Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (21 page)

we had the chance to ask any more questions. He's hiding something, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him get away with it." "He really got under your skin, didn't he?" "Ever since I can remember he's been the enemy, the one man who defeated even Father, time after time. Coming to grips with him became my greatest ambition. And now-" He realized he was gripping the rail so tightly his fingers ached. "Now he's a bloody hero, and my uncle! How can I set the police on his trail? If I tell Father we've encountered him, Father will want to go after him himself, and Mother will find out, she always does, and he was absolutely right about that, damn him, she'd poke her nose into every trouble spot in Luxor!" Nefret slipped her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. "So we're back to the old habit of keeping things from one another," she said soberly. "You're a fine one to talk." "I said I was sorry!" "I'm just being adorable." Nefret chuckled. "Well done. If you keep practicing you'll soon be able to shout me down when I'm horrid to you. No, but seriously, darling, why not tell the parents? If anyone can influence Sethos, it's Mother." "That's what I'm afraid of." He turned his head and found her mouth in a convenient location, so he took advantage of it. "You may be right, but let's see if we can find him before we decide. And if I get my hands on him again I'll tie him down until he's answered all my questions! How did he know about Queen Tiy's jewelry? What else is he after? Who is working for him? We've got to stop him somehow, and if we can do it before Mother gets involved, we'll save ourselves a lot of grief." Nefret didn't argue. She knew that look-mouth set, eyes hooded-but she wondered whether Ramses understood his own motives for pursuing a search that was almost certainly doomed to failure. Really, men could be so obtuse at times. After having come up with the brilliant idea of using his mother's portrait to attract Sethos, he was now rejecting the logical next step-that of using his mother in person. His feelings about his uncle were ambivalent, a bewildering mixture of admiration, resentment, and unwilling fascination. She felt the same, but in her case the resentment was almost entirely secondhand. For Ramses, and his father, it must still rankle-the many times Sethos had slipped through their fingers, his unrepentant devotion to his brother's wife. And when you came to think about it, using one's mother as bait to catch a thief wasn't very nice. Preceding her husband down the stairs to the lower deck, she told herself that though it might be a waste of time to search for a man so elusive and so determined to avoid them, at least it wouldn't be dangerous. Neither of them had anything to fear from Sethos.

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FROM MANUSCRIPT H (CONTINUED) They had neglected to inform Jamil there might be a change in their plans for that day. Jumana was with him, and she looked so crestfallen when Ramses explained that they wouldn't need her that Nefret said impulsively, "Why can't she come with us?" "She can't come to the dealers with us," Ramses said. "It will be difficult enough bullying them into giving away useful information without a wide-eyed female child present." Nefret had to admit he was right. She and her mother-in-law had a unique status, but Jumana would be treated like any other Egyptian female. She was also a member of a family with connections all over Gurneh and Luxor, some of them legal, some not. Abdullah's uncle had accrued a sizable fortune by methods no one was rude enough to inquire into. The dealers wouldn't speak freely in front of her. But the wide, imploring eyes were difficult to resist. "Jamil can take us across the river, and she can stay with him." Jamil gave Nefret an outraged look. He probably had plans of his own, involving a long leisurely gossip with friends in the glamorous coffee shops of Luxor. She really couldn't blame him for not wanting his sister trailing along. "Then she might visit the school. You can talk with your teachers, Jumana, and tell them what you are doing." "I will do that, yes, I will! They will be very proud of me!" I must teach that child not to shout, Nefret thought. Once they reached the other side of the river, Jamil tied the boat and sat down to chat with the other boatmen. As she and Ramses walked toward Luxor Temple, Nefret saw that Jumana had also stopped to talk with several girls of about her own age. It was no wonder news spread so fast. Gossip was one of the chief amusements in a semiliterate society where other