The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (22 page)

"The sooner the better. You haven't unpacked your books anyhow."

She would have carried the heavy boxes herself, or dragged them, if he had let her. When she got behind the bureau and tried to push it, her forehead wrinkled with effort and the tip of her tongue protruding, he began to laugh helplessly. It was that or give her a brotherly hug, and he hadn't dared do that for years. "Leave off, Nefret. I'll take the drawers out and empty them into the elegant new bureau you supplied."

"That would make better sense, wouldn't it?" She pushed the damp curls back from her forehead and grinned at him. "I'm so excited I'm not thinking straight. I insist on helping, though; you'd just turn the drawers upside down and dump the contents."

"Let me carry them." He caught hold of the drawer in time to keep her from dropping it.

"What on earth have you got in there?" she demanded. "Rocks? Oh. I might have known! Potsherds! Really, Ramses. They're crumbling all over your cravats. What's this?"

The loose tissue-paper wrapping fell away as she lifted the object out of the drawer.

Similar statuettes depicting Egyptian gods and goddesses with human bodies and animal heads were sold in the better souvenir shops on the Muski and in the hotels. This example was approximately a foot high, with a falcon's head atop a male body wearing the typical knee-length kilt and wide jeweled collar. The baked clay had been painted in colors bright enough to make one's eyes water, the kilt in stripes of red and white, the collar in turquoise and orange with touches of gold. The beak of the bird, the tall plumes crowning its head, and the sandals on the human feet were also gilded.

"Good heavens," said Nefret, inspecting it with a mixture of amusement and disgust. "I hope this isn't your Christmas gift for me."

"It's for me. From Maude." Carrying the drawer, he started to leave the room.

"Really?" Nefret drawled. "Stop a minute. It's meant to be Horus, I suppose. The young Horus, defender of his father, opponent of Set, falcon of gold, and so on. Very appropriate."

"Hardly. Father isn't Osiris or about to be, and it's generally he who rescues me, instead of the other way round. I would greatly enjoy coming to grips with our friend Sethos, but father has always taken care of that as well. What an unbridled imagination you have."

The criticism did not deflect her from her purpose. "When did she give it to you?"

"Last night."

"Oh. You saw her last night?"

"She asked me to stop by." He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his neck. Might as well have it out, he thought, and turned to face her.

"Any further questions?" he inquired.

Nefret looked from him to the statue and back again. "There is a certain resemblance."

"Especially the head."

Nefret chuckled. "Your nose is a bit large, but it does not in the least resemble a beak. I meant from the neck down. Especially the chest and shoulders. You really shouldn't go about on the dig without your shirt, it's not fair to the poor girl. She couldn't take her eyes off you the other day."

Ramses clenched his teeth to keep from swearing. It was at times like this that he was tempted to shake his beloved till her teeth rattled. Her blue eyes were bright and merciless and her smile full of mockery.

He hadn't been able to think of a reasonable excuse for refusing Maude's invitation, especially when she gave him that pleading look and explained she had a gift for him. The little statue had left him at something of a loss for words—he couldn't imagine why she should have supposed he would want such a travesty—but he managed to thank her properly. She had then gone on to apologize for her "dizzy spell" in the pyramid that morning, while he drank the coffee she had pressed upon him and tried to think of a graceful exit line. It was not a private tete-a-tete—the aunt-in-residence (he could never remember the poor little old lady's name) sat knitting in the corner the whole time—but after he had said good night, Maude had followed him, out into the starlit garden.

Nefret had told him more than once he didn't know a thing about women. She had been right this time. He had taken Maude for a spoiled little creature who was accustomed to getting what she wanted. She was; but no woman would have said the things she had said to him unless she was past caring about her pride. It had been horribly embarrassing and rather pathetic, and when she started to cry ...

Nefret  had   always  had   an  uncanny  ability  to   read  his thoughts. "Did she cry?" she asked sweetly. "And then you kissed her? You shouldn't have done that. I'm sure you meant well, but kissing someone out of pity is always a mistake."

"Have you quite finished amusing yourself?" Ramses asked, in the icy voice he knew she particularly disliked.

After a moment her eyes fell and her face reddened. "You do know how to make a person feel like a worm. All right, I apologize. She's in love with you. That isn't funny, for her or for you. Have you—"

"No!"

"How did you know what I was going to say?"

"The answer is no, whatever you were going to say. From what I've heard, she is always fancying herself in love with someone, and my chief attraction is the fact that I'm new on the scene. She's already run through most of the officers and all the Egyptologists of a suitable age. She'll find a new hero next year, if not next month."

