The Ape Who Guards the Balance (11 page)

Nefret went at once to join the lads. She had to nudge Ramses before he moved aside, whereupon she bent over the case and stared as fixedly as he had done.

“It is much darker than . . . than some I have seen,” she murmured.

“They always darken when they are exposed to the light, especially under conditions like these,” Emerson grumbled. “The inside of the case is as filthy as the outside. That idiot Maspero—”

“It is Twenty-first Dynasty,” said David. “They are generally darker than the earlier versions.”

He spoke with the quiet authority he displayed only when he was talking about his specialty, and we listened with the respect he commanded at such times. He politely made way for me as I approached the case.

“It is very handsome, though,” I said. “These papyri always remind me of medieval manuscripts, with the long rows of elegantly written text and the little paintings. This scene is the weighing of the heart against the symbol of truth—such a charmingly naive concept! The queen, crowned and dressed in her finest robes, is led by Anubis into the chamber where Osiris sits enthroned. Thoth, the ibis-headed divine scribe, stands with pen poised, ready to record the judgment. Behind him the hideous monster Amnet waits, ready to devour the soul should it fail the test.”

“To whom are you addressing your lecture, Peabody?” Emerson inquired disagreeably. “There are no tourists here, only those who are as familiar with the subject as you.”

Nefret made a tactful attempt to soften this criticism—unnecessarily, since I never take Emerson’s sarcasm to heart. “This adorable little baboon, perched atop the scales—that is Thoth too, isn’t it? Why does he appear twice in the same scene?”

“Ah well, my dear, the theology of the ancient Egyptians is something of a hodgepodge,” I replied. “The ape atop the balance, or, as in some cases, beside it, is one of the symbols of Thoth, but I defy even my learned husband to explain what he is doing there.”

Emerson made a growling noise, and Nefret went quickly to take his arm. “I am very hungry,” she announced. “Can we go to lunch now?”

She drew him away, and I followed with the boys. Ramses offered me his arm, a courtesy he seldom remembered to pay. “That was neatly done,” he remarked. “I believe he would jump into the jaws of a crocodile if she proposed it. Mother, you really ought not provoke him when he is in a state of aggravation.”

“He started it,” I replied, and then laughed a little because the statement sounded so childish. “He is always in a state of aggravation when he visits the museum.”

“What did Maspero say?” Ramses asked. “For I feel certain you and Nefret tried to persuade him to change his mind.”

“He said no. He is in the right, I suppose. Having given the firman to Mr. Davis, he cannot cancel it without an excellent reason. I cannot imagine why your father insists on remaining in the Valley. It is tantamount to rubbing salt in his wounds. Every time Mr. Davis finds another tomb, Emerson’s blood pressure soars. Tetisheri’s tomb was accomplishment enough for any archaeologist, but you know your father; it has been quite some time since we came across anything interesting, and he would dearly love another remarkable discovery.”

“Hmmmm,” said Ramses, looking thoughtful.

•

Four

•

I
of course reported Maspero’s offer to Emerson. “What about Abusir, Emerson? Or Medum? And there are large areas of Sakkara that cry out for excavation.”

“Are you so ready to abandon our home in Luxor, Peabody? We built the house because we planned to concentrate on that area for years to come. Curse it, I swore I would finish the job, and I resent your attempts . . .” But then his face softened and he said gruffly, “I know you still yearn for pyramids, my dear. Just allow me one more season in the Valley, and . . . Well, then we will see. Is that a satisfactory compromise?”

In my opinion it was not a compromise at all, for he had promised nothing. However, the affectionate demonstrations that accompanied his speech
were
satisfactory. I responded with my customary appreciation, and the subject was dropped—for the time being.

We were staying at Shepheard’s, my favorite hotel in Cairo, when this conversation took place. Emerson had graciously agreed to my suggestion that we spend a few days there before leaving the city. My excuse for removing to the hotel was that it would be more convenient for making arrangements for my annual dinner party; but though I was loath to admit the fact, the dear old dahabeeyah was inconveniently small for our enlarged family. It had only four staterooms and a single bath chamber, and with all of us engaged in professional pursuits the saloon was so full of desks and books and reference materials there was no room for a dining table. Fatima could not be expected to sleep on the lower deck with the crewmen, which meant that one of the staterooms had to be given to her. (She had proposed sleeping on a pallet in the corridor, or on the floor in Nefret’s room—both out of the question.) So David and Ramses had to share a bedroom, and I believe I need not describe the condition of that room to any mother of young male persons. One had to wade through books and discarded garments to reach the beds.

With a mournful sigh I admitted the truth, to myself if not to Emerson (who, being a man, did not even notice the inconveniences I have reported). While the children were with us, the
Amelia
did not offer adequate living quarters. That state of affairs would not continue indefinitely, though, I reminded myself. David was twenty-one, and already establishing a reputation as an artist and designer. He would strike out on his own one day, as was only proper. Nefret would certainly marry; I was only surprised she had not yet accepted one of the numerous suitors who constantly besieged her. Ramses . . . It was impossible for any normal human being to predict what Ramses would do. I was fairly certain it was something I would not like, but at least he would eventually go off and do it somewhere else. The prospect ought to have been pleasing. To be alone again with Emerson, without those dear but distracting young persons, would once have been my fondest dream. It still was, of course . . .

