Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (136 page)

‘Ramses, your papa is perfectly well aware of that,’ I said testily.

‘I only wished to suggest that extreme care must be taken in order to discover–’

‘Again, Ramses, let me remind you that there is no excavator in the field today whose skill equals that of your papa.’

‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Emerson, beaming. ‘Are you having a good time with your little pyramid?’

‘Yes, thank you, Emerson.’

Before I could draw breath to continue, Ramses addressed Enid, requesting her opinion on what we had accomplished thus far. It might have been only a courteous attempt to draw her into the conversation. But I doubted that it was.

Enid distracted him by seizing the cat, who was sniffing around her ankles. I was surprised the aristocratic creature permitted the liberty. She was on good terms with me and had a certain tolerant affection for Emerson, but Ramses was the only person whose caresses she actively encouraged.

The distraction proved effective, for Ramses then asked about Enid’s pets – having deduced, as he explained at length, that she must have owned a cat or she would not know the precise spots to scratch. When Enid replied that she had several dogs and a dozen cats, most of whom had been abandoned by cruel owners, Ramses’ countenance took on quite a pleasant look of approval. As he sat cross-legged beside her, his curly head tipped to one side and his black eyes bright with interest, one might have taken him for a normal little boy – so long as he kept his mouth closed.

All at once, Emerson leaped to his feet, dropping his bread and butter (buttered side down, of course) onto the rug. He shielded his eyes with his hands and looked east, toward the rising sun. ‘Upon my word, Amelia, I believe it is a group of cursed tourists. And they are coming this way.’

‘That is hardly surprising, Emerson,’ I replied, trying to scrape the butter off the rug, which was a handsome old Bokhara. ‘You know that is one of the disadvantages of working at Dahshoor. Though not so popular as Giza and Sakkara, it is mentioned in the guidebooks.’

‘Did you ever see such absurd figures?’ Emerson demanded. ‘Green umbrellas, flaps of cloth about their heads …’

Compared to Emerson, they did look ridiculous. Hatless, his bronzed throat and arms bared, he was in tune with his surroundings as few foreigners in Egypt could be. But then Emerson is a remarkable man. He has never suffered from sunstroke or sunburn or even from catarrh, though he absolutely refuses to wear a flannel belt, which, as every physician knows, is the only certain preventative for that common affliction.

The little caravan approached us. None of the riders was accustomed to donkeyback; they bounced up and down like jumping jacks on strings. Emerson pushed his sleeves to his shoulders. ‘I will just go and run them off.’

‘Wait, Emerson…’ But I was too late. Emerson’s long legs carried him swiftly toward the enemy.

His raised hand brought the procession to a halt. One stout gentleman fell off his donkey and was hauled to his feet by a pair of grinning donkey boys. A lively discussion ensued. I could not make out the words, except for an occasional expletive from Emerson, but the gestures of the participants left no doubt as to their state of mind.

Enid chuckled. ‘I am reminded of Aunt Betsy, in Dickens’ charming novel,’ she said.

‘Like Aunt Betsy, Emerson will prevail,’ I said, buttering another bit of bread.

Sure enough, after a while the caravan turned away, heading for the North Pyramid, and Emerson returned, refreshed and exhilarated by the encounter. We all went back to work except for the cat Bastet, who yawned and sauntered into the tent to take a nap.

I did not expect the discoveries of that first day to be momentous, and they were not – only the usual pottery shards and fragments of funerary objects. The whole area was one vast cemetery – a city of the dead whose population far exceeded that of any metropolis, modern or ancient. I showed Enid the proper procedure for dealing with such finds, for we kept scrupulously accurate records of every object, no matter how undistinguished.

There was little going on to occupy my mind, so I was able to devote part of my attention to working out an answer to the question people kept asking me. How indeed to attract the attention of the Master Criminal? I sympathized with Mr Nemo’s disinclination to sit with folded hands until that gentleman decided to make his next move. Tactically and psychologically it would be to our advantage to take the initiative and encourage an attack. What I needed was a treasure – a cache of royal jewellery like the one that had attracted the M.C.’s interest the year before. Ramses had found one such cache at Dashoor. (In fact, I was fairly certain he had found two; the treasure of Princess Khnumit, which M. de Morgan had produced with such fanfare at the end of the season, might have been his reward for promising to yield the site to us. I had not questioned Ramses about the matter and I had no intention of doing so, since confirmation of my suspicion would raise delicate ethical questions I was not prepared to deal with.)