means of entertainment were lacking. This was brought home to her a few minutes later, when a voice hailed them and they saw one of the clerks from the telegraph office trotting toward them. "It came just now," he explained, handing Ramses the telegram. "I was about to send a man to bring it to you when I heard you were in Luxor." Ramses handed over the expected baksheesh and ripped open the envelope. He let out a breath of relief and handed the paper to Nefret. "The Vandergelts will be arriving in Luxor on Sunday." "You expected bad news?" "One always does, doesn't one?" "Telegrams are so damned uninformative," Nefret murmured, rereading the brief message. "If this isn't just like Mother! She doesn't say why they are coming by train instead of sailing, but wastes four words on 'Find Bertie new interest.' What on earth do you suppose that means?" "The phrase 'shell-shocked' comes to mind." "Yes, of course." Nefret's smile faded. "Poor boy." "It's not really such good news," Ramses went on. "With Sethos on the loose they could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire." "Shall we try to put them off?" "I don't suppose there's any danger to them, really . . ." He stroked his chin, in unconscious imitation of his father, and his frown of concentration smoothed out into a smile. "However, I think I'll wire Mother. Let's go to the telegraph office." "You're going to tell her about Sethos?" "No." He wrote out the telegram and then showed it to her. "All is discovered. Kindly refrain from conspiring with my wife against me." Nefret laughed, but shook her head. "Now you're the one putting me in an impossible situation." "I am not. Your first loyalty is to me. It's in the Bible, as Mother would say." The first shop they visited was near the Luxor Temple, conveniently located to catch the tourist trade. The proprietor greeted them with a show of surprise that didn't fool either of them, sent one of his sons out for coffee, and began complaining. The thrice-cursed war had ruined his business. How could an honest man make a living when so few tourists came? "That is why we came to you," Ramses said. "Your honesty is well known, and since there are no tourists, you must have many fine antiquities for sale. What have you got to show us?" After considerable hemming and hawing, Omar finally brought out a small bronze figure of a seated cat wearing a gold earring, and a fragment of carved relief. The latter showed the head and shoulders of a man wearing a short, tightly curled wig. "Late Twenty-fifth or early Twenty-sixth Dynasty," Ramses murmured, turning it in his hands. "Very good," Nefret said. "I wish I had your eye." "Eye be damned. This comes from the chapel of Amenirdis at Medinet Habu. It was in situ last time I saw it. How much damage-" Nefret cleared her throat warningly, and he controlled his anger, as his father would not have done. There was nothing to be gained by berating dealers like Omar; they wouldn't stop cooperating with the local thieves, but they would stop showing him the objects. "Who was responsible for the robbery of Legrain Effendi's storage magazines?" he asked abruptly. He knew better than to expect a truthful answer but he hoped his sudden question would induce a reaction, however fleeting and faint, that might give him a clue. It did. The other man's face became as hard and blank as a plaster mask, glazed with sudden sweat. He shook his head dumbly. "No one else will hear of it if you tell us," Ramses persisted. "Do you doubt my word?" "No." The dealer's eyes rolled from side to side. "But-but I know nothing, Brother of Demons. I have nothing for you. I must- I must close now. It is time for prayer." It lacked a good quarter of an hour until noon, but Ramses did not argue. Omar barely waited till they were outside before he slammed and bolted the door. The second shop was closed. So was the third. "We may as well give it up for today," Ramses said. "Omar's son warned the others. There is definitely something out of the ordinary going on. The dealers are accustomed to having me come round trying to winkle information out of them, they rather enjoy the game. They wouldn't be so wary unless they had been warned not to talk with us." "Threatened, perhaps," Nefret said. "He wasn't just wary, he was frightened." "Yes. Our estimable kinsman is good at terrorizing people. In his heyday there wasn't a dealer in Egypt who would dare cross him." He added feelingly, "Damn him." "Yes, darling." She took his arm. "It's still early, but we might have lunch-sit on the terrace of the Winter Palace and watch the passing throngs. Sethos may be playing the part of a waiter." He was not amused. Walking