Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (125 page)

‘It is necessary for me to mention it in order to ascertain whether you are fit for the duties for which you have been employed,’ I declared. ‘I do not allow anyone on my expeditions to suffer from an ailment I can relieve. That includes the donkeys. Abdullah–’

‘Yes, sitt,’ Abdullah said resignedly. ‘The donkeys have been washed.’

‘Good. You see, Mr Nemo, I am showing you the same concern I would show a donkey – an animal which in many ways you resemble. If you are not ready to accept this, you can take yourself off.’

A spark of emotion that might have been amusement or anger warmed the sea-blue depths of Nemo’s eyes. They were clear; apparently he had not recently indulged in drugs, ‘Very well, Mrs Emerson. I will demonstrate my ability to carry out my duties, and I think I had better begin at once. Young Ramses is about to be flattened by that packing case, which is too heavy for him.’

So saying, Nemo departed. His leisurely stride was deceptive; he covered the ground at quite rapid pace, arriving on the scene he had described just in time to lift the case under whose weight Ramses was slowly sinking to his knees.

‘Well, Abdullah,’ I said. ‘What do you think?’

I had the greatest regard for Abdullah, whom I had known for many years. He was a splendid specimen of manhood, almost as tall as Emerson; and though his hair and beard were snowy white, he had the strength of a man half his age. He and his group of associates had been trained by Emerson in the methods of proper excavation, so that many of them were better qualified than the majority of European archaeologists. They were in great demand by other excavators, but their loyalty to Emerson – and, I think I may say, to me – was paramount. I would have trusted Abdullah with my life; Emerson trusted him with his excavations, which was as high a mark of favour. Indeed, Abdullah’s only weakness (aside from his extensive collection of wives) was an irradicable and deep-seated superstitiousness. He had never abandoned his belief in efreets and demons, although on innumerable occasions he had seen us tear the veil from seemingly supernatural terrors and expose the ordinary human villains behind the mystery.

Abdullah also prided himself upon the imperturbability of his countenance. This characteristic seemed more marked than usual that day; his thin, well-cut lips scarcely moved as he replied stiffly, ‘Think, honoured sitt? I do not permit myself to think, unless ordered to do so by yourself or Emerson.’

I understood the reason for his ill-humour. ‘It was not because of dissatisfaction with your son Selim that we employed the Inglizi to act as guard to Ramses,’ I assured him. ‘Like all your people, Selim is too valuable to be wasted as a nursemaid. Besides, we hoped to do a charitable action in helping the Englishman.’

Abdullah’s rigid face relaxed. ‘Ah, I understand, sitt. Charity is pleading to Allah, and your kind heart is well known. But, sitt, do you know that the man is a smoker of opium?’

‘I intend to break him of that vile habit, Abdullah.’

‘Ah,’ Abdullah said again, stroking his silky beard. ‘It is not easy to do that. But if anyone can break a man, it is you, Sitt Hakim.’

‘Thank you, Abdullah. Will you please explain to Selim, so he won’t be disappointed?’

‘Disappointed,’ Abdullah repeated thoughtfully. ‘No, sitt, I do not think Selim will be disappointed.’

‘Good. What I meant, Abdullah, by my question, was whether the Englishman looked familiar. Think carefully, Abdullah. Have you ever seen him before?’

Abdullah did not stop to think at all. ‘No, sitt. Never.’

Thinking back over the events of the not-too-distant past, I realized that Abdullah had not beheld the Master Criminal in his final apotheosis, for he had been drugged at an early stage in the proceedings and had slept through the whole exciting denouement. However, he had seen the Master Criminal in his role as Father Girgis on a number of occasions.

‘Are you certain, Abdullah?’ Do you remember the priest of Dronkeh?’

‘Yes, how could I forget him? He …’ Abdullah’s mouth remained open; his eyes emulated his mouth, widening till the whites showed around the dark centres. Then his shoulders began to twitch and strangling noises issued from his parted lips. A casual observer might have mistaken his reaction for amusement; but of course I knew better.