Nor had I any intention of going, hat in hand, to my own son and asking him to help me find antiquities. I had even rejected the idea of interrogating the boy about the subsidiary pyramid. I meant to carry out my excavation according to the strictest scientific principles – but what I really wanted to find was the entrance. I yearned to squirm into that entrance and search for the burial chamber, and it would not have surprised me in the slightest to learn that Ramses knew precisely where it was located. He had a diabolical instinct for such things. However, great as would be the pleasure of entering the pyramid, the pleasure of finding it without Ramses’ assistance would be even greater, and as the morning passed, with no sign of an opening, I began to think I had overestimated the boy. The men were still digging out sand, and not even Ramses – surely, not even Ramses? – could have located a hidden entrance buried under tons of debris.

The thought of pyramids had distracted me. I turned my thoughts back to the other problem. In lieu of a treasure, what would attract the Master Criminal? An answer soon came to me; but although I had every confidence in Ramses’ ability to get himself out of ordinary scrapes, it did not seem quite right to use him as a lure to capture a murderer. There was another way, just as effective and less open to criticism on the grounds of maternal affection.

The sun climbed higher and the temperature climbed with it. Occupied with my work and my schemes, I did not notice the passage of time or feel the heat until, glancing at Enid, I saw she was flushed and aglow with perspiration.

‘You had better join Bastet in the tent,’ I said, taking the notebook and pencil from her. ‘I forgot you are not accustomed to the sun.’

Courageously she asserted her willingness to remain on duty, but I overcame her scruples. She went off, and I was about to resume my labours when I saw a cloud of sand on the northern horizon. Another group of cursed tourists! Coming from the direction of Sakkara this time, and on horseback. The younger and more adventurous visitors preferred this approach.

When I saw that the riders did not halt at the North Pyramid but were coming straight toward us, I left Selim in charge of the diggers and hastened to Emerson. He had once bodily removed from a tomb a little old lady who turned out to be the former Empress of the French. The ensuing international furore had taken quite a while to die down.

He was rolling up his sleeves. I took firm hold of him and awaited the event. Before long I recognized, in the party of mounted men, the same young Englishmen I had seen at Shepheard’s the day before.

They were still wearing the fantastical and inappropriate bits of Arabic costume they had purchased in the bazaars. However, they were expert horsemen – not surprising in persons who have few occupations in life other than sport and idle amusement. The guns slung from the saddles or carried over their arms were of the latest and most expensive design.

Whooping and laughing, they drew up beside the tent, and the young man in the lead prepared to dismount. Seeing me, he stopped midway, one foot still in the stirrup, the other lifted over the horse’s back. The horse chose that moment to curl its lips back, and the resemblance to its rider, whose teeth were almost as prominent, was so absurd I had to stifle a laugh.

‘’Pon my word, it’s a lady,’ the young man exclaimed. ‘Look here, you chaps. What the devil d’you suppose she’s doing out here in the middle of nowhere? How de do, ma’am.’

He whipped off his turban. Emerson was not appeased by the gesture. He growled. ‘Watch your language, young man. Mrs Emerson is not accustomed to vulgarity.’

‘Mrs Emerson? Then you must be Mr Emerson.’ The fellow grinned as if proud of this brilliant deduction.

‘Professor Emerson,’ I corrected. ‘And you, sir?’

One of his companions hastened to his side. ‘Allow me to present his lordship Viscount Everly.’

Emerson grunted. ‘Now that you have presented him, you may take him away. This is an archaeological expedition, not a club for wealthy idlers.’

‘Archaeology! Is that so? ’Pon my word! I say, Professor, you can just show us round a bit. Or better, let your better half do it, eh? Always take a pretty woman when you can get one, isn’t that right, old chap?’ He clapped Emerson on the shoulder and bared so many of his teeth, I was afraid they would fall out of his mouth.

I did not hear Emerson’s reply, which is just as well. I had seen something that drew my attention and roused my most intense detectival instincts.