slowly, with his head bent and his hands in his pockets, he said absently, "Whatever you like." "Or we could go by Abdul Hadi's shop and pick up the portrait. You don't really want a new frame for it, do you?" "For what? Oh, the portrait. No, I ..." He came to a dead halt. "Hell and damnation!" "What's wrong?" "We left it there." Ramses slammed his fist into his other palm. "How bloody stupid can I get? Come on!" She had to trot to keep up with him. The midday call to prayer floated down from the mosque of el Guibri, and when Ramses burst into the shop, Abdul Hadi was about to lower his rheumaticky knees onto his prayer mat. For a moment Nefret feared her husband was too overwrought to remember his manners, but she need not have worried. "I beg your pardon. I came for my mother's picture. It can wait." The amiable old gentleman looked bewildered. "But-did you not take it? Last night? It was not on the easel this morning. I thought-" "Never mind," Nefret said quickly. "Malesh. Thank you. Good-bye." She pulled Ramses out of the shop and closed the door. He turned to look at her. His features were as impassive as granite; but his effort to keep his voice low was not entirely successful. "What are you laughing about?" "But it is funny," Nefret gurgled. "Instead of fleeing into the night, like a proper crook, he waited coolly outside that window until we ... until .. . Oh, dear." "Finished the performance," her husband said wildly. "He must have found it quite amusing. I seem to remember telling you . . . And then didn't I ... ?" "The Savoy's closer than the Winter Palace." She took his arm. "I prescribe a stiff whiskey or a glass of wine." "I do not need a drink." He stalked along beside her, scowling blackly. "What I need is revenge. Not only for last night, but for a long history of affronts." "You can't-" "I don't want to torture him, sweetheart. I want to humiliate him and get the better of him. For once!" Remembering some of the things they had said-and done-in the belief they were unobserved, Nefret felt a certain sympathy, but she tried to be fair. "He wasn't deliberately playing Peeping Tom. He was only waiting to see whether we'd leave the portrait." "And now he's got it. How are we going to explain that to Mother?" They selected a table in the garden of the Savoy and ordered. Bougainvillea spread ruffled arms along the wall behind them, and a sparrow alighted on the table and cocked a bright eye at Nefret. She fed it crumbs from her hand until it suddenly took flight, and she looked up to see Margaret Minton standing beside her. "May I join you?" she asked. "How did you find us?" Nefret asked, watching Ramses's face go blank. He rose and held a chair for the journalist. "The usual methods," Minton said blandly. "Bribery and baksheesh. I paid some of the loafers on the dock to come and tell me if you turned up on the east bank. I've been trailing you all morning- to no avail, I might add. Why were you visiting antiquities dealers? It's common knowledge that the Professor won't buy from them." "Father won't, but I occasionally do," Ramses said. Nefret saw him brace himself, like a duelist en garde. "One must sometimes sacrifice principle to expediency or lose an important piece to a private collector." "You weren't surprised to see me. Did Mrs. Emerson tell you I was coming to Luxor?" "Had you informed her of your plans?" With a faint smile she acknowledged her second failure to get past his guard, and attacked from a third direction. "Surely she told you about the body she found in the mastaba." Nefret decided to intervene. She had read the letter and the clipping from the Gazette. Ramses had not. Besides, she was tired of fencing. "Is that why you're here?" she demanded. "If it is, you are on the wrong track. All we know is what Mother told us in her last letter, and that was little enough." The waiter came with the food they had ordered. Miss Minton waved away the menu he offered her and asked for tea. While he hovered, arranging the dishes to his satisfaction, she glanced round the garden. "Who is that man?" she asked suddenly. "He's been staring at me ever since I sat down." He was still staring-a burly man with a heavy, neatly trimmed beard and a bush of curly brown hair-but not at her. Catching Nefret's eye, he stood up and came toward them, smiling and holding out his hand. "Hello, Nefret. It's wonderful to see you again. I've not met your husband, but of course I've heard of him. May I offer my felicitations to you both?" Ramses rose and took the extended hand. A soft brown fuzz covered the back; it felt like a cat's fur, but his grip was almost painfully hard. Ramses met it with equal strength, thinking