“And you,” said Nefret. “At least you had sense enough to wear your coat.”
“I had writing materials and a torch in my pockets,” Ramses said. He fished a wad of crumpled paper from inside his coat.
“You can work up your notes into a detailed plan tonight,” said Emerson, without looking up. “Curse it, Peabody, what are you doing?”
“You have scratches all over your chest too,” I said. “Lean back.”
“Not a scrap of organic material survived,” Emerson grumbled. “Wood, mummy wrappings, bones – Ouch.”
“I doubt that even we could have preserved the coffins or the mummies,” Ramses said.
“We could have tried,” Emerson muttered. “Damn the bastards! Who knows how much historical data was lost through their carelessness?”
“The damage is done, and regret is the most futile of all emotions,” I said.
“No, it damned well is not,” Emerson snarled. “Don’t quote aphorisms at me.”
“What, in your opinion -”
“Mother,” said Nefret, gently but firmly, “you and Father can argue about aphorisms all the way home if you like. I think we should start back.”
“A very sensible suggestion, my dear,” I replied. I could see she was itching to get Ramses home so she could clean him up and disinfect the abrasions that marked his hands and face. “Emerson, give me my pistol back.”
“Not on your life, Peabody. If any shooting is required, I will do it.”
None was required, though we kept a sharp lookout along the way. As the sun sank lower, the shadows lengthened, affording some relief from the heat but, as I was uneasily aware, offering greater possibilities of concealment for a following foe. We reached the place where the horses were waiting without incident, however, and started on the homeward path. Daoud walked beside Jumana, talking nonstop in an effort to cheer her up. Like the rest of us, Selim was not so charitably inclined toward the girl.
“She knows where he is,” he muttered. “She must be made to tell us.”
“Give her a little time,” Emerson said.
Selim’s eyes were as hard as obsidian. “Jamil has disgraced the family. It is a matter of honor.”
Oh dear, oh dear, I thought – more trouble! Men have very odd definitions of honor, and even odder notions of what to do about it. To all intents and purposes Selim was the head of the family, as his father had been. Yusuf was too old and vacillating to play the role that was nominally his. If Selim spoke for the family and they were of the same mind… They would be, of course. The men, at any rate.
“Selim, we don’t know that that was Jamil,” I said. “In fact, we don’t know that he has committed any criminal act except rob a few tombs. I doubt any court would bother prosecuting him for that. Everybody in Gurneh does it.”
“Not our family,” said Selim, displaying his teeth. “My father -”
“I know what Abdullah would have done,” Emerson broke in. “I promise you, family honor will be satisfied. If Jamil has a scrap of sense he will come to me and I will give him a chance to redeem himself. The Father of Curses does not break his word!”
“You needn’t shout, Emerson,” I exclaimed.
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Confound it,” he added petulantly, “I have wasted too much time on this foolery. We will start work at Deir el Medina tomorrow.”
Dinner was a trifle late that evening, since Emerson was determined to stow his bits and pieces away before he bathed. They looked rather pitiful on the shelves of our storage room – the only artifacts we had discovered thus far. Emerson was pleased with them, however, and could talk of nothing else all through dinner. The meal was excellent. We had a new chef, Maaman, one of Fatima ’s cousins; our old cook, Mahmud, had been persuaded to retire. For years he had punished us for coming late to meals by scorching the soup and letting the beef dry out.
After dinner, when we had retired to the parlor, and Jumana had gone to her room to study, I managed to get Emerson off the subject of archaeology. “I hope you convinced Selim that he must leave Jamil to us. If he and the other men injured the boy, it would split the family apart. Not all of them take the matter as seriously as Selim does; some may even sympathize with Jamil.”
“Why do you suppose I was talking so loudly to Selim? I wanted the others, especially Jumana, to overhear. The boy has done nothing except bully his sister and play the fool – if it was he we saw. We don’t know that. We don’t know that he killed that fellow, or even that murder was committed! It may have been an accident, or self-defense. These beggars squabble constantly amongst themselves. All we know for certain is that some person unknown placed the body in position, possibly as a warning or a threat, possibly only to hide it.”
“That is all very well, Emerson, but two of the original thieves have met a violent death. In criminal investigation -”
“This is not a criminal investigation,” said Emerson, with a snap of his teeth. “We have no proof of murder.”
Undeterred, I proceeded. “Then how do you explain the position of the body? It is a most inconvenient hiding place. How did Jamil – oh, very well, whoever it was – how did he get the body there?”
Emerson replied with a rhetorical question. “How did the ancient workmen get that damned sarcophagus of Hatshepsut’s into her tomb in the cliff? That tomb is even less accessible than this one, and a stone sarcophagus is considerably heavier than a man.”
“Perhaps it was meant to warn us, and others, away from the place.”
“There was nothing of value left in the tomb,” Emerson said. “Anyhow, Jamil knows better than to threaten me.”
The shrubbery outside rustled, and Horus came in through the open window. He was carrying something in his mouth.
“Oh, my goodness,” I exclaimed. “It’s not a mouse – it’s too big. A rat. Disgusting. Emerson -”
Emerson was too slow. Horus darted past him and laid the object at Nefret’s feet. He then sat down and stared fixedly at her.
“It’s not a rat,” Ramses said. He reached down and scooped the motionless form into his hands. “It’s a cat – a kitten. I’m afraid it’s…”
A faint but unmistakable purr contradicted his assumption. The small creature was so dirty I could not make out its markings.
Nefret said gently, “Cats sometimes purr when they are frightened or in pain. If it is beyond help, we had better put it out of its misery.”
The parlor door opened. Sennia stood on the threshold, rubbing her eyes. “Horus woke me up. He had… Oh!”
Emerson caught hold of her. “Now, child, don’t touch it. It is sick, or hurt, or…”
Sennia leaned against Emerson. She looked charming, her hair ruffled with sleep and the hem of her white nightdress baring slim brown feet and ankles. “If it is sick, Aunt Nefret will make it well.”
“Oh, Sennia…” Nefret glanced at the motionless body Ramses cradled in his cupped hands. “I’ll try. I’ll do my best. Go back to bed, darling.”
“Yes, Aunt Nefret. Horus, you are a good boy. Come to bed now, Aunt Nefret will take care of the kitty.”
Horus considered the suggestion. With what looked alarmingly like a nod of acquiescence, he got up and followed Sennia out.
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Nefret, do you think you can… What is wrong with it?”
“I don’t know yet.” Nefret shrugged helplessly. “But I’ll have to find out, won’t I? Bring it along, Ramses.”
As I might have expected, Sennia was the first one down next morning. Gargery was trying to get her to eat her porridge – never an easy task – when we entered the dining room. She bounced up from her chair and ran to me. “How is the kitty? When can I see it?”
“I don’t know, Sennia. Ramses and Nefret have not come yet. Sit down and eat your breakfast. Where is Horus?”