The Ape Who Guards the Balance (17 page)

“All right,” he said harshly. “What happened?”

Nefret let David help her to her feet and lead her to a chair. “A man climbed in through the window,” she explained. “I didn’t wake up until he was already in the room. He was after the papyrus.”

“How do you know?” Ramses demanded.

“Because that was when I woke up, when he dragged the case out from under the bed. He let out a sort of hiss, and—”

“And you tried to stop him?” Fury roughened his voice, and Nefret glared back at him.

“I did stop him. He didn’t get it. I’d have caught him, too, if you hadn’t burst in.”

“Oh, yes, right,” Ramses said. “What with, a hair ribbon?”

“I had my knife. I always sleep with it under my pillow.” She gestured at the puddle of blood on the floor. “That’s not all mine. I slashed at his arm, to keep him from picking up the case, you know—I was afraid he’d drop it once we got to fighting—and then he backed away, and I got out of bed and went after him, and he—”

“Got to fighting?” David stared at her in horror. “Went after him? For the love of heaven, Nefret! Ramses is right, you are too damned impulsive. Why didn’t you call for help?”

“There wasn’t time. I blocked his blow, the way Ramses taught me, but I guess I wasn’t quite quick enough. It was only a little cut,” she added defensively. “But I slipped in the blood on the floor. Then Ramses broke the door down, and the man got away.”

“You didn’t recognize him?” Ramses asked, ignoring the implied reproof.

“I didn’t get a good look at him, it was dark, and he had a scarf wound round his head. It might have been Yussuf Mahmud; his height and build were the same.”

“An ordinary thief,” David began.

“No,” Ramses said. “Sneak thieves don’t carry knives, or use them—especially on the family of the dread Father of Curses. He went straight for the papyrus. That’s another interesting point. How did he know Nefret had it? No proper gentleman would leave such a potentially dangerous object in the hands of a poor little weak woman.”

“Ha,” said Nefret.

“Ha indeed. Nefret, are you sure you didn’t tell anyone? Or let slip . . . No, of course not.”

“Damn right.”

She might have let something slip, though, without being aware of it—to a man who asked the right questions. She’d been seeing a lot of Sir Edward the past few days . . .

He knew better than to hint at that theory. “Get some rest, Nefret. We’ll have a look round in the morning.”

“I’ll wipe up the blood,” David offered. “We don’t want Aunt Amelia to see it, do we.”

“Don’t bother,” Ramses said. “I cannot imagine why Mother is not already on the scene—she usually is—but she’ll certainly notice the door being off its hinges and Nefret favoring her arm, and . . . And we’ve no right to keep silent, not now.”

“Oh dear,” Nefret murmured. “The Professor is going to roar.”

“Undoubtedly. And Mother will lecture. On the whole, I prefer Father’s roars.”

“We’ll confess tomorrow, then.” Nefret stood up. “Good night.”

She waved away David’s supporting arm and followed them to the door. “Ramses,” she said.

“Yes?”

“How did you get here so quickly? I didn’t cry out until he cut my arm, and you must have been already outside my door.”

“Something woke me. Perhaps he made a sound climbing in the window.”

A window on the opposite wall of her room, with a mudbrick partition between. Luckily she didn’t notice the illogic of that. “I’m sorry if I was rude,” she said.

“No more than usual.”

“Thank you for being there when I needed you, my boy.” She put an affectionate hand on his arm and smiled at him. Ramses stepped back.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t be angry. I said I was sorry.”

“I’m not angry. Good night, Nefret.”

Leaving David to deal with the damaged door, he strode toward the back gate and went out. It would have been more in keeping with the Byronic tradition to pace back and forth under her window—groaning and clutching his brow—but he didn’t want to risk disturbing footprints or other clues; so he sat down with his back against the wall of the house and hugged his knees for warmth, and damned himself for a sentimental fool. The intruder, whoever he had been, would not return that night, and the air was cold. There was no point in going to bed, though. He wouldn’t sleep.

Sometime later he became aware of movement. The moon had set, but the stars were bright. A form emerged from the shadows. It moved with a swagger, ears pricked and tail swinging. Seeing him, it stopped several feet away and stared at him.

Ramses stared back.