how childishly they were behaving, flexing their muscles to impress a woman. "Sorry I missed you the other day," the other man went on. Nefret pronounced the formal words of introduction, and Kuentz kissed her hand. Introducing Miss Minton could not be avoided; she was firmly settled in her chair and had no intention of leaving. "She is a well-known journalist," Ramses added. "Ah. Then I must be careful what I say!" His booming laugh made heads turn. "Not unless you've done something you're ashamed of," Miss Minton replied. "Me? No! Never! To blow up the German House, that was not a shameful thing." The sentence contained three words that would have aroused any journalist's curiosity. Miss Minton's fingers twitched. "Blow up? German? What's this about?" "She is wanting to write it all down," Kuentz said with a grin. "See how she crooks her fingers as if they were holding a pen. So you had not heard of our humble effort on behalf of the Allies?" "We had heard of it," Ramses said. "But no one seemed to know who was responsible." The journalist turned her hungry gaze on him, and since he saw no reason to conceal the facts, he went on to explain. It might get Miss Minton off on another track. "The German government built the place a few years ago to serve as headquarters for their archaeologists. Without wishing to denigrate your effort, Kuentz, I can't see that blowing it up did the Allied cause much good." "It was very ugly," Kuentz said airily. "Too large, too red, too German." "Hardly sufficient cause for destroying someone else's property," Ramses said. "It was not the only reason." Kuentz glanced around, like a stage conspirator, and lowered his voice. "Carter and I found out that the place had become a center for the illicit antiquities trade-among other undesirable activities. I say no more, eh?" "But I'd like to hear more," Miss Minton said eagerly. "Was Mr. Carter involved, then? Who else?" "I did not say that," Kuentz declared. Ramses had the impression he was quite enjoying himself. "I and I alone was responsible. And now I must return to my labors, I have been too long away." "Then perhaps you would dine with me this evening. I am staying at the Winter Palace." "So you will write it all down and then my name will be in your newspaper?" "I won't print anything without your permission." Nefret's face twisted into a look of exaggerated incredulity. Kuentz laughed. "So what do I care? A poor hungry archaeologist does not refuse a free meal, especially with a beautiful lady. Thank you, I will come. At eight, yes? And you, my friends the young Emersons, will visit me again at Deir el Medina, where I will show you many things of interest." He bowed and walked away. Ramses pushed his chair back. "I forgot to ask him about something. Excuse me." "Was it true?" Miss Minton demanded. "What he said about the German House being a center for dealing in illegal antiquities?" "It's the first I've heard of it," Nefret said truthfully. Ramses was still talking with Kuentz. Knowing that if they were discussing archaeology he might go on at length, oblivious of the time, Nefret raised her hand to summon the waiter. "But there has been an increase in such activities this year, hasn't there?" "I didn't know you were interested in the subject, Miss Minton." "Didn't you?" There was a note in her voice that made Nefret look up from the coins she was counting out on the table. "Don't tell me you did not read the manuscript Mrs. Emerson took-oh, quite by mistake! I'll wager you talked it over at length, all of you, dissecting my emotions and speculating about my feelings. Perhaps it gave you a good laugh." Nefret felt her face heating up. At the time, she had not questioned her mother-in-law's bland appropriation (she would never have called it theft) of the
document. Yet it was really like stealing someone's private diary and showing it to others. The author had spared herself very little, because she had never meant anyone else to read it; no doubt she had explored every other possible source of information before she consulted a woman whom she knew disliked and mistrusted her. "No one laughed," she said. It was a rather feeble stab at reassurance and tacit apology, but the other woman nodded in acknowledgment. She was blushing too-and I don't wonder, Nefret thought. I know how I would feel if I had spread my heart out on a sheet of paper and someone else had read it. "I wouldn't blame you for laughing," Miss Minton murmured. "I wrote it for myself, you know-soon afterward-while the details were still fresh in my mind. I never meant anyone else to see it." "What made you decide to show it to Mother?" "Desperation," the other