Crocodile on the Sandbank (14 page)
Read Crocodile on the Sandbank Online
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: #Historical fiction, #Detective and mystery stories, #Mystery fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Historical, #Suspense, #Crime & mystery, #Political, #Women detectives - Egypt, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictious character), #Crime & Thriller, #Mummies, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictitious character), #Egyptology, #Cairo (Egypt), #Mystery, #Detective, #Women detectives, #Emerson, #Radcliffe (Fictitious character), #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Archaeologists' spouses, #Mystery & Detective - General, #Egypt, #Fiction - Mystery
7
I REMEMBER standing on the ledge, oblivious to the slow beauty ofsunrise
on the cliffs, as the impact of Walter's statement sank into my mind.
None of us tried to argue with him; to believe that Mohammed had
tricked
both watchers, being unaware of surveillance, was really beyond the
bounds of credibility.
Suddenly Emerson rose from his chair and ran off along the ledge. I
knew where he was going. How I knew I cannot explain, but I did know;
and I also knew what he would find. I followed nun more slowly, my
steps slowed by dread of the discovery. When I came up to him he was
standing by the wooden shelter that had covered the painted pavement.
The painting was no longer there. Only a broad expanse
of broken shards
covered the sand. The destruction had been vicious; some sections had
been ground
into powder.
So my work had gone for naught and the sacrifice of my skinned fingers
had been in vain. This was not my first thought, however. The
senseless, wanton loss of beauty miraculously preserved hurt like a
physical blow.
Without conscious premeditation my hand reached out to Emerson's; his
fingers closed bruisingly over mine and we stood for a moment with
hands locked. After a moment Emerson seemed to realize what
he was
doing, and flung my hand away. The cut on his forehead was still oozing
blood, but I knew
his drawn, haggard expression was not caused by physical pain. I did
not even resent his gesture.
"A vindictive apparition, our Mummy," I said.
"All part and parcel of the ridiculous story Mohammed is promulgating,"
Emerson said. "The priest of Amon wreaking his vengeance on Khuenaten's
city. Peabody, has it occurred to you that this plot is too complex for
a man of Mohammed's limited intelligence?"
"Perhaps you underestimate his intelligence"
"I think not. His motive is equally obscure to me. Why should he go to
so much trouble for a petty revenge? Our presence brings income to the
village— money these people badly need, however small it may seem to
us."
"But if Walter is correct in claiming that Mohammed never left the
village— "
"I cannot accept that. Who else could the Mummy be?"
"Then you think we must search for some power behind Mohammed. Who
could that be?"
"That is equally difficult to understand. Unless some wealthy amateur
excavator covets the site— "
"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" I exclaimed. "Next you will be accusing M.
Maspero of planning this, in order to discredit you."
This injudicious remark ended the discussion. Emerson shot me a hateful
look and started back toward camp.
Our spirits were at very low ebb that morning; if it had not been for
Emerson's stubbornness, I think we would have taken our leave of
Amarna. Only Evelyn's intervention prevented a full-scale battle at
breakfast, and it was she who insisted that we all get some sleep
before
discussing the matter again. All our tempers were strained by fatigue,
she said; we could not think clearly. This was, of course, Evelyn's
tact; her temper was never strained, and I am rational under all
circumstances. It was Emerson who needed rest in order to be sensible,
although I doubted that sleep would improve his disposition very much.
We were all sleeping, then, when a shout from Abdullah, on guard below,
roused us to the realization
that some new factor had entered the
scene. Stumbling out of the tomb and blinking against the brilliant
sunlight, I made out a procession approaching us from the direction of
the river. The leading figure was mounted on a donkey. It was soon
clearly identifiable.
I turned to Evelyn, who stood shading her eyes with her hand.
"Reinforcements have arrived," I remarked. "It will be interesting to
see what Lord Ellesmere makes of our little mystery."
"Lucas!" Evelyn exclaimed.
Walter, followed by bis brother, came out in time to hear our exchange.
At Evelyn's exclamation he gave her a piercing look. The surprise in
her voice might well have been taken for another emotion; and Walter
turned to view the newcomer with a frown. Lucas had seen us; he raised
his arm and waved vigorously. We could see the flash of his white teeth
against a face that was now tanned almost as deeply as the skin of the
natives. Walter's frown became a scowl.
"So you are acquainted with this infernal intruder?" Emerson inquired.