Some of the Egyptians believed he could communicate with animals. It required no extrasensory perception to know where Horus had been and what he had been doing. He had been doing it every night since they arrived in Luxor. Having a vile temper, a well-muscled, well-fed body, and an ego the size of a lion’s, he had no difficulty in running off rivals for the affections of the local female felines. The cat Bastet would never have allowed an intruder to get within six feet of Nefret, but this selfish, single-minded beast had been too busy satisfying his appetites to guard her.

He had a feeling Horus knew exactly what he was thinking, and that Horus didn’t give a damn. After a long, silent, supercilious survey, the cat proceeded on his way. He sprang onto Nefret’s windowsill and turned for a final contemptuous look before vanishing inside.

For the first time in his life Ramses was tempted to throw something at an animal. Something hard and heavy.

:

“W
here did this come from?” Emerson asked.

He spoke in the soft, purring voice his acquaintances had come to know and dread. Nefret met his keen blue eyes without flinching, but I saw her brace herself.

“It is the property of the Foundation,” she replied.

“Ah, yes. The Foundation for the Exploration and Preservation of Egyptian Antiquities.” Emerson sat back, fingering the cleft in his chin. In the same mild voice he added, “Your Foundation.”

“Ours,” Nefret corrected. “You are on the Board; so are Ramses and David and Aunt Amelia.”

“Good Gad,” Emerson exclaimed. “The fact must have slipped my mind. Or is it the fact that the Board gave its approval for this particular purchase? Dear me, I am getting old and forgetful.”

“Enough, Emerson,” I said sharply.

Emerson might have ignored my suggestion, for he really was in a considerable rage. It was the sight of Nefret’s face that stopped him. Her rounded chin was quivering and her eyes were luminous with tears. When one crystal drop overflowed the cornflower-blue depths and slid down her cheek, Emerson let out a roar.

“Stop that immediately, Nefret! You are taking unfair advantage, curse it.”

Nefret’s trembling lips curved into a broad, relieved smile. No one minded Emerson’s bellows. She sat down on the arm of his chair and ruffled his hair. “Professor darling, you let me set up the Foundation when I came into my money—in fact, you encouraged the idea—but you have never accepted a penny or allowed anyone else in the family to do so. It has hurt me deeply, though of course I have never complained.”

“You may as well give in, Father,” said Ramses. “If you don’t, she’ll start crying again.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson. “I see she has already got round you and David. If I remember correctly, any major expenditure requires the consent of a simple majority of the Board. You three are a majority. Amelia, why the devil didn’t you point this out to me when the papers were drawn up?”

“I didn’t think of it either,” I admitted. I had always considered his refusal to accept financial assistance from Nefret absurd—another example of masculine pride. Why shouldn’t she use her money as she liked? And what worthier recipient could there be than the greatest Egyptologist of this or any other age—Radcliffe Emerson, to be precise?

Tactfully I turned Emerson’s attention back to the papyrus. “It is one of the finest I have ever seen,” I said. “A worthy purchase for the Foundation, for if you had not acquired it—illegally, I suppose?—it would have been sold to a private collector and lost to science. Now, Emerson, don’t start ranting about the iniquities of buying from the dealers, we have all heard that lecture a thousand times. In this case it had to be done. You do grasp the subtler implications of this discovery, I suppose?”

Emerson glared at me. I was pleased to see that my question had taken his attention away from the children.

“Do you take me for a fool, Peabody? Of course I grasp them. However, I refuse to allow you to waste time in idle speculation until we have ascertained the facts. Pray allow me to conduct this interrogation. I repeat: Where did you get this?”

His ice-blue gaze swept over the three young persons. Nefret’s smile faded; David flinched; and both looked hopefully at Ramses, who was, as I had expected, not unwilling to do the talking.

“From Yussuf Mahmud in Cairo. David and I were—”

“Impossible,” Emerson said. “Yussuf Mahmud deals in forgeries and second-rate antiquities. How could he lay his hands on something like this?”

“It is a pertinent question,” said Ramses. “Father, if you will allow me to complete my narrative without interruption . . .”

Emerson folded his hands. “That goes for you too, Peabody. Proceed, Ramses.”