woman said simply. "I don't suppose you can understand, you with your happy marriage to a man who is everything you could ever want, and that close-knit, magnificently eccentric family. I had no lover, no family, no friends. The competition in my business was keen; I didn't feel I had time for such distractions. I was ripe for the plucking, and he . . ." Her wide mouth expanded into a sudden grin. "My dear, he was superb. There wasn't a single false note! Oh, I knew he was putting on a performance, but I didn't care. Something told me that if I didn't find out who he was and what he was really like, I would spend the rest of my life measuring other men against that impossibly romantic image, and having them fail-and hoping against hope that I would meet him again. That's not a very practical program for a woman of my age." The grin and the glint of self-deprecating humor that brightened her eyes struck a responsive note in Nefret. She wasn't moved to confess all, however. "I am sorry," she said. "Did you ever meet him?" "Sethos?" She hesitated for a moment, trying to anticipate where a truthful answer might lead her, and then decided it could do no harm. "Yes. He unquestionably had a knack for making himself ... interesting." "You felt it too?" Nefret smiled. "Not really. But I was already head over heels about someone else." "You love him very much, don't you? And he feels the same for you. You are both lucky, Mrs.-" She broke off with a little sound of amused vexation. "It is almost impossible for me to think of anyone else by that name! I don't suppose you would consider calling me Margaret? You may or may not believe me, but I didn't come here to trap you into an indiscretion. I would like us to be friends. And," she added, with another of those wide, rueful smiles, "if either of us is at a disadvantage, it isn't you. You know too many things to my discredit." Nefret didn't know whether that offer of friendship was genuine, but she knew it would be foolish to reject it. "Thank you," she said. "Margaret. I had better go and collect my husband. He seems to have gone off with Mr. Kuentz." He was alone, in fact, just inside the door of the hotel. When he saw her approach he came out, trying not to look as if he had been hiding, and took her arm. "I thought my absence would give you an excuse to get away." he explained. "What were you going on about so long?" Nefret repeated the conversation. "I've nothing against the woman," Ramses said thoughtfully. "I rather admired her. But those questions about illegal antiquities, and her interest in Kuentz's story make me wonder about her real motive for coming here-particularly in view of our recent encounter." Nefret shook her head decidedly. "She still wants to believe he is alive, but she can't know anything. Unless ..." "Unless what?" "Unless he told her." "The last thing he wants is an infatuated female-and a journalist at that-on his trail," Ramses said. "Then it's just a forlorn hope," Nefret said softly. "Stop a minute," Ramses said. "I've had an idea and I don't want to discuss it in front of the kiddies." The pylons of the Luxor Temple glowed in the afternoon sunlight. Ramses turned to look at them. He'd never finished copying the reliefs in the Hypostyle Hall. There was so much to do, so many irreplaceable records that were deteriorating daily ... Nefret joggled his elbow. "Well? Don't get lost in archaeological speculation, not now." "Well. Let's suppose that after the initial shock, Minton was canny enough to realize that Mother might have been lying in her teeth." "Which she was." "Except for one vital piece of information. My omniscient mama wasn't lying about that, but she was, as we have just learned, dead wrong. Let us also suppose that as a journalist and a member of a 'superior' social class, Minton has access to certain sources of information. And don't ask me what, because I haven't the faintest idea. All I'm saying is that she might have learned something from someone that strengthened that forlorn hope." "Someone in the War Office, you mean? It's awfully vague," Nefret said dubiously. "So what do you suggest we do?" "Cultivate the confounded woman. You can do it," he added hastily. "Exchange girlish confidences, and all that." "Why don't you cultivate her? You do look a bit like him, and she clearly enjoyed that fond embrace at Giza." "Damn it, Nefret, you know that wasn't my idea. Oh. You're joking?" "Yes." She slipped her arm through his and leaned against him. "I will defend my honor to the best of my ability," Ramses said. "So we cultivate her. It's worth a try. Searching for Sethos all over Luxor is a waste of time and energy. We need to come up with