, dim light of dawn, is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. She’s sobbing on her couch, big and ugly, gasps ripped out of her throat and tears so thick she can’t see, can’t blink them away. They’re like tar. Keeping all the hurt inside has rotted her, and she’d done it for so long. For everything. For everyone.

Locked away Ben, Daniel, Kevin, even James Wesley. There’s so much she should have written about. So much she should have said.

Maybe tell the world that Frank Castle had kissed her cheek, that he’d pleaded with her with a broken voice, haunted by all he’d already lost, that he couldn’t lose her too. She’d called him a friend, and what’s worse, she’d written like it was … an anecdote. Not something, or someone, who’d kept her going through the worst of it. When the world had been the cold steel of a bomb at her back, and Frank had come for her.

It’s pulling venom from a wound, too long left neglected.

Karen cries and cries until it’s noon and the only thing she has to show for a morning well spent is red, puffy eyes and a raging migraine. Two painkillers washed down the remainder of last night’s beer, and she opens her laptop right back up, squinting until she fumbles to turn the brightness down.

She’d write something real, this time. It wouldn’t be for the public, it isn’t something constructed for accolades or clout. It’s … a diary, maybe. An autobiographical apology to everyone she’s let down and hoping that letting out this ache, venting it, might keep her from falling to pieces entirely.

Karen spends the next twelve hours writing nonstop. The blur of her fingers over the keys fades into the backdrop, she doesn’t stop to eat or drink, she doesn’t even edit grammatical mistakes that sit there, underlined in red.

It starts with Kevin. And it ends with Frank.

She falls asleep holding the still-warm computer to her chest. No concept of what time it is, or what she’d even written, only the satisfaction in knowing she’d actually said something she meant, regardless of whether or not anyone ever saw a word of it.

Karen wakes up to wind rushing across her living room, bringing with it the bone-chill of winter in Hell’s Kitchen - she’s frazzled, disoriented - she could swear up and down that she’d closed that window last night long before she’d drifted off.

When she stands to close it, however, there’s a shadow standing in the hall, and Karen freezes until the headlights of a passing car illuminate him.

Frank.

“Jesus,” her hand falls to her chest, heart pounding underneath it. “I have a front door, you know. With a doorbell. It works and everything.” Karen’s go-to defense mechanism; dry humor. Pretending that the sight of him doesn’t spring tears to her eyes (when she’d made the mistake of thinking she’d cried them all away). She’s already turned towards the kitchen - it’s still dark out, so grabbing another beer can hardly hurt.

He’s got something in his hand, it’s – a newspaper? His fingers are fisted around it, knuckles white and he’s breathing like he’d just run a marathon to get here, eyes wild, unfocused, far away.

“What’s that –?” trailing off, she points to the paper with her beer before twisting the cap off and padding her way back to the couch on socked feet.

Her phone is dead, fantastic, and she’s immediately distracted by the hunt for her charger cable, plugging it into her laptop with a victorious sound. Frank hasn’t moved, and she’s doing just about everything she can to ignore him. Out of spite, fear, or guilt, Karen hasn’t decided.

When her phone powers on, Karen frowns at the screen - it’s not tomorrow, it’s tomorrow’s tomorrow. Evidently, her writing catharsis had been more like a coma and she’d slept for twenty-six hours. No wonder she’s in a fog.

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

“—what?”

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it,” Frank says, slower, through his teeth. Like he’s… Like he’s mad at her for not understanding the first time around. She blinks owlishly at him, surprised by the sudden display of rage.

He throws the newspaper at her, opened up to page four and wrinkled to hell but - she makes out the article Ellison had run. She smiles sleepily at her byline – it’d been a wild forty-eight hours – and then her brows furrow as comprehension settles in and then it’s a punch to the get when she realizes what he said.

“Frank I–”

He’s pacing. Hands shoved into the shallow pockets of his windbreaker and jaw tight (the muscle in it jumps, flexing every time he rotates to pace the other way).

“That what you think of me, Karen? Just… some schmuck who came into your life an’ sure, maybe I saved it a couple’a times but it’s just par for the fuckin’ course for our friendship?” The last word catches on his teeth, broken, and it breaks Karen just a little bit too.