After a useful conversation with M. Baehler making arrangements for my dinner party, I had retired to the terrace to wait for Emerson and Nefret to join me for tea. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, brightening the flamboyant tarbooshes and gold-trimmed vests of the dragomen gathered round the steps of the hotel; the scent of roses and jasmine on the carts of the flower vendors was wafted to my appreciative nostrils by a soft breeze. Even the rolling of wheels and the shouts of the cabdrivers, the braying of donkeys and bellowing of camels fell pleasantly on my ears because they were the sounds of Egypt, hallowed by familiarity and affection. Emerson had
said
he was going to the French Institute. Nefret had
said
she meant to do some shopping. In deference to what she was pleased to call my old-fashioned principles, she had taken Fatima with her. The boys had gone off somewhere; they no longer accounted to me for their activities, but I had no reason to suppose they were doing anything they ought not. Why then did vague forebodings trouble a mind that ought to have been at ease?

Those forebodings were not prompted by my old adversary and (as he claimed) admirer, the Master Criminal. Emerson had got in the habit of assuming that Sethos was behind every threatening incident or mysterious event. The fact that he was usually wrong had not lessened his suspicions, and I knew (though he had tried to conceal it from me) that he had been prowling the suks and the coffee shops looking for evidence that Sethos had followed us to Egypt.

I had my own reasons for feeling certain this was not the case—and this certainty, to be entirely candid, was one cause of my discontent. For the first time in many years there was no prospect of an interesting adventure, not even a threatening letter from villains unknown! I hadn’t realized how accustomed I had become to that sort of thing. Admittedly our adventures were often more enjoyable in retrospect than in actuality, but if I must choose between danger and boredom I will always choose the former. It was cursed discouraging, especially since our excavations offered no prospect of excitement.

I glanced at my lapel watch. Nefret was not really late, since we had not specified a time, but she ought to have been here by now. I decided to go in search of her.

When I knocked at her door I did not receive an immediate reply, and concluded she had not yet returned, but as I was about to turn away the door opened a few inches and Nefret’s face appeared. She looked a trifle fussed.

“Oh, it is you, Aunt Amelia. Are you ready for tea?”

“Yes, and have been this past quarter hour,” I replied, standing on tiptoe and trying to see past her into the room, from which I could hear surreptitious sounds. “Is someone with you? Fatima?”

“Er—no.” She tried to outstare me, but of course did not succeed. With a little smile she stepped back and opened the door. “It is only Ramses and David.”

“I don’t know why you were making such a mystery of it,” I remarked. “Good afternoon, boys. Are you joining us for tea?”

They were standing, but one of them must have been sprawled on the bed, for the spread was crumpled. I forbore comment, however, since they were both properly attired, except for Ramses’s tie, which was not around his neck or anyplace else that I could see.

“Good afternoon, Mother,” said Ramses. “Yes, we intend to take tea with you, if that is agreeable.”

“Certainly. Where is your tie? Find it and put it on before you come downstairs.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“We will meet you on the terrace, then.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“In half an hour.”

“Yes, Mother.”

            
(v)
    
From Manuscript H

Nefret closed the door, waited for thirty seconds, and eased it open again just far enough to peer out.

“She’s gone.”

“Did you think she would be listening at the door?” David asked.

Neither of the others bothered to answer. Ramses carefully drew back the rumpled counterpane and let out a breath of relief. “No damage,” he reported. “But we cannot go on doing this sort of thing.”

“We won’t do it again,” Nefret said. “But we had to have a closer look, and we couldn’t risk it while we were on the boat. Our quarters are too cramped and Fatima was always popping in to see if I wanted anything. It was clever of you to persuade Aunt Amelia to book rooms at the hotel.”

“She thinks it was her idea,” Ramses said.

David had designed and built a container that displayed one twelve-inch panel at a time, with compartments at either end to hold the unrolled and re-rolled sections. The panel now visible showed the same subject depicted on the papyrus in the museum—the weighing of the soul—but this rendering was even surer and more delicate. The suppliant’s slender form showed through her robe of sheer white linen. Before her stood the balance, with her heart—the seat of understanding and conscience—in one pan, and in the other the feather of Maat, representing truth, justice and order. The fate that followed a guilty verdict was dreadful indeed: to be devoured by Amnet, Eater of Souls, a monster with the head of a crocodile, the body of a lion, and the hind quarters of a hippopotamus.

“Of course that never happened,” Ramses said. “The papyrus itself assured a successful outcome, not only by affirming it but by—”

“I don’t want to hear a lecture on Egyptian religion,” Nefret said. “This is like the queen’s papyrus, but it’s much longer and the workmanship is even finer.”