another scheme to make him come to us." "He'll be on his guard now-if he hasn't already left." "I'll believe he's gone when I hear that someone has made off with a pyramid or the temple of Dendera," Ramses muttered. "No, he's still here. The only other thing I can think to do is try to locate his confederates. This is where we miss Selim and Abdullah. They had and have connections with most of the jolly little tomb robbers of Gurneh. I'll see what a few carefully chosen curses will do." "So we're going to Gurneh?" "Not today. Do you remember Lansing telling us about the tomb robber Kuentz caught in the act? Kuentz gave me the location. I thought we might have a look at it." He ran long fingers through his hair and added morosely, "Who knows, the fellow may have been considerate enough to leave a footprint or a scrap of paper with Sethos's cryptogram on it." "We'll have to collect Jumana first." "Damnation, that's right. I forgot about her." However, she was waiting when they reached the dock. Jamil was nowhere to be seen. When Ramses asked for him, his sister shrugged slim shoulders. "In the coffee shop, where do you think? I told him to come but he would not. Shall I go now and tell him again?" "I'll fetch him," Ramses said. The length of his stride and his formidable scowl told Nefret that the unfortunate Jamil was in for a lecture. It wasn't really fair, since they had not told him when they would return, but they would not have had to go searching for Selim or Daoud or any of their other men. Nefret turned to the girl, who was sitting on the edge of the dock. "Did you have something to eat?" she asked. "Yes. They gave me food at the school." The brief answer and the downcast eyes were so unlike her that Nefret asked, "Is something wrong?" "They would not let me have a book!" She raised an indignant face. "I wanted to read about the God's Wives. I would have taken care of it." Nefret sat down and put her arm round Jumana's shoulders. "I have books you can borrow." "Do you? Will you? I will wrap them in cloth and take veeery good care of them!" The child's face was radiant. She was no child, though; in Egyptian terms she was a grown woman and ripe for marriage, and with a face like hers she probably had dozens of suitors panting after her. It would be a crime to let enthusiasm and intelligence like that be lost to a traditional marriage, though. The girl deserved a chance-and I haven't done much to help her, Nefret thought guiltily. Lending books was the least she could do. That pitiful stub of a pencil and tattered notebook- why hadn't she thought of supplying something better? When Ramses came back, Jamil was trotting at his heels, mumbling excuses and looking more resentful than chastened. He took them across to the dahabeeyah, and Nefret made them all wait while she put together a parcel for Jumana: the first volume of Emerson's classic History of Ancient Egypt, pencils and pens and a bottle of ink, a pristine book of blank paper. With that treasure clasped to her bosom, Jumana did not object to being dismissed for the day. They mounted the horses that had been left in Ashraf's care, and headed toward the western cliffs. Jumana left them at the point where the track divided. Her face shone. "First time I've seen her struck dumb," Ramses said. "That was a nice thought, dear." "I didn't do it to be nice." "So you say. My God, she's a beautiful little creature. If she ever looks at a man like that-" "If she ever looks at you like that-" "She probably thinks I'm as old as Methuselah," Ramses said wryly. "You aren't as old as the man Yusuf will select for her. No young man could pay the bride price he will ask. I won't let that happen, Ramses." He didn't ask what she meant to do to prevent it. She'd manage it somehow. Her jaw was set. He took her hand. "She'll get her chance, I promise." "I thought Mr. Lansing said the tomb was behind the Ptolemaic temple," Nefret said, when they reached the Asasif. "He was mistaken. Kuentz said it's closer to Deir el Bahri. The easiest approach is by way of Hatshepsut's causeway." It was after three o'clock. The sun was in their eyes when they headed west, and heat rose from the baked bare ground. There were few people about; the tourists had retreated to their hotels, the guards were napping in the shade, and like all sensible excavators (except Emerson), Lansing had stopped for the day. The site was not completely deserted, however; as they passed, a man stood up and ran toward them, his arms waving wildly. "It's Mr. Barton," Nefret said, bringing the mare to a halt. "I wonder what he wants." "Another look at you, I expect." "Don't be absurd. He reminds one of Don Quixote, doesn't