Nefret folded the tissue around Horus, defender of his father, and replaced him in the drawer. "Have you got a gift for her?"

"Do I have to? Confound it, I suppose I do. I've no idea what."

"It is a bit tricky," Nefret mused. "You want to be polite but not encouraging. Leave it to me, I'll find something appropriate. I'll get something for Jack too—from the family. That will make it more impersonal."

"See here, Nefret—"

"Don't you trust me?"

"No."

"You can this time. I promise."

Experience has shown that the native official has not reached the stage of intellectual development which would enable him to make the proper decisions or the degree of moral courage to face the consequences of those decsions
.

From Letter Collection B

It is good of you to write so often, Lia dear, for I suspect there are other things you would rather be doing. I love to read your letters; your happiness shines in every word and every phrase and every repetition of David's name. (You do mention him rather frequently, you know!)

But your happiness misleads you, darling, when you claim to detect
—
how did you put it?
—
the blossoming of new interests and affections in
me.
Lovers always want everyone else to be in love! Sometimes I wish I
could
feel that way about someone
—
head over heels, insanely, madly, passionately! There have been times in the past when I
thought /
was
beginning
to succumb
—
you remember Sir Edward and Alain K., and one or two others
—
but it died in the bud, to continue your horticultural metaphor. You say it is unpredictable and uncontrollable, so I suppose there's nothing I can do to avoid
or
encourage it. I only hope to goodness I don't fall uncontrollably in love with someone like M. Maspero or Mahmud the cook. He has two wives already. (Mahmud, not M. Maspero.)

As
for my current admirers, as you call them, let me set the record straight. Jack Reynolds has indicated, not too subtly
—
subtlety is not one of Jack's characteristics
—
that he would propose if I gave him any encouragement. He reminds me of a very large clumsy dog who wants to make friends with a cat, but who has no idea what the
cat
wants. Will it scratch or purr when he pats it with a large clumsy paw? At least I know Jack is no fortune hunter. He and his sister are quite well-to-do. Their grandfather manufactured some esoteric but essential component of what Americans term "overalls." I think I've made a few dents in his assumption of male superiority, at any rate. He told me the other day I was a swell little kid (!).

He and Geoff Godwin are unlikely friends, as different in character as they are in appearance. No, Geoff is not at all effeminate! You knew him last year, though not well, I believe. Surely you were not misled by his delicate features and slight build and the fact that he's fond of animals and flowers? He has developed a rather nasty cough lately, but he insists there is nothing serious wrong and works all the harder after I've expressed my concern. The other day a wall collapsed on the dig and he was the first one on the spot, throwing stones aside and digging with his hands to free one of the men who was temporarily buried under the debris.

Let me hasten to add that the victim wasn't hurt except for bumps and bruises. That sort of thing happens all the time, you know. I only mentioned it to prove you were mistaken about Geoff. I am not
at all
in love, but I am fond of him and I feel rather sorry for him. Not that he complains. It was Jack who told me that Geoff's family has been exceedingly unkind to him. They're all huntin', fishin' squires and he is a swan in a family of ugly ducks
—
the only one who cares about reading and poetry and art.

Maude is still a nuisance. Ramses is usually able to deal with this sort of thing himself
—
I'd be afraid to ask how
—
or rather, when I do ask, he tells me to mind my own business! With some of the others it has been mostly his appearance, I think, and that indefinable aura of... what can one call it? Desirability? He's quite nice to look at, if one admires the lean, dark type
—
and
you
obviously do, since it is also David's type.

With Maude it's gone beyond that. When he's in the room her eyes follow him the way a dog watches his master
—
and
that's how he treats her, kindly and gently and with only the slightest touch of irritation when she gets in his way. I don't think Ramses is ever going to fall head over heels either. Perhaps some people just don't have the capacity for it.

I ought not have worried you about that business with Percy. It is like you to take part of the blame on yourself, but there wouldn't have been any harm in your telling me the true story if I hadn't blurted it out to the one person in the universe Ramses didn't want to know of it!  I am thoroughly ashamed of myself, but I don't suppose any real damage has been done, has it? After all, what can Percy do to injure Ramses?

I spoke seriously to Emerson about finding Ramses a mastaba. He replied that it was not a question of finding one, the cursed things were all over the cursed place. When I would have pursued the subject he informed me that Ramses could excavate mastabas to his heart's content as soon as we had finished a proper plan of the site. "First things first, Peabody!" The trouble with most excavators ...