As Ramses’s narrative unfolded I found it difficult to repress exclamations of horror, surprise, and consternation. I must do Ramses the justice of believing that on this occasion he told not only the truth, but the whole truth. It had to be the whole truth because nothing could have been worse. Emerson’s countenance did not change; but his hands gripped one another until the fingers turned white and the tendons stood out like cords.

“We made it back to the boat without further incident,” Ramses concluded.

“Further incident,” Emerson repeated. “Hmmm, yes. There had been incidents enough. Well, well. It is not the first time you have behaved recklessly, and it will probably not be the last. There is only one thing I fail to understand.”

“Yes, sir?” Ramses said warily. He was not deceived by Emerson’s mild tone.

“I do not understand why . . .” Emerson’s voice broke with sheer fury and then rose to a roar that rattled the cups in their saucers. “Why in the name of God you took your sister with you!”

The cat Horus shot out from under the table and headed for the door, his ears flattened and his tail straight out. There he encountered Abdullah, who had been waiting for us on the verandah and who had, I supposed, been alarmed by Emerson’s shouts and hurried to discover what disaster had prompted them. The cat got entangled in Abdullah’s skirts and a brief interval of staggering (by Abdullah), scratching (by Horus) and swearing (by both parties) ensued before Horus freed himself and departed.

So Ramses had to go over it again, while I applied iodine to Abdullah’s shins. Ordinarily he would have objected to this procedure, but the interest of the narrative distracted him; his eyes got rounder and rounder and when Ramses finished he gasped, “You took Nur Misur with you?”

“They didn’t take me,” Nefret said. “We went together. Abdullah, please don’t get excited. It is not good for you.”

“But—but—Yussuf Mahmud,” Abdullah exclaimed. “That crawling snake . . . Into el Was’a At night . . .”

“If you don’t calm down I am going to get my stethoscope and listen to your heart.” She pressed him back into his chair with one small brown hand and offered him a glass of water with the other.

The threat was sufficient. Abdullah viewed modern medical procedures with deep suspicion, and the very idea of being examined by a young woman filled him with horror.

“If she had not been with us, I might not be here with you now, Grandfather,” David said. “She is as quick as a cat and as brave as a lion.”

I decided it was time for me to take charge of the discussion, which had degenerated into a series of emotional exchanges. This is often the case when men carry on a conversation.

“Let us hear the rest of it, Ramses,” I said.

Emerson, who had begun to relax, came to attention with an audible snap of muscles. “There is more?”

“I rather think so. We will have to call Ibrahim to repair the hinges of Nefret’s door. Well, Ramses?”

“I’ll tell it,” Nefret said.

Emerson must already have reached the pinnacle of outrage, for his only reaction was to twitch a bit. Abdullah sipped his water, watching Nefret suspiciously over the rim of the glass. Nefret did not give either of them the opportunity to comment.

“I admit we ought to have told you about the papyrus earlier,” she said. “But that’s over and done with, and we know how you feel, and you know how we feel, so let us not waste time shouting at one another.”

“Now see here, young lady,” Emerson began.

“Yes, Professor darling, we all know you never shout. The question is, what are we to do now? As I see it,” she continued, without waiting for a reply, “there are two questions to be answered. First, who was the man who entered my room last night? Second, where did the papyrus originate? Has a new tomb been discovered?”

“Well-reasoned,” I said approvingly. “I was about to put the same questions myself. You think the intruder was Yussuf Mahmud?”

“It was not an ordinary thief,” Abdullah grunted. “No man of Thebes would risk the anger of the Father of Curses.”

Emerson growled agreement. “He left no clue?”

It was Ramses who answered. “I searched the area under Nefret’s window this morning. The sand had been disturbed, but it does not take footprints. He was not so considerate as to lose an article of clothing or—”

“Yes, yes,” said Emerson, who recognized the start of one of Ramses’s lectures. “I find it difficult to believe that Yussuf Mahmud would have the intestinal fortitude to break into the house. He’s a second-rater in every way.”

“He might have summoned up the intestinal fortitude if he feared someone else more than he did us,” Ramses said.

“Hmmm.” Emerson rubbed his chin. “The individual from whom he got the papyrus, you mean. He was sent here to retrieve it, with the promise that his worthless life would be spared if he succeeded? Possible. Curse it, Ramses, why didn’t you tell me this before we left Cairo? I can think of several people who deal in antiquities of exceptional quality and whose scruples are questionable.”