he, or perhaps one of the windmills ... Good afternoon, Mr. Barton." Barton rocked to a stop. "Good afternoon. Are you looking for me-us-Lansing?" His eyes were fixed on Nefret, like those of a dog who is hoping for a pat on the head, so Ramses left it to her to answer him. "We didn't think you'd be here so late," she said tactfully. "We were planning to have a look at the place where Alain caught the would-be tomb robber." "Alain? Oh. Kuentz. Yes, that's right. You know where it is?" "I think so," Ramses said. "If you'11 excuse us-" "Mind if I tag along? I can keep up, I walk really fast." Nefret was too softhearted to resist. She gave him the hoped-for pat. "If you like. We'll have to go on foot most of the way anyhow." They left Jamil and the horses beside the second terrace of the temple and went on, following a narrow path that climbed steadily upward, skirting heaps of loose debris. There were many such paths, used by the surefooted and often barefooted people of Gurneh or by goats; some had been in use since ancient times. When they stopped to catch their breaths they were high enough to see clear across the cultivation to the river. The line between the green and the barren desert was as sharp as if it had been drawn with a knifepoint. Nefret could feel perspiration puddling between her breasts and running down her back. There were dark patches on Ramses's shirt too, and Barton was breathing hard. He had followed so close behind her that once or twice she had had to skip to avoid tripping over his extremely large feet. If he had hoped to leap to her assistance he had been disappointed. "That's where they found the cache of royal mummies," Ramses said, pointing toward the base of the cliff. "Where?" Barton asked eagerly. "I read about it but I haven't seen it yet. Can we get in?" "No, we can't," Ramses said forcibly. "Not without ropes and certainly not today." Barton looked so disappointed, he relented. "I'll show you where it is, but don't entertain any notions about exploring the place on your own. The shaft is over forty feet deep and the last time I was down there the ceilings of the corridors had begun to collapse." "You've been there?" Damn, Ramses thought, I should have known he'd take that as a challenge instead of a warning. "It was some years ago. I wouldn't risk it again without assistance." Another climb brought them to the base of the cliff. There wasn't much to see, only a gaping irregular black hole. Ramses took hold of Nefret's arm and waved Barton back. "Careful. The Service des Antiquites ought to have covered the opening, it's too much of a temptation to impetuous idiots. There's nothing down there, you know." That wasn't strictly true. Emil Brugsch had removed the coffins and miscellaneous funerary equipment over thirty years earlier, but it had been a rushed job and Emerson had always been of the opinion that the tomb ought to be properly excavated. Ramses wasn't about to mention that to Barton, who had edged closer and was peering down into the hole. Ramses understood his fascination; it was one of the great stories of Egyptology: the bodies of Egypt's royalty, violated and robbed and stacked up like cordwood, to lie hidden for almost three thousand years, discovered by a family of modern tomb robbers who surreptitiously marketed stolen objects until they were caught by the Antiquities Department. "We'd better go on," he said. The going wasn't easy; the path rose and fell, twisted and turned, over the piles of loose debris that bordered the Theban cliffs, the result of centuries of weathering by wind and rain. Barton kept catching Nefret's arm, throwing her off balance and then steadying her. He didn't seem to realize that was what he was doing, and she was kind enough not to complain. The opening of the royal cache was not far behind them when Ramses stopped. "That looks like it." There was a long vertical shadow at the spot he indicated. It was only one of many. Splintered and cracked, the rock face rose high above them. "How can you tell?" Nefret asked, shaking off Barton's hand. "It's the right distance." Ramses looked around. "He said there is a boulder to the south of the cleft that resembles a sheep's head." "They all do," Nefret muttered. "I'll go up and have a look," Ramses said. "Stand back a bit." The climb wasn't particularly difficult. He had been up and down cliffs like these a hundred times. The surface was so uneven it offered plenty of hand- and footholds; one only had to test each one before putting one's weight on it. Moving slowly but surely, he was almost at the crevice when Nefret screamed. A louder, deeper sound followed, drowning out her voice, but he had