I hastened to reassure him. ‘There is nothing to be alarmed about, Abdullah. I have the matter well in hand. I am glad you were also sharp enough to penetrate the villain’s disguise–’

‘No, sitt, no.’ Abdullah regained control of himself. ‘You mistake me, sitt. A slight coughing spell … The dust in my throat … Perhaps my ears deceived me, or my aging brain failed to understand what you meant. Are you saying that this Inglizi is the – the same person as the – the …’

‘You had better let me give you some medicine for your throat affliction,’ I said. ‘Your ears did not deceive you, Abdullah, and your brain is as good as ever. Better than the brain of a certain person who ought to be wiser. I mention no names, Abdullah.’

‘No, sitt, of course not. But, sitt, it cannot be. This is not the same man.’

‘The huge black beard and the long black hair were false–’

‘The priest had black eyes, sitt. This man’s eyes are blue.’

I should have known better than to depend on Abdullah. He was, after all, only a man. ‘I have no time to explain,’ I said. ‘Just watch the fellow, Abdullah. It is better to have him with us, under our eye, than lurking in the desert plotting against us. But don’t trust him.’

‘I hear and will obey,’ said Abdullah, his lips twitching.

‘I have the most implicit confidence in you, Abdullah. But I cannot stand around chatting any longer. We must get underway.’

The donkeys had been loaded, but it was necessary for me to greet each of the men individually, or their feelings would have been hurt. They were all old friends, and most were sons of Abdullah (I have already referred to his proclivities toward procreation). Selim was the youngest of his offspring, a lad of fifteen with an almost Grecian beauty of feature. I congratulated him on his recent marriage, for the proprieties had to be observed even though I deplore the horrid eastern custom of sending boys and girls into the hazards of matrimony at such tender ages. Then I explained to him, as I had to his father, why we had found someone else to look after Ramses.

Selim assured me he was not at all distressed at being replaced, and I must say that he concealed his disappointment very well. He helped me to mount and walked beside me as we started forward, laughing and chatting cheerfully about John, our footman, who had been with us the year before. John had made himself quite popular with the men, and Selim was pleased to learn that his friend had also taken a wife in the interval.

Our little caravan proceeded along the path leading west. The inundation had receded from the fields, after depositing its annual layer of rich fertile mud, and the green sprouts of the new crops could be seen against the black earth. Our road led along one of the dykes raised above the fields, toward the village of Menyat Dahshoor, which stood on the edge of the cultivated land at the point where the earth turns abruptly to desert sand.

Emerson led the way as was his habit, perched on a minuscule donkey. If he had straightened his legs and stood up, the donkey could have walked right through them, but Emerson pictures himself on such occasions as mounted on a fiery horse leading his troops into battle. I would not for all the world have spoiled his innocent pleasure by pointing out that a man of six-foot-odd looks ridiculous on donkeyback.

Ramses rode behind him engaged in animated conversation with Nemo, who had refused a mount and was walking alongside the boy, his long strides easily matching the plodding pace of the donkey. I wondered what they were talking about. Not that there was anything unusual in Ramses’ talking.

Not for long was my attention held by those in my immediate vicinity, for my eyes were drawn to the splendour of the view beyond. The two stone pyramids of Dahshoor loomed on the horizon. The brilliance of the midday sun was reflected by the limestone blocks of their sides and they shone as if plated with precious metal. They are among the oldest funerary structures in Egypt, predating even the mighty tombs of Giza. The larger of the two is exceeded in height only by the Great Pyramid. The excavations of M. de Morgan had proved that it was built by King Sneferu of the Fourth Dynasty. (Emerson and I had suspected this all along, of course.)

The name of the builder of the second stone pyramid was still unknown. That was one of the mysteries we hoped to solve that season. But only one of the mysteries – for this second stone structure has a number of curious features not found in other pyramids. Most conspicuous is its shape. A sudden change in the degree of the slope, from approximately fifty-four degrees in the lower section to a more abrupt forty-two degrees fifty-nine minutes (if memory serves me) in the upper section has bestowed upon it the appellation of the Bent or Blunted Pyramid. Why this anomaly? And, even more thrilling in its implications, what was the cause of the strange winds that occasionally swept through the dark and stifling interior passageways?