She stumbles up, hand on the edge of her couch while her feet slide against the hardwood floor. It might be a comical sight, under any other set of circumstances, but as it stands, it just makes Karen look every inch of the fool she felt then, “You know - you know that’s not what I think about you, Frank. You should know me better than that.” It’s hollow, and Frank barks a humorless laugh.

That just makes Karen angry.

“You left.” Interjected, stiff upper lip and all, “-you – you left without a word, Frank. Gone. I had to reach out to Agent Madani just to hear that you’d been granted some leeway by the CIA and homeland … I was … I thought you were dead.” Her resolve is wavering, the words tremble at the end, betraying the false front of her composure.

Frank’s fingers twitch at his side, but he doesn’t reach out to her. Doesn’t speak. He hangs his head a bit, tilted towards her so she knows he’s still listening.

Her eyes glance, briefly (and treacherously) towards the roses, half-dead on the ledge of her window and she hopes he didn’t notice. But he does. Of course, he does. He’s Frank, and he draws in a staggered breath before speaking.

“Karen… the dust settled an’ I was.. I needed time, alright? You’re right I shoulda… shoulda called, maybe yeah.. And I sure as shit didn’t expect you to wait for me, some Jane Doe with her man out to war but.. This?” his voice is that low, steady thunder that makes her toes curl and her heart stop, but Karen can only continue to let the tears fall down her cheeks in silence. He picks up the article, crumples it in his fist, “I have killed for you. Nearly died for you. I’m not just your fuckin’ friend,��� Frank means it to sound stalwart, but in the context, it just comes across like: please.

“What – what more do I gotta do to show you, Kar? I” His adams apple bobs, rough as sandpaper but he’s asking her, the honesty of it makes him tremble. He’s afraid of her answer.

“Stay.” and that’s the core of it. He left her. He always left and most of the time it’s alright because she knew he had to but he’d been safe. They could have been, safe, and he’d been gone all the same so she doesn’t have a solution at the ready. She just wants him to – “stay, Frank. Please.”

Frank takes one step forward, hesitating before the next. And after a few more tense moments of this swaying in the space between them, he closes the distance and wraps her up in his arms, only to find out that she too, is shaking.

“You know I can’t,” at her ear, a frantic whisper but in it is a desperation that she has to hear, has to know. “Not all of the time but I will… I’ll stay, an’ when I can’t, when I gotta go I’ll come back to you - if you want me. If you want me here I’ll be here, Karen.” He pulls back because she’s not speaking, there’s doubt cut into the crease of her brow. A sadness in her eyes that he’d put there and is kicking himself for it.

Frank reaches under the collar of his shirt, pulls a silver chain over his head and slips it over Karen’s wordlessly, his thumb sweeping the raised letters on the dog tag that comes to rest just beneath her collarbone. “I’m makin’ a promise to you, Miss Page. I still got things.. Loose ends.. I might need time an’ shit but I will always come back for you.”

[peabodyandemerson]

The Last Camel Died at Noon

- Completed August 20, 2020 -

4 stars. Murder! Political intrigue! Treasure maps! Lost cities! The Peabody Emersons go on an exciting adventure in the Sudan! 

I thought I might list my thoughts on this one in a Pros and Cons list!

First, I’d like to note that I have never read King Solomon’s Mines, the classic adventure romance that inspired this particular tale. I do wonder what connections and inspirations I missed because of that fact! Now, my thoughts:

PROs:

Okay, yeah, I actually liked Ramses in this one! Can you believe it? I reckon he was less troublesome and conniving this go around. He’s always had useful and admirable qualities, but they were usually outshined by his annoying ones. I particularly loved the part where little Ramses was chasing after the cat with outstretched arms.

Amelia’s desire to start a full scale rebellion and the scene where she and Emerson save the toddler and mother from harm.

“I would greatly dislike being eaten by a lion”

There’s quite a lot of action in this one. I was a little shocked Emerson literally killed a man (actually several men?), but couldn’t help myself by being slightly amused by Amelia being extremely turned on by it. Messed up, but hilarious!