"I might have expected he would be a friend of yours, Peabody."
"After all, Emerson, this site is not your private property," I replied
spiritedly. "It is surprising that we have not had more visitors."
This reasonable comment seemed to strike Emerson; he nodded
thoughtfully. I went on to give the explanations I felt were his due.
"Lord Ellesmere is a distant relative of Evelyn's. We met him in Cairo
just as we were about to sail,
and he told us of his intention to take
the same trip. We were expecting to meet in Luxor. No doubt he
recognized the
Philae
at her
moorings, and inquired as to our
whereabouts."
I was rather pleased with this account, which seemed to me to convey
the necessary information without adding any extraneous facts. I
intended to caution Lucas not to betray his real
relationship with Evelyn, or hers with the late Lord Ellesmere. Neither
of the Emersons were interested in scandal, unless it concerned the
love affairs of ancient Egyptian pharaohs, so it was unlikely that they
should have heard of the escapade of the late Lord Ellesmere's young
heiress; but there was no point in taking chances.
Then I looked at Evelyn; and my heart sank down into my scuffed boots.
How could I try to shield her, when she was fully determined to expose
the whole affair if it became necessary? She had paled a trifle
as she
watched her cousin's advance; her lips were set in an expression I had
come to know very well. Young Walter's face, as he looked from Evelyn
to the newcomer, gave his own feelings away more clearly than speech.
I experienced a revelation in that moment. I wanted Walter for Evelyn.
They were ideally suited; he was an honorable, lovable young fellow,
who would treat her well. If I had to give her up, I would not repine
seeing her in the tender care of a man like Walter. I determined, in
that instant, that it should come to pass. But I foresaw that it would
take some effort, even for me.
Lucas was now close. Waving and laughing and shouting greetings, he
came on. Walter turned to Evelyn.
"Will you not go down to meet this relative of yours?"
His tone was positively spiteful. I smiled to myself.
Evelyn started. "Yes, of course," she said.
"I will meet him," I said, taking her by the arm. "Stay here; I will
have Michael bring tea."
Lucas fell on me with shouts of joy. The fellow would have embraced me
if I had not fended him off with a well-placed shove. I interrupted his
babble with the caution I had intended to give; and he shot
me a
reproachful look.
"No such warning was necessary, Miss Amelia, I assure you. But tell me,
what are you doing here?
Your reis informed me that you have been here
almost a week. Who are your friends, and why—"
Explanations and introductions followed, slowly, since Lucas kept
interrupting. The interruptions ceased, however, when I— for of course
it was I who was telling the story— reached the part of the narrative
involving the Mummy. Lucas listened in silence. A grin spread slowly
over his face, and when I concluded my story he burst into a shout of
mirth.
"Excellent! Splendid! Little did I think when I set out for Egypt that
I would have such luck. This is like one of Rider Haggard's tales; or
the novels of Herr Ebers. How I look forward to meeting the Mummy!"
"I don't know that such an encounter will ever take place, Lord
Ellesmere," Walter said. "There is no reason why you should concern
yourself with our problems. If you will escort the ladies into safety,
we—"
Lucas leaned forward; impetuously he placed a hand on the other young
man's arm.
"But, my dear fellow, you would not deprive me of a part in this
adventure? I don't claim any noble intentions; I'm sure you can manage
quite well without me. My motives are purely selfish, and therefore you
must give way to me!"
Watching his beaming face, hearing his jovial tones, I could understand
why Mr. Dickens' Scrooge found his jolly nephew so irritating. I was
also struck by the contrast between the two young men. They were almost
of an age, I thought. Walter's slim height looked boyish next to Lucas'
breadth of chest and shoulders. His tumbled dark hair and thin cheeks
made him appear even younger. Lucas was dressed
with his usual
elegance; his pith helmet shone like snow in the sun, his light suit
was tailored like a uniform and fit him like a glove. Walter's shirt
was open at the throat, displaying reddened, peeling skin. His boots
were shabby and dusty, his hands callused from hard labor.
At that, he looked relatively respectable next to his brother, whose
bandaged brow and hand added to
his look of a battered warrior just
come off the battlefield. Emerson was contemplating Lucas with an
expression that made me think we might become allies in this, if in
nothing else. When he spoke, it
was
in the rasping growl that was more dangerous than his shouts.
"You should appeal to me, my lord, for permission to join our group. I
confess I cannot think of any means of preventing you from pitching a
tent anywhere you choose."