I particularly dote on the interiors of pyramids. There is some strange fascination in the awesome darkness, the airless silence, and the flapping of bat wings. Though I had promised myself many hours of delightful exploration within the Bent pyramid, seeking the source of the uncanny and intermittent winds, I knew I could not count on much help from Emerson. He sympathizes with my passion for pyramids, but he does not share it, and he had always pooh-poohed the theory that there were hidden openings and chambers within the Bent Pyramid, even though I had myself felt those eerie winds. ‘Bats, Peabody. Dozens of bats flapping their leathery wings and blowing out your candle. I do not deplore your imagination, my dear, for indeed it is one of your more charming qualities. But …’

It is a waste of time to talk to Emerson when he has made up his mind about Egyptological matters; but I privately vowed he would experience the phenomenon himself – if I had to hold him prisoner inside until it happened.

His main concern that season was to identify the owner of the Bent Pyramid. The burial chambers of the Sixth Dynasty pyramids are covered with texts identifying their owners, but, strange as it may seem, none of the earlier tombs has a single inscription inside or on it. The only way of ascertaining the names of the kings to whom they belonged is from the associated structures – temples and subsidiary tombs, enclosure walls and causeways.

(In revising these journals for eventual publication I have added a few paragraphs for the edification of readers who do not share my expert knowledge. Edification, not entertainment, is my aim, as it should be the aim of any intelligent reader. I have no intention of succumbing to the numerous requests I have already received to permit my personal diaries to be published in my lifetime, but my high regard for science demands that the interesting and useful information contained in these ages be one day disclosed to the world. Wishing to spare my heirs the painful labour of revision – and also wishing to do myself justice, which no one else can do as well – I have undertaken a few modest changes.)

Our path led past the village, whose small flat-roofed houses and minareted mosque we could see among the palms and tamarisk trees. I wondered what sort of home Abdullah had found for us. My expectations were low. When I first met Emerson, he had set up housekeeping in a tomb, and experience has taught me that members of the male sex have very peculiar standards of comfort and cleanliness. I wished we could have returned to our headquarters of the previous season. The abandoned monastery had proved a commodious and comfortable residence, once I had it remodelled to suit my requirements. But though Mazghunah was only a few miles to the south, it would have been a waste of valuable time to transport ourselves and our gear that distance daily.

Modest though my hopes were, I felt a distinct sense of depression when we reached our destination. It was on the outskirts of the village, on the west side, nearest the desert. A mudbrick wall enclosed a courtyard of beaten earth. Within the compound were several structures, some no more than one-room huts or sheds. One was a house, to use that word loosely. It was built of the ubiquitous unbaked brick coated with mud plaster, and was only one storey high; on the flat roof were some miscellaneous shapes that might have been rotted screens. Some hasty efforts at repairing the crumbling walls had been made, and that recently; the rough plaster patches were still damp.

Abdullah had drawn ahead of me. When I dismounted he was deep in conversation with Emerson, and he pretended not to see me until I tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Ah, sitt, you are here,’ he exclaimed, as if he had expected I would be lost on the way. ‘It is a fine house, you see. I have had all the rooms swept.

I did not reproach him. He had done his best, according to his lights; Emerson would have done no better.

I had come prepared. Rolling up my sleeves, literally, I put everyone to work. Water was fetched from the well – its proximity was, I admit, a point in favour of the location – and some of the men began mixing more plaster, while others sprinkled the interior of the house with disinfectant. (Keating’s powder, I have discovered, is one of the most effective.) The house had four small rooms. After one look at the high, narrow windows and floors of dirt, I decided Emerson and I would sleep on the roof. The debris I had observed there was the remains of plaited screens; once they were replaced, the flat surface would serve as an extra chamber, as was often the case. I assigned two of the rooms in the house to Ramses and Mr Nemo. The latter’s supercilious smile vanished when I handed him a broom.

By evening the place was fit for human habitation. A quick visit to the village market had procured the screens for the roof and a few other necessities. As the day wore on, we had a constant stream of visitors offering ‘presents’ of food – eggs, milk, bread, chickens – for which we were, of course, expected to pay. At dusk I ordered the stout wooden gates closed. Naturally we were objects of curiosity to the village people, but we could not have them wandering in and out, especially if we were fortunate enough to discover valuable antiquities.