“It is two hundred years older,” David said. “Nineteenth Dynasty. Papyri of that period are lighter in color and less brittle than later examples. I don’t think we’ve damaged it but Ramses is right, we must keep it covered and not unroll any more of it.”

“I wonder,” Ramses said.

“What do you mean?”

“Ordinarily I would agree that it ought to be handled as little as possible. I have a feeling, though, that somebody wants it back. We ought to have a copy in case he succeeds.”

“Nonsense,” Nefret scoffed. “It’s been three days and no one has bothered us.”

“Except for the swimmer Mohammed saw night before last.”

“Mohammed imagined it. Or invented it, to prove he was alert and wakeful, after the Professor caught him sleeping on duty.”

“Possibly. All the same, I think we will have to risk it. David, how long would it take you to photograph the thing?”

David stared at him in consternation. “Hours! Days, if I do a proper job. What would I use for a darkroom? How do we keep Aunt Amelia from finding out? What if I damage it? How—”

“We’ll work out the details,” Nefret said, brushing these difficulties aside with her usual nonchalance. “I’ll help you. Where do you suppose it came from? Originally, I mean.”

“Thebes,” Ramses said. “She was a princess—one of the daughters of Ramses the Second. Precisely where in Thebes is the question.”

“The Royal Cache?” David suggested.

“Deir el Bahri?” Nefret stared at him. “But that tomb was cleared out years ago. The mummies and other objects are in the museum.”

“Not all of them.” David replaced the cover of the container. “You know the story, Nefret. Before they were caught, the Abd er Rassul family sold a number of objects to dealers and collectors. It’s possible not all of those objects were reported.”

“It’s a virtual certainty that some of them were not,” Ramses said.

There was a brief silence. Then Nefret said in exasperation, “Why don’t you say what you’re thinking? Sethos was in the business when the Abd er Rassuls were clandestinely marketing the objects from the Royal Cache. Let’s suppose one of the things he bought was the princess’s papyrus—”

“The possibility had occurred to me, of course,” said Ramses.

“Of course!” Nefret’s voice was rich with sarcasm. “Did you think I’d cower and scream at the mention of that dread name?”

“It was a possibility, nothing more. We’ve fahddled with every dealer in Cairo and found not the slightest hint that the Master, as they called him, has returned. Things like that can’t be kept secret; you may not know where the body is hidden, but you can’t miss the smell.”

“What an elegant metaphor,” Nefret remarked.

“We couldn’t have missed it,” Ramses insisted. “And yet there is the fact that the papyrus was used to lure us into a trap. If Sethos was responsible, that would mean we weren’t his main object. The one he wants is Mother. His attempt to abduct her in London failed, so he tried to get his hands on one or all of us as a means of reaching her.”

Nefret nodded. “That possibility had occurred to me, too, believe it or not. The Professor hasn’t let her out of his sight since the attack in London, and even
she
would have better sense than to go into the Old City alone at night.”

“Unlike us,” Ramses said wryly. “But she’d march into the fires of hell brandishing that parasol of hers if she thought one of us was in danger.”

“Yes,” David said softly. “She would.”

A sound outside the door made him start nervously. Nefret laughed and patted his hand. “It’s only the German count who has rooms farther along the corridor; he bellows like a hippopotamus. Were you afraid it was Aunt Amelia come back?”

“She will come back if we don’t hurry down,” Ramses said. “Here, Nefret, give me the box.”

“Put it under the bed. The suffragi never sweeps there.” Nefret went to the mirror and began tucking in strands of loosened hair.

“I’d rather not leave it with you. If someone comes looking for it—”

“They’d look for it in your room, or David’s,” Nefret said. “Even if they had identified you two, they couldn’t possibly have known I was your . . . What was that interesting word?”

“Little gazelle,” said Ramses, unable to repress a smile. “Never mind the other one.”

“Hmph. Need I change, do you think?”

She straightened her blouse and smoothed her skirt over her hips, frowning critically at her reflection in the mirror. After a moment Ramses said, “In my opinion you are properly attired.”

“Thank you. Where is your tie?”

They found it under the bed, when Ramses knelt to hide the papyrus there. He refused her offer to tie it for him, and after she had put on her hat David opened the door.

“When are you going to tell the Professor and Aunt Amelia?” he asked in a worried voice. “Strictly speaking, the papyrus is the property of the Foundation, and they are members of the Board. They are going to be furious when they learn we kept this from them.”

“They keep things from us, don’t they?” Ramses had fallen behind the other two so that he could indulge himself in the pleasure of watching Nefret walk. She claimed it made her nervous when he stared at her as he sometimes did—like a specimen under a microscope, as she described it. She’d have been even more unnerved if she had known why he stared. From any angle and in every detail she was beautiful—the tilt of her head under that absurdly becoming hat, the curls that brushed her neck, the square little shoulders and trim waist and rounded hips and . . . Good God, it’s getting worse every day, he thought in disgust, and forced himself to listen to what David was saying.

“I don’t feel right about deceiving them. I owe them so much—”