I don’t know if this should be counted as a “pro” necessarily, but we know how Amelia “talks big” but sometimes stumbles in her attempts to be physically intimidating. Amelia kills like two guys in this one, I’m pretty sure. It was in defense of her husband and child, but I mean...wow. I suppose I may have misread it and she only incapacitated them, but there was a lot of bloodshed in that chaotic chapter.

We barely got to know Nefret, but she seems resourceful and quick-witted. She basically saved the whole family in the end with her quick thinking. I thought it was cute that she grabbed some artifacts for the family to study as well.

CONs:

I am actually sad the camels were poisoned. Poor little, uh, large fellas. 

Emerson literally said he couldn't believe Willie Forth “allowed” his wife to travel with him when he scoffed at the idea of “allowing” Amelia to do anything. Like, bruh.

Speaking of my boy Emerson, I don’t love that he “allowed” himself to be “entertained” by the Sheik’s “dancers” (I hope you like my overuse of quotations) because if he was embarrassed that his wife knew he was there, that admits it’s something he feels guilty about, and thus should not be around. Yeah, it may be an unpopular opinion, but to me being faithful to your spouse means mind and body. Eyes, hands, and heart.

Use of the ‘n’ word and the term “savage”

In meeting Nefret, Peters described her as basically naked and Emerson and Ramses were just standing there staring at her? And she’s 13! Kemit/Tarek (a grown man) said “who can see her and not desire her” ...y’all that’s gross.

Disappointed and a bit disgusted how Amelia talked to Amenit. We all know how horrible and harmful European-centric beauty standards can be. Amelia offering to lighten Amenit’s skin, dye her hair and eyes was heart-breaking. Amelia went so far as to say Reggie would be lying if he said he found her beautiful the way she was. That’s just heartbreaking and needlessly damaging to a young woman of color.

Once again Peters seems to describe overweight people in a needlessly cruel way, frequently calling them disgusting and using language that describes them as being somehow grotesque and monstrous. I was quite disappointed particularly in Emerson’s “horror” at seeing Mrs. Forth in her present form, as if not being “young and hot” as she once was, was somehow a horror to behold. He didn’t really need to tell us how “exquisite” she was when young anyway. Like how is that relevant. I don’t really like how female beauty is emphasized, I guess. I thought the same thing when Peters wrote that Nefret’s “courage and beauty” had won over Emerson and Amelia. Like what? Courage is commendable, but beauty? Something that is subjective and uncontrollable? She’s just a child! What if she was, oh I don't know, covered in zits and gangly? Would that make her less beautiful and somehow less worthy of love? I mean, come on. I really don’t want to think that Emerson instantly fell in love with this 13 year old half naked girl at “first sight” anyway. Did Peters not realize how that sounds? I know that’s not what she meant, but it doesn’t sit terribly well with me. I hope Ramses won’t act creepy towards her in future books. I do have some fear he will grow up to be James Bond-esque, and I can tell you now I won’t like a character that sleeps with every girl he meets.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite the cons, I did honestly enjoy this one. It was probably the best book since Curse of the Pharaohs even though I was, at first, a little disappointed it didn’t actually take place in Egypt. I don’t consider it a pro/con matter, but Emerson and Amelia’s love life is a bit unbelievable to the point of being ridiculous, but it gives me something to aspire to in my own married life! They are still a delight after six books, and I’m only mildly annoyed by their unattainable level of happiness together ha! I’m still trying to space these books out a little, so I’m not sure when I’ll read the next one.

Also, did Emerson hint at Willie Forth’s father having raped Mrs. Forth? I’m a little confused on that point and what lead him to that supposition.

[quoteablebooks]

"Can't you see he has fainted? I shudder to think what unimaginable horror can have reduced him to such straits."  "No you don't," said Emerson. "You revel in unimaginable horrors. Pray control you rampages imagination. Fainted, indeed! He is probably drunk."

Amelia Peabody Emerson and Radcliffe Emerson The Last Camel Died at Noon by Elizabeth Peters

[hemsperhandfi1979-blog]

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