Another of the viscount’s entourage had come forward. When he removed his headgear, a turban of astonishing height and breadth, his head looked as if it had caught fire. The features below the copper locks were hardly less astonishing. It took a second look to convince me that they were not those of Mr Nemo. Further examination indicated the resemblance was not, in fact, as close as I had supposed; it was the unusual hair colour shared by both that gave a misleading impression. This man – undoubtedly the same person I had seen at the Administration Building – was slighter and softer, from his delicately cut features to his plump, manicured hands.

Feeling my fixed stare, the young man shifted from one booted foot to the other and smiled uneasily. ‘Good morning, madam.’

In my surprise I had forgotten my duty to my irate husband, but fortunately Ramses had intervened in time to save the viscount from bodily harm. Apparently he had admired the latter’s horse, for when I returned my attention to the others, I was in time to hear Everly giggle foolishly and remark, ‘Yes, young feller, he’s a dazzler, all right. Want to try him out?’

‘Ramses,’ I cried. ‘I absolutely forbid–’

But Ramses was already in the saddle, and if he heard me, which I rather think he did, he pretended not to.

Ramses was not an unskilled equestrian, but he looked very small perched atop the great white stallion. Emerson stood watching with a foolish look, half smile of pride, half frown of exasperation, as the boy put the animal to a walk. I caught his arm. ‘Emerson, stop him. Order him to dismount.’

‘Don’t fret yourself ma’am,’ said his lordship, with another imbecilic giggle. ‘Caesar is as gentle as a kitten.’

Our men had gathered around to watch. They were grinning proudly, and Abdullah said in Arabic, ‘He will take no harm, sitt. He could ride a lion if he chose.’

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a gun went off, practically in my ear. The stallion reared and bolted. Ramses stuck to his back like a cocklebur, but I knew he must fall; his feet were a good eight inches above the swinging stirrups, and his arms had not the strength to hold the reins.

Deafened by the sound of the shot and dazed by horror, we stood frozen for several seconds. Emerson was the first to move. I have never seen a man run so fast. It was a splendid effort, but of course quite senseless, since a man on foot could never hope to catch up with a galloping horse.

His lordship reacted more quickly than I would have expected. ‘Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll save the lad,’ he cried, and ran toward the other horses, which were standing some distance away with a pair of grooms in attendance. Before he reached them, however, a flying form cannoned into him and sent him sprawling. The newcomer vaulted into the nearest saddle. With a shout, and an answering neigh, they were off, man and equine moving as one. The flying robes of the rider blew out behind him like great wings.

Our men started running after Emerson, shouting and waving their arms. After some confusion, the viscount and his followers mounted and galloped off in pursuit. The two grooms looked at one another, shrugged, and sat down on the ground to watch.

Whether by accident or because Ramses had managed to regain some control over the horse, it had swung in a wide circle. If this was indeed designed by Ramses, it was a serious error on his part; for the steed was rapidly approaching one of the wadis, or canyons, that cut through the western desert. I could not see how deep it was, but it appeared to be a good ten feet across. The horse might be able to jump it. However, I felt reasonably certain Ramses would not be able to stay on it if it did.

As the Reader may suppose, my state of mind was not so calm and collected as the above description implies; in fact, ‘frozen with horror’ would be a trite but relatively accurate description of my condition at that time. However, I could do absolutely nothing except watch. There were already enough people running and riding wildly across the countryside.

His lordship had outstripped his men. Whatever his other failings – and I felt sure they were extensive – he rode like a centaur. Even so, he was far behind the first pursuer, who was rapidly closing in on the large horse and its small rider.

As one might have expected, Emerson was a considerable distance behind, with the rest of our men strung out behind him like runners in a race.

The unknown rider – of whose identity, however, I had no doubt; it could only be Nemo – in a sudden burst of speed cut in front of the runaway horse and turned him, on the very edge of the wadi. For a few heart-stopping moments the two steeds thundered on side by side; Nemo’s appeared to be galloping on thin air, so close were its hooves to the crumbling rim of the ravine. Then the courageous effort of the rescuer bore fruit. Ramses’ mount turned and slowed and finally came to a stop. Ramses fell off the horse, or was plucked off, I could not tell which; for he was immediately enveloped in the billowing folds of Nemo’s robe. From that distance it was hard to see whether Nemo was embracing the boy in a frenzy of relief or shaking him violently in another kind of frenzy.