From Emerson this was positively a gracious speech. Lucas seemed to
realize it; he turned his considerable charm on Emerson, who continued
to study him with all the enthusiasm of a gruff old mastiff watching
the gambols of a puppy. When Lucas expressed interest in the
antiquities of the area,
he unbent a trifle and offered to show Lucas
some of the tombs.
"We have uncovered very little of the city," he explained. "The ruins
that remain are not interesting to
a layman. The carvings in the tombs
have a certain appeal, however."
"I regret that I have not had time to examine them more closely," I
interrupted. "I meant to ask you, Emerson, whether there might not be
more tombs to be discovered. What of the long's own tomb, for instance?
He of all people must have had a sepulcher here."
"That is one of the projects I had hoped to undertake this season,"
Emerson replied. "The royal tomb has never been properly cleared out,
although these villainous villagers removed anything of salable value
some time ago. There was not much; the reliefs in the tomb were never
finished, and I question whether Khuenaten was ever buried there,
although fragments of a sarcophagus may still be seen in the burial
chamber. Hmmm. Yes, Peabody, I would like to have another look at it.
Suppose we go this afternoon."
"The royal tomb is not to my taste today," Lucas said, stretching out
his booted feet lazily. "It is quite a distance, I am told, and the
path is rugged."
"It would mar the finish of your boots," Emerson agreed gravely. "You
seem to know something about Amarna, Lord Ellesmere. The royal tomb is
not on the ordinary traveler's list of sights.
"Oh, I have become an interested student of all things Egyptian.
Already
I have made a splendid
collection of antiquities, and I hope to acquire
more along the way. I intend to set up an Egyptian gallery at Ellesmere
Castle."
Emerson had been keeping himself under tight rein— for what reason I
could not imagine— but this was too much for him.
"Another amateur collection, ignorantly displayed and isolated from
scholars," he burst out. "Of course you are collecting your antiquities
from the dealers, my lord— which means that they have been wantonly
pilfered from the original places, with no records kept— "
"I seem to have struck inadvertently at a tender spot," Lucas said,
smiling at Evelyn.
She did not return the smile; instead she said seriously, "Mr.
Emerson's feelings are more than justified, Lucas. It is vital that
excavations should be carried out only by trained archaeologists. Some
objects
are fragile and can be damaged by unskilled hands. More
important, the provenance of an object can sometimes tell us a great
deal— where it was found, with what other objects, and so on. If
visitors
would not buy from dealers and peasants, they would stop their
illicit digging."
"Dear me, you are becoming quite an enthusiast yourself," Lucas
exclaimed. "That is what I shall need
for my Egyptian gallery— an expert
who will tend and classify my collection. Then perhaps Mr. Emerson will
not despise me."
Evelyn's eyes fell under his meaningful regard.
"Emerson will despise you in any case," I said. "The only steps you can
take to redeem yourself are, one, to cease buying antiquities, and two,
to present the ones you have to the British Museum. The scholars there
will take proper care of them."
Emerson muttered something which, though indistinct, was clearly
uncomplimentary to the British Museum.
Lucas laughed. "No, I cannot give up my collection, perhaps Mr. Emerson
will read my papyrus for me."
"You have a papyrus?" I inquired interestedly.
"Yes, quite a good one— brown with age, crumbling, covered with those
strange little scratches which were, I am told, developed from the
hieroglyphic picture writing. When I unrolled it— "
An ominous moaning sound emerged from Emerson. "You unrolled it," he
repeated.
"Only the first section," said Lucas cheerfully. "It began to break
apart then, so I thought.... Why,
Mr. Emerson, you look quite pale. I
gather I have done something reprehensible."
"You might as well confess to a murder," Emerson exclaimed. "There are
too many people in the world as it is, but the supply of ancient
manuscripts is severely limited." Lucas seemed subdued by the reproof.
"I will give it to you, then, if you feel so strongly. Perhaps it will
count as my payment of admission to this charming group," he added more
cheerfully. "I must send back to my dahabeeyah for supplies, if I am to
spend the night. Let us just have a look around, shall we? I can hardly
wait to see the scenes of
the Mummy's appearance, and select a tomb for
myself."
Emerson acquiesced with no more than a mumble. I was at a loss to
account for his amiability at first. Then two explanations occurred to
me. I was ready to believe either or both, since neither reflected any
credit